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aliypop · 7 months

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I'm Coming Home

Word Count: 1,051

Writers Note: I had this idea while I was at work

Warning: Language/ SMUT

Pairing: POC OC x Elvis

Plot: March 8th, 1960, the biggest arrival that Cecelia could wish for, but with tension and high stress she almost misses the G.I. she'd been waiting for

Taglist

@darkmoviesquotespizza

@sissylittlefeather

@richardslady121

@thegettingbyp2

@presleyenterprise

@dkayfixates

@rjmartin11

@thetaoofzoe

@your-nanas-house

@zayurir

@60svintage

@sillybookmarks

@leapresley

@everythingelvispresley

@dreamondina94

@elvismylove04

@pocketfulofpresley

March 8th, 1960, Graceland

"Carlotta, did you put the punch on the table?" Cecelia asked as she nodded. They'd been up for two days prepping for a surprise welcome-back party for Elvis,

" Rosa. Midge, did you get the Guitar cake?"

"Shit..." Midge sighed,

"Please get that cake, it's important!" Cecelia sighed. She had made every dish on the table thus far with the help of her mother, Delta, Minnie, and others in the house, "Where do you want the balloons?" Denise asked as Cecelia smiled, "By the door." walking back towards Vernon's office to check on him, she couldn't help but hear his phone call. He'd been busy with the press lately, but this was different.

"I'm happy he's back, but If he didn't go, he wouldn't have killed his mother the way he did..." Vernon said as if a knife twisted in her heart. Cecelia was there the day Gladys took her last breath, and she was there when Elvis cried endlessly. When Vernon looked over, he saw Cecelia, who had a worrying look in her eyes,

"I'll call you back... Say, Cecelia, how can I help you,"

"Oh, nothing, Mr. Presley, I came to check on you. However, while I respect you as my future father-in-law, let's not forget I'm protective of your son, so if you even think of that bullshit of Elvis killing Gladys at the party, I will rip your kneecaps out and beat you with them do we have an understanding?" Vernon gulped and nodded as he looked at Cecelia, "Good, now Papa Vernon, where do you think the Meatloaf should go?" She asked as he stuttered. After a while, the guests started to pool in, and Cecelia made sure everyone was okay and comfortable, "May I have your attention?" She said as people turned to look at her. "Thank you. Uh, I want to say once again thank you all for coming. Though before we get started, a few rules," She said as everyone sighed. Her mother was proud that she sounded like a hostess. And soon-to-be wife,

"One, no mentioning Mrs. Presley, he's still grieving, and it's a soft spot. Two, no industry talk he's readjusting, and three, please be civilized!" She said as she took a deep breath, "Okay, you may now all continue," Cecelia could hear the fans from outside the gates cheering as she slithered into the kitchen to check on the pies and the cakes. She hadn't noticed everyone fleeing to the car outside. Because she was too focused on everything being just right for Elvis,

"Alright, Pie over here and cake...Who took a slice out of my..."

"I might've..." That southern accent made her heart race as she looked up at him, "ELVIS!" Cecelia tried to hug him as he gestured to the pastries, "Oh, right..." Setting them down, he picked her up and spun her around,

"I was supposed to yell surprise and then-" Elvis kissed her as he pulled away slowly,

"Cil... It's perfect, " He kissed her nose and she blushed,

"You think so. I made all your favorites, a-and, shit the cake!"

"The guitar one?" He questioned as her blood pressure went down, "That was clever," He winked as he pulled her closer, "Oh Elvis, look at you all handsome an whatnot." Delta said as she ruffled up his hair. Elvis laughed as he chuckled, "Come mere, you got family who ain't seen you since you know..." She looked at Cecelia and winked. Cecelia laughed, watching her G.I. go around the house as if he were a bouncing ball, "So...You excited?" Midge asked,

"About what?"

"Getting married."Cecelia looked at Elvis, her lip between her teeth, focusing on how he moved in his uniform,

"I take that as a yes..." Midge laughed as Cecelia watched Elvis walk towards her,

"Cece, can I uh see you for a second?"

"Sure thing, sugar."Taking him by the arm as they walked toward the kitchen. Elvis pinned her against the wall as he kissed her deeply with a firey hunger,

"El...Here..." Cecelia blushed,

"Would'ja prefer the stairs..."

"Mhmm..." The two ran up as far as they could so no one could see them. Elvis lifted up the skirt of her dress as he removed her petticoat, pleased at the fact she was wearing pantyhose,

"Planning for this, huh..."

"I don't know what you mean..." She smirked as he slipped in a finger. A sigh left her lips as her body shivered,

"Oh, you don't..."

"Elvis..." Cecelia's eyes were hazy as he smirked. She heard his belt unlatch as he whispered, "Hold on, darlin," Cecelia held onto the railings as she felt him slip inside her, her knees buckling from the two years without him inside her,

"Mmm, I missed you..."

"I missed you too, El~vis..." She gasped as she felt him move a little,

"God, I missed this..."Elvis groaned in her ear as she nodded. His hips began to pick up the pace as her moans were stifled,

"I wanna hear you, baby..."

"But what about-"

"Who cares..." He began to reach deeper inside her as she let out a loud, whining moan. Her body yearned for him in need. And in want, as she turned to look at him, his lips on her neck leaving love bites as she gasped. He had missed how wet and warm she felt and the sounds she'd make with every thrust,

"Oh! Oh!Oh!" Cecelia began to rub her clit as she felt herself getting closer. Elvis was almost there. He could taste it. He could feel just how tight her walls were gripping around him and nearly trying to drain him dry. He needs one more thrust, one more-

"HEY E YOU UP ..."

"Uh..." Cecelia and Elvis looked like deer in headlights as he pulled out. Elvis turned to face the wall as he zipped his pants back up, and Cecelia flattened out her dress.

"Joe, how've you been..." Elvis coughed

"What were you two doing..."

"Uh... resting..."Cecelia smiled,

"Mhmm... Well, your dad's lookin for ya."

"We'll finish this tonight," Elvis whispered as Cecelia nodded,

"Welcome home, Elvis." She kissed him,

*Bonus*

"You know tanks, rock and roll quite a bit." Elvis laughed as Cecelia watched from outside Vernons' office. She was happy to see him home where he belonged,

#oc #fanfiction #new stuff #new #romance #elvis presley #elvis fanfiction #elvis x oc #1960s #60s elvis #army elvis #cecelia valmos #elvis smut #Spotify

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cjbolan · 1 year

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A Very Simple Way to Fix The Little Mermaid II: Return to the Sea...

Have Melody be sent away to a boarding school as far from the sea as possible. Seriously that would make the movie soooo much better. It would hammer home the whole “generational trauma” trend this sequel was going for, but without ripping off the plot of the first movie. It would show how Ariel inherited her father’s overprotective tendencies, but shows it in a completely different way. Also this would be much more practical for Ariel and Eric. They’re ruling a seafaring kingdom, so walling off their entire kingdom away from this sea is ridiculous, and would make trade and fishing incredibly difficult for everyone in the kingdom. Furthermore, being sent away to boarding school would back up everything Melody says later on...

Melody: “Everybody thinks I’m...weird.”

If she’s at boarding school, we can actually see how she interacts with lots of other people, including kids her age. Sorry Melody but a few mean kids at your birthday party isn’t “everybody”. The more we see her with other kids, the more we can actually SEE how she’s “weird”. Show, don’t tell, folks. Also it’d be a great Character Establishing Moment to show how she always felt drawn to the sea, despite being far away from it most of the time. The plot could kick off for when she’s allowed to return home once a year for her birthday (or something like that). And of course her parents would still send Sebastian to watch over her while she’s away.

Melody: “I wish I could tell my mom how I feel. But she'd never understand. I can talk to crabs, but not to her.”

Minus that one fight, Melody had absolutely no issue talking to her mom. I get not telling her everything. But for someone who can’t talk to her, she tells her an awful lot about how she’s feeling. That line would make a LOT more sense, if Melody was away at boarding school and didn’t see her parents much. That way she has good reason to feel disconnected and unable to talk to them. Hence the resentment she later bears towards them would be much more justified. They not only forbade her from the one thing she loves (the sea), but sent her far away from it and away from them.

Melody: “You knew how much I loved the sea! Why did you hide the truth from me?”

Again, this line has more weight if she was actually sent away from home. Where she’d be kept away from not just the sea, but from anyone who knew her and could easily tell her the truth. Carlotta and Grimsby were at that celebration at sea with her as a baby all those years ago. Carlotta and Grimsby are very aware that merpeople exist, either one of them could accidentally let the truth slip to Melody. Unless King Triton memory wiped them or something.

If you couldn’t tell, I have this love-hate relationship with The Little Mermaid 2. I loved its starting premise: Ariel and Eric have a daughter who learns more about her mixed-species heritage. I just hate the way it turned into a low-budget carbon copy of the first movie. Maybe that’s one reason I love Emily Windsnap so much. Because Emily Windsnap does everything I wish The Little Mermaid 2 did.

#melody walked so that emily windsnap could run XD #the little mermaid 2: return to the sea #little mermaid 2 #disney #little mermaid #princess melody #suggestion #the little mermaid 2 #emily windsnap

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owlpuddle · 2 years

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RIP Carlotta, you would have loved OSHA

#she shouldn't be working in unsafe conditions! she's right and she should say it!#phantom of the opera

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theanticool · 6 months

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RIP Rob Kaman. Dutch kickboxing and Muay Thai legend. One of the all time greats.

youtube

#rob kaman #kickboxing #Muay Thai #news #Youtube

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jennyfair7 · 2 years

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Vintage Earl Review

With all the Earl love going around I did some digging and found my handwritten notes from when I saw him in 2005! It was my first time seeing POTO on the West End and it was amazing 😍

The performance was June 14, 2005 (evening) with Earl Carpenter, Rachel Barrell, and Oliver Thornton. I’m not positive as to the rest of the cast other than Rohan Tickell as Piangi, since I went back to see Earl again the next night and Rohan was on as u/s Phantom 😭 (I did enjoy Rohan, though!) The first few groups of notes are in order then it starts to skip around as I remembered things. I originally posted a full review on PFN from an internet café AKA a computer in a McDonald’s you could rent to use the internet 😅 Transcription below the cut!

Hannibal Piangi :D

ToM - Rebecca Caine cadenza Fab! Snooty voice - ROME is...

Mirror - see all of him! v. impressive powerful, commanding

POTO - “sing for me” :) cadenza fab - live?

MOTN - touch me, trust me - takes her hand (guides hand) up to touch mask “sweet intox” - touches her hair/ear - tucks her in

STYDI - FAB! crossed out portions of 🎵 - anger so good! scary in a way - she cries a bit. he looks toward her whispers “no” & seems distraught - “dreams of beauty” - gestures to the mirror bride - burns in hell/heaven - growls, seems to be cursing heaven

- Buquet actually scary

- Prima Donna fab - Firmin chucks newspapers offstage :D

REPRISE - looks off, almost falls back, catches himself - clenches hand on angel

- Carlotta voice good, diff. comedic timing - fewer ppl onstage

ACT II - Masq FAB, staircase looked huge

(Christine en pointe, Buquet dummy looked like him)

(- Rachel gets mad, upset - w/ Raoul, w/ Carlotta, w/Erik)

PONR - voice would catch, steamy, Rachel sang to him, he leaned forward, watching in hopeful anticipation

AIAOY Rep - so halting & sweet, hopeful

FL - FAB - reaches thru w/ the veil @ the end -falls to his knees, almost buries his face in her skirts, holds ring out, she pushes it back, cries - keeps his head down (she turns away, he grabs her wrist/hand on “Christine”) - turns to look at her, so hopeful - she holds ring out, he whispers no (all unbelieving), walks backwards, waves no to the ring

Wishing - FAB, shivers

(”soar” - so pure & light)

WC - first graveyard trio -leapt down the stairs as he went about on the mausoleum

- Oliver ripped his shirt open, dramatic dive!

- Red Death entrance - was looking away, then he looked forward - dramatic

- be my guest, sir - AW [Anthony Warlow] Hyde-like growl/breath

- kiss (2nd) - brought a hand up to her face

“leave me” - fell to ground, almost in fetal position

- before cutting down, looked @ Christine like, “what do I do?”

“poisons our love” - put hand on her back

- chandelier falls more quickly than I thought/had seen

- Earl overall is a physicall commanding Phantom.

#poto #poto london #earl carpenter #earl carpenter club #phandom nostalgia #phan review #mine #personal

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randomestfandoms-ocs · 7 months

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plot bunny rachel zegler in glee, sam AND mike ship

anon I'm so glad that you support my love of Rachel Zegler and my underpromoted Sam x Mike agenda but also I feel like I'm cheating on @cecexwrites' Maite who is my most beloved girl pls go check her out and love her asap

Carlotta "Carla" Vasquez

named Carlotta after the Phantom of the Opera character and Vasquez after Maria in West Side Story. She's an aspiring actress and has spent her entire life in dance and voice lessons and doing community theatre.

She and Rachel have known each other forever because of this, and were in countless dance & voice classes together and competitions against each other, and Rachel has been bullying her since they were little kids.

At 13, after Rachel did something to completely humiliate her at a competition (ripped seams out of her costume so it fell apart onstage, also put gum in her hair so she had to cut a lot of it off), Carla had a severe breakdown. She switched to a new dance studio, where she befriended Mike Chang and Brittany pierce, but her parents also moved to Akron to give her a fresh start. Everything was great, she was happy, no one knew about the worst moment of her life. She starts high school, becomes a cheerleader, gets recruited into Vocal Adrenaline by Jesse St James himself, and he and Shelby start preparing her to be the new female lead. She got a solo at nationals. Everything was perfect.

But then, because of something with one of her parents' jobs, they have to move back to Lima. Thankfully no one seems to remember her, except for Rachel Berry, and Carla is able to protect herself by joining the cheerios – the only club in school safe from Rachel Berry. Everything is fine. Thanks to Mike and Brittany, Carla is adopted into the Unholy Trinity and has the combined protection of the cheerios and titans, and she's finally starting to breathe again

Until Sue Sylvester decides that her four stars are going to prove their loyalty (and stay on the cheerios) by spying on the New Directions. Rachel Berry's ego club. And Carla might be a nationally winning show choir star, but Rachel is no more willing to share the spotlight than she was when they were 13

#ask #answered #anon #carla vasquez brice #about carla #plot bunny

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ifyouhappentoremember · 2 years

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Quick Thoughts - The Phantom of the Opera - February 4, 2023 - Matinee

The main trio was Ben Crawford, Julia Udine and John Riddle.

I think I’ve reached a point when I am so familiar with this trio’s acting choices, my brain just started focussing on very niche and random things, so this review is just going to be an incredibly haphazard collection of thoughts.

Joseph DePietro was on as M. Reyer and is it possible that I’ve found my new favorite Reyer? He was so incredibly sassy but it was clear that he was very good at his job, which is Reyer 101. I know I’m ride or die for Jim Weitzer’s Reyer, but DePietro is giving him a run for his money.

This is the third (or is it second?) time I’ve seen Ted Keegan as Piangi. I can barely wrap my brain around it because Keegan’s Phantom and his Piangi give off very different energies but are also somewhat similar? His Piangi is very earnest and a little goofy.

Keegan’s Piangi is first and foremost, Carlotta’s number 1 fan. The first time Keegan’s Piangi met Carlotta, he cried and would later write in his diary, “It was the best moment of my life.”

RIP Keegan’s Piangi, you would have thrived as a stan account on Twitter.

I had thought that since New York City Ballet’s Winter season had started, I would stop focussing so intently on the ballet corps during the Dressing Room sequence and finally turn my attention to the action down stage. If anything, my scrutiny on the corps has increased.

The choreography during this sequence is so good. It’s structured to almost resemble the center portion of a ballet class but Gillian Lynn had deliberately put in references to Degas’s ballet paintings and sculptures. It’s so clever and it lends so much atmosphere to the scene.

I’m really nitpicking here but I wish the ballet corps was a little bit tighter and were more synchronized? The main issue is that each ballet dancer has trained at a different school so the little details like arm and head placement are different. Like I said, I’m nitpicking because this is such a minor detail.

I am always so obsessed with this detail during Notes. Raoul directs the sung line “Why did Christine fly from my arms?” to André. Why does Raoul think André would know the answer? Nehal Joshi’s André always looks and gestures at John Riddle’s Raoul like “Give me a minute to deal with Carlotta and then I can help you with your stupid question” and it always cracks me up.

Ok so on the rooftop sequence after All I Ask of You when Raoul says “Christine, I love you,” I always love that when he says it, Julia’s face is in shadow and when she turns back, she’s in the light again. It’s such a good visual representation of Christine ‘rejecting’ the Phantom’s world of shadow for Raoul’s world of sunlight.

Ted Keegan’s Piangi made a really good Don Juan?? I was actually really annoyed that the Phantom killed Piangi, because I actually kinda started to get into Don Juan Triumphant.

Ben got so raspy during some moments when he sang The Point of No Return and I’m annoyed because it’s going to be clattering around my brain until the next time I see Phantom.

I don’t know how Ted Keegan made his body so limp during the reveal of Piangi’s dead body, his feet were swinging around like he was a corpse. It was really disturbing.

Ben has a new line reading of ‘The world showed no compassion to me!’ I like it so much better!

I like it better when Ben’s Phantom says his second “I love you’ to the empty space Christine has left behind. I’ve seen him do it to Christine when she’s still standing in front of him, and it reads as more manipulative to me, like he’s still begging her to stay with him. When he’s by himself it reads more pathetic and sad to me.

When Meg {Polly Baird] ripped the cape from the throne to reveal the mask, someone in the audience (probably a kid) let out a giant gasp of surprise and it made me laugh. I know, I know, this means for spoiling the mood my punishment I will be forced to endure the never ending bathroom line during intermission at Phantom (I would like to throw the lady sitting next to me under the bus because she laughed too - it was not just me!!).

#can you tell when I got to the theater that I was annoyed that Ted Keegan wasn't on as the Phantom?#hence the unusual focus I paid to piangi this time around?#quick thoughts #poto broadway #Ted Keegan #ben crawford #julia udine #john riddle #nehal joshi

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vacantgodling · 2 years

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a distraction

wip: vampires don’t take road trips (sorta; this won’t appear in the actual narrative bc it’s first person pov and darren would have no way of knowing — nor does he need to know — his uncle’s sex life 💀)

character(s): laurent rouzet-blanc (darren’s uncle, younger brother of liz but still 200+), raymond cromwell (laurent’s best friend) ; mentions of antoinette rouzet-blanc (laurent’s daughter with his deceased human wife emìlie “emily” shingle so a half-bloodling), carlotta sinclaire, viktor sinclaire, and erasmus sinclaire (carlotta & viktor’s father)

some minor spoilers to plot related things surprisingly. also grief and second chances at love & all of that. tagging as suggestive bc handsy making out. read at your own digression etc etc

The tick of the grandfather clock was on time to the click of brown leather dress shoes on the dark oak wood floor of the drawing room. Laurent looked up from the magazine draped elegantly over the gray-clad suit pants of his lap up at one Raymond Cromwell, arriving quite unannounced. His dark suspenders were strapped tight, a habit from his far off youth, and his brown coat was clutched tightly between his side and arm, like a lifeline he was loathe to release. A pipe was tightly clutched in his other palm, his entire stance and body language stiff and rigid and Laurent folded the magazine; gingerly laying it on his drawing room table.

“To what honor do I owe this visit?” Laurent asked plainly, not questioning how he got in, nor necessarily why. It was a disguised question, a verbal bait and switch for words that Laurent dared not ask, but their meaning felt. Raymond took a steadying breath, and Laurent sat at further attention.

“Smoke first.” Raymond decided after a heavy beat.

In a fluid motion his coat was tossed over a nearby floral chair, and his ever present newsboy cap followed. Wavy, thick, salt and chocolate tresses revealed themselves from underneath, stuck up and on end from their previous enclosure. Raymond ripped a hand through this unruly mop, only succeeding in making it messier. He sat down on the chaise immediately behind the one Laurent lounged on with a loud sigh and stuck the pipe in his mouth. He leant his head back until it was brushing against Laurent’s shoulder, exposing the smooth column of his neck.

“Do you have a light?” He drawled. Laurent nodded and reached into the breast pocket of his suit jacket for his book of matches he always kept close for this purpose. “Upright.” Laurent chided, jostling him. Raymond complied and sat up straight, leaning into Laurent’s space enough so the other man could cup a hand around the black, worn bowl. He brought the delicate flame to the herbs within, illuminating just how bloodshot the sclera around Raymond’s deep crimson eyes were. But still, he didn’t prod. He leaned back when the pipe was lit, shaking out the match and tucking it into a different pocket in his coat to dispose of later. As he did so, he felt the shuddering inhale of Raymond’s lungs, turning his head to witness it all billow out of his friend’s nose and mouth, not entirely dissimilar to a dragon, milky and white.

It was another moment before Raymond finally said, with a noticeable lack of forewarning, “She’s dead, Laur.”

Laurent felt his shoulders tense, but when he turned to glance at Raymond out of the corner of his eyes, his expression was oh, so, carefully neutral.

“… Carlotta?” He asked, carefully. Raymond let out another shuddering breath and pinched the bridge of his nose with the hand not gripping his pipe. Laurent heard the pipe cracking between his friend’s distraught fingers. “That bastard fucking killed her.”

“Viktor?” Laurent hesitated to ask but Raymond immediately sucked his teeth.

“No. Erasmus.” That wasn’t who Laurent was expecting to hear. He turned again, draping his arm over the other chaise to look at Raymond fully but the man wouldn’t meet his gaze. Instead, he stared out of the large bay window before him, unseeing.

“How do you wager that, old friend?” In a rare show of physical contact, Laurent bumped Raymond’s elbow with his own and it finally made Raymond shift. His eyes slid back to Laurent’s.

“I’ve been watching that miserable piece of shit for a long time. I just know.”

Laurent studied Raymond’s face and not finding a trace of insincerity he closed his eyes, trying not to heave a sigh himself.

“I believe you.”

“She’s gone.” Raymond’s voice cracked a bit on the second word, but he didn’t have to say it for Laurent knew. He knew what he was feeling. What he never got to say. Two moths that were dancing around a mutual flame and it was suddenly, without warning, extinguished. Even if losing Emìlie wasn’t the same, Laurent knew. He knew.

“How long does it hurt, Laur?” Raymond asked, already scanning his thoughts. “It’s been nearly a century.” Laurent said quietly. “And I still feel her absence like the day I buried her.” From his peripheral, he saw Raymond bob his head, until it was tucked against his chest.

Silence fell.

Eventually Laurent grasped Raymond’s arm.

“She knew you loved her.” Was all he said. Raymond didn’t move still, the pipe nearly half fallen out of his lips. Laurent was almost worried that in his grief, Raymond simply passed out, but suddenly his friend jolted to his feet. The pipe still did fall, and Laurent reached out, grasping it before it clattered to the ground.

“Raymond?” It wasn’t often Laurent said his name. But at it, Raymond looked. Tears had finally begun to streak down his dark, chiseled face, and Laurent was up on his feet until Raymond was in front of him, pushing him back down into the chaise. Laurent wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but Raymond dropping onto his lap, knees bracketing his hips wasn’t one of the myriad of scenarios flipping through his mind.

Raymond crowded in close, until their noses were brushing, and Laurent draped his arms around his friend’s waist, studying him—waiting for his next move.

“I need a smoke.” Raymond’s whisper was husky and rasp, then dark lips were pressing into Laurent’s easier than breathing.

He didn’t push him away.

Laurent stroked long fingers against the bunched material of Raymond’s shirt tucked into his dress pants, and let his friend work his mouth open with long, languid drags of his tongue. Laurent’s eyes, half lidded and not fully closed, studied the half furrow of Raymond’s brows. If it was stress, or relief, pain or pleasure, he couldn’t tell. But he licked back against Raymond’s tongue as it started to retreat, coaxing him back to him after a scant parting for breath.

Raymond’s hands slid into Laurent’s long loose tresses of ink and silver, tugging until he let out an involuntary small gasp. It was then that the first rock of Raymond’s hips startled Laurent into this sudden reality. The reality that Carlotta was dead, and his beloved wife was long gone; where his best friend was kissing him and was perched on his lap. The reality that perhaps the two of them had always been this close to this cliff’s edge. The reality that this was all it took for them to finally tumble over it. Laurent’s hands gripped Raymond’s hips, holding him fast and steady, encouraging his hips to move again and they did with a dark, rumble of a moan in tandem against Laurent’s chest.

Raymond pulled back. He wiped a hand across his lips, perhaps to hide the wry, delighted grin that was tracing across his face.

“Damn.” He said. Laurent didn’t say anything. With their eyes still locked, Raymond rolled his hips once more. Testing. Prodding. Laurent hissed when they caught against his growing arousal.

“That thing you do with your eyebrows when you feel pleasure is quite… interesting.” His friend’s voice dropped to a inquisitive murmur, making Laurent scoff.

“My eyebrows aren’t doing anything.” However, Raymond paid him no mind, instead skating his fingers against Laurent’s jaw, then leant down to follow the trail with his lips.

“Laur…” Raymond’s voice was a heady rumble and Laurent just barely managed to stave off the urge to shiver. “Let me guess,” He reached up to card a hand through Raymond’s tousled hair. “You’ve wanted this for awhile.” Raymond huffed out a laugh. “Oh since we met, old friend. You’ve always been easy on the eyes.” Raymond pulled back only slightly to peek at Laurent’s raised eyebrow. Something warm stirred within him when it caused his friend to laugh. “Trust me. There’s only one reason I’ve ever fallen into Saph’s chambers—and it wasn’t for him.” Laurent couldn’t help his laugh if he tried, though as always, it bubbled as a low, dark chuckle. “So then were you jealous?” He couldn’t help but ask. “Of Em and I?”

“No.” That answer did give Laurent pause and he regarded him. The grief was still there, ever present in his eyes. But there was some spark of life beginning to return to them; a dollop of rich, bright hazel intermingling like a dance in his crimson eyes. Curiously, Laurent found himself lifting a hand to trail it thoughtfully against his friend’s dark cheek. Unless it were his imagination, Raymond lent into it.

“I was happy you found someone who made you less miserable. I still am.” Raymond’s smile was soft and pliable. “And you know Emily was a dear friend of mine. I felt partially responsible for your meeting.” Raymond chuckled, but finally leaned in once more, back into Laurent’s space. The heat, the arousal, it was all still there, and Raymond’s head fell to his neck. He pressed an exploring kiss there, then another one more searing when Laurent tilted his head to let him continue. “And before you worry your head about it, this doesn’t have to change anything between us.” Raymond’s voice was a hoarse rasp, circling the shell of his ear like a thick smoke. “I just need—“ Laurent pushed his hips up and Raymond’s words caught in his throat, clipped on a gasp. “A distraction.” Laurent finished for him. Yet, this felt like more than that. It was as if the strength of the revelation 100 years ago with Emìlie reached forward in time to strike him again, with interest—their history. Laurent wouldn’t pretend he’d looked at Raymond like this before, but he’d never looked at anyone, never thought himself capable of the emotions. Yet, he’d married, had a child, grieved—still grieved—and now his best friend’s comfortable weight on his lap felt just as right now as Emily’s did then. He couldn’t change the past, neither of them. They couldn’t restore what either of them lost. But their companionship, a distraction, an inquest into something more… Perhaps that was in order.

Before the topic could be breached or Laurent could make his thoughts known, the door to the study swung open to reveal a familiar tidy head of ginger hair; Antoinette’s darker, but still as vibrant as her mother’s.

“Father?” She called softly, her voice always comparable to a mouse. And well, Laurent knew wouldn’t take long for her eyes to find the two of them, entangled as they were. Raymond made no move to pull away, but he did pause his exploration towards Laurent’s jugular. Laurent tilted his head so he could meet his daughter’s eyes.

Her face blossomed red before he could say a word, and she quickly spun around and hurried back into the connecting corridor, without another word.

Against his neck, Raymond chuckled. “Poor Nettie. She wasn’t expecting to see her da like this I’m sure.” Laurent scoffed in reply, tilting his head back to gaze at the ceiling. He’d talk to Antoinette later, if she would see him. It was no different than the first time she’d stumbled upon him and her mother, though that was ages ago. She hadn’t looked him in the eyes for a week. He really wasn’t sure where her demureness came from.

“I didn’t say stop.” Laurent murmured instead. Raymond’s laugh and grip on his shoulders, tight and sure, as he got back to business made something warm and comfortable coil in Laurent’s gut.

They’d have more time to discover it later.

#s: darren and co #suggestive #ren writing #i’m only tagging suggestive bc there’s no penetration or nakedness just making out and getting hands #anyway #spoilers ig

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witches-unruly-heart · 1 year

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Musical Ask: Phantom of the Opera

MY BABY! MY LOVE!!! 😭😍 (I'd insert a crying heart eyes emoji if I had it)

Favorite song God there's so many to choose from 😩 But I'm gonna pick a few -- The Music Of The Night, Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again, Down Once More 😍

Favorite character Raoul 👀 He may be an insolent boy and a slave of fashion -- but he never kidnapped Christine. I also love Madame Giry 🥰

Favorite pairing Raoul and Christine 🥰

Favorite costume Hannibal dress, Masquerade dress, Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again dress, Erik's skeleton outfit, Raoul's whole look when he comes to save Christine (🥵) (I'll include a picture at the end)

Favorite actor/actress in it THERE ARE SO MANY!! Ramin Karimloo, Sierra Boggess, Hadley Fraser, Earl Carpenter, John Owen Jones, Scott Davies, Emmi Christensson, Liam Tamne, Killian Donnelly,

Least favorite character Carlotta and Piangi -- and unpopular opinion, but Meg Giry (I'm sorry)

Least favorite song Second half of Wandering Child / Bravo Bravo ... Gives me a headache every time 😅

Least favorite actor/actress in it THE ENTIRE 2004 movie cast! Don't get me wrong ... I love the actors, but I hate them in the movie!

If I've seen it live or not I HAVE! I saw it in London and it was amazing, not to mention it was lead by three understudies/alternates! (Erik/the Phantom, Christine and Raoul's understudies/alternates were on) 😍

Dream role (if I could actually sing) LORD! If I had the pipes for it I'd go for Christine 😅

A headcanon Simple -- Love Never Dies never happened (I'm sorry -- but it was a mess 😅 I do love Til I Hear You Sing, Love Never Dies, and Beneath The Moonless Sky)

Dream casting Oh dear, where do I start -- I gotta shorten it down to one or two per character 😅 Christine - Celinde Schoenmaker or Lucy St. Louis (they've played the role previously, but I've not gotten to see them) Erik/the Phantom - I'll take anyone who's previously played him on stage (No, not you Gerard Butler) ❤️ but maybe Ramin Karimloo ❤️ or Killian Donnelly ❤️ Raoul - HADLEY FRASER! But same as with the Phantom -- anyone who's played him on stage ❤️ Or Bradley Jaden, in Italy! 😍 Madame Giry - Liz Robertson from the 25th Anniversary at the Royal Albert Hall 😍 Or Emma Thompson ❤️ Meg Giry - Holly-Anne Hull, or Katie Hall ❤️ Monsieur Gilles André - Philip Griffiths (he either has to play André or Reyer 😅) Monsieur Richard Firmin - Scott Davies (My Phantom from when I saw the show) Carlotta Guidicelli - Honestly, Wendy Ferguson (25th anniversary at the Royal Albert Hall) Ubaldo Piangi - Wynne Evans (25th anniversary at the Royal Albert Hall)

(in the production I saw it was no vest, but suspenders, and I think the shirt was a little ripped (and more open to show his chest) but I cannot post about the Phantom of the Opera and not talk about my boy Hadley! 😅😍

Want to get my thoughts on a musical? Send it my way ❤️

#karen speaks #send me a musical #the Phantom of the Opera

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milady-pink · 11 months

Text

A Love Undying

Summary: For many months Erik has been trying to find the courage to tell Christine exactly how he feels for her, choosing the night of her premier as the new starring soprano. But when everything goes wrong, death itself cannot keep them apart.

Word Count: 5,145 | Graphics: @firefly-graphics

Warnings: major character death, unrequited love, anger issues

Part 2 Part 3

Nothing could compare to the agony Erik was suffering from currently. Although his many years of wandering the earth with a face like his, lacking in a nose with yellow tinged skin like a sheet of crepe paper stretched over protruding cheekbones and sparse bits of hair on the crown of his head, nothing was as awful as the pain he felt now. Not when his mother renounced him as her son and therefore sold him to the cruel circus master Javert, nor when was made to perform massless for the masses as the singing corpse, due to his less than ideal appearance. No, even as his amber eyes watered from years of being submitted to whippings and being withheld food did he ever suffer as he did today.

It was just after Christine’s performance, her first October as the Opera Populaire’s leading lady. Her time had finally come, the stars themselves aligning just for her to pursue the dreams her father helped nourish with his sweet violin playing whilst she sang. What with Carlotta’s leaving, new managers who were eager for a large crowd, and new patrons giving the theater their money for new talent, costumes, and sets. For Christine the universe was finally rewarding her hard work. But, for Erik, the hard work was what gave her the right chance. Scaring Carlotta with her life so that she fled the opera once and for all, leaving for Spain to ruin some other theater with her off-pitch soprano, easy as pie. Convincing the new managers to not only pay him his due allowance but also hold them under his reign just enough to play them like the puppets they are, a bit of a challenge seeing as the tubbier one had a hard time believing in ghosts. Finding the right patrons who both cared for the arts and music but didn't care enough to investigate should they hear about the Opera Ghost and ask for a refund, hard but not impossible. But Erik did say he would move heaven and earth just to make Christine happy, and as far as he was concerned, stars were included.

So, what went wrong?

Alas it started by asking the fatal mistake of inviting the DeChagny family to a dress rehearsal of Faust, the company’s fall show. With a new Prima Donna found in the quiet ballet rat of Christine Daaé, seats for the show was sure to be filled, but the managers wanted (and where promptly told to via a poorly written letter) to raise the budget for sets and costumes to really dazzle the audience; insuring they tell their friends and keep them coming back for more. So when a certain phantom hand delivered an invite on behalf of the opera itself to come watch the actors and dancers before the big night, promising the Count that what he witnesses will be ten-times better on opening night.

All of this sounds like the genius makings of a very profitable season for the opera house, but one small change made the whole plan fly out the window. That stupid Count! He couldn’t have just sent a personal aide or a wealthy friend in his place, but no! Phillipe DeChagny had to send his younger brother; the Viscount DeChagny, the fop.

That afternoon was the first time Erik had ever felt such a rage that he nearly jumped from his designated box seat and ripped his dear Christine away from him. It was like watching an opera; the beautiful and loved leading actress being swooned by a goblin in disguise as a handsome young man, one with a large bank account to boot. He could still see the horrifying moment play out, and he suspects he will for all of eternity trapped in torment. Early on in the opera, as Faust was making a deal with the devil himself, when Erik noticed that the Count looked rather good despite being the oldest of three sisters and a brother. The brother! At the time Erik could not have guessed why the Count sent his younger sibling to an exclusive event he himself was supposed to attend, but it turns out the Count took less of an interest in the opera and music than he did to the head ballet dancer. Truthfully, when the Count saw he was asked to attend the dress rehearsal for Faust, he dreaded the thought of watching the show, considering the matter and all like it a bore. So, Phillipe asked his brother if he wanted to attend in his stead.

As the opera continued the younger and more bright-eyed DeChagny was quite enjoying the rehearsal, and should be considering how out of the two male heirs he loved the arts far more than his brother. The catalyst of horror occurred when Marguerite, played by his angelic Christine, walked on stage for her first aria of the opera; the iconic jewel song. The look of sheer joy and excitement that crossed the young Viscount’s face was thought to only be one of pure admiration, as was the one that settled across Erik’s face whenever he heard her performance of the song. But, when the short intermission came after the first act, Erik looked back across the empty theater seats and found the Viscount to be missing. Even worse, as Erik scanned the large room with his pooling amber eyes, he spotted the young chap talking with his beloved in the wings.

Furious, Erik kept from his seat and, using his secret passageways, made haste to move towards the couple chatting away happily. Finally when he got to his perch just above the backstage, Erik almost fell due to the intense nausea that came over him. Not only did Christine eagerly talk to the boy, she hugged him!

The whole of Erik’s world was crumbling beneath him, nothing to do but watch and grip the metal bar on the stage lighting’s walkway with white knuckles, imagining the fop with his boyish good looks and blonde mustache between his skeleton fingers.

As it later will be revealed to Erik once he and Christine have their daily music lesson, the Viscount, Raoul, are old friends who used to play together when she and her papa lived in Perros-Guirec, many years ago. The angel in his presence continued to talk about how the two of them got along so well despite their social standings, all of the memories they shared from the beach to the little fishing village they used to frequent. She even went into great detail of how the two of them met. And much like how the chances of her red scarf taking flight and gliding into the ocean led to the encounter of Raoul and Christine, Erik felt that the chances of one brother going to a dress rehearsal instead of the other have changed his life for the worse.

Erik would be the first one to admit that he pushed his pupil rather hard, pushing her voice to its limits in pitch and volume along with using a harsher voice, but he needed some sort of reminder that she was still under his guidance. For Christine, whatever the Angel of Music said was law, so it wouldn’t be such a stretch for him to tell her to remember her reputation as a young woman when conversing with the opposite sex.

In any other universe than this one, Erik would have to dig deep inside of himself and deal with the emotions that his anger was masquerading for. But for now, he could pretend and love Christine from afar with her none the wiser.

The true climax of this sorrowful tale did not come until the following weeks. It was opening week for Faust and the Populaire was buzzing with excitement. New managers, a new female lead, new patrons, everyone was on edge and ready for the first performance.

After a whole day of preparations like lighting and last minute set and costuming repairs, finally the time came for Christine’s debut. The audience loved her, from the second she made an appearance to the last floating notes of the aria, the people of Paris were entranced by Miss Daaé. Thanks to her background in dancing all of her movements matched her voice, delicate and light as air with an innocence that was hard to dislike; and that was just the first song! His angelic Christine maintained that air of delicacy and talent throughout the opera, even Mephistopheles was said to have shed a tear or two behind the scenes.

Christine herself could not believe the night she had. Many times she had to place a hand over her heart to make sure she was still alive and breathing from how glorious it felt to be on stage and sing with the voice her dear Maestro crafted her with. Erik himself was in awe; gone was the young waif he found one night crying from the death of her dear papa and fabricating the Angel of Music to comfort and dry her tears. Before him sang a woman with confidence radiating from her, creating a beautiful halo of joy shining from within her. What really brought a tear to his eye was knowing that her talented voice only elevated tonight because her heart was laced in every word she sang. As he watched her bow on the stage to then presumably leave for her dressing room, Erik knew he had to tell her.

Tonight.

Heaven was real, and it was the stage, Christine was sure of it. Nothing, absolutely nothing could compare to the emotions and joy she felt tonight under the stage lights with every audience member on the edge of their seats watching, listening to her.

Especially him.

Her dear Maestro, her Erik, no more of a ghost than she and yet continued to scare and tease the managers and her fellow cast mates. The mere thought caused her to laugh at his antics. How such a refined older man like himself could partake in the childish pranks that he did always brought a smile to appear on her lips.

“What is it that makes you smile like that, Christine? Good things I hope.”

Shaken from her thoughts of her teacher, Christine looks up as she nears her dressing room to find Raoul standing outside with a bouquet in hand.

“The best of things, Raoul. Who are those for? A very happy soprano perhaps?” She teased him.

He couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh, the sound almost lost to the void from the commotion of all the workers and cast celebrating a successful opening night. Taking notice of their surroundings, the Viscount moved closer to his friend and spoke at a low volume for only her to hear.

“Mayhaps we should talk somewhere more private to better understand each other.”

At his suggestion Christine smiled and moved to open her dressing room door, only to be stopped with a gloved hand to her elbow. She looks back to Raoul who sports a questioning glance at her and the people around them.

“Is that most appropriate? I’d hate for anyone to view you as something you’re not, Christine.”

The soprano couldn’t help but smile at his sincere tone and merely replied, “It’s only you Raoul, and besides everyone knows the real dirty stuff happens in the orchestra pit,” giving him a sly smile, wiggling her eyebrows as insinuation. Her answer only made his face get redder from embarrassment, but he followed her into the room regardless.

Having sensed that her Maestro would be seeking her out soon after such a performance, she hoped that this meeting with Raoul would only last a few minutes. So when he made to take his outer coat off, Christine insisted that Madame Giry and the costumer would be seeing her soon to remove the opera’s garments, so he instead kept the heavy wool on.

“If you don’t wish to continue your career as a performer, I think the police force could use someone like you, what with your detective work of deducing that these are in fact your flowers.” Her old friend told her with an outstretched arm, offering her the mixed bouquet. Christine giggled happily and took the flowers to place in water.

“It wasn’t very hard, I was going to take them from your hands even if I had to rip them away from you.” She laughed while filling the vase with fresh water from her basin.

“Believe me Christine, you need never take anything from me with force. For you, simply ask and it is yours.” He disclosed to her truthfully.

Turning her attention away from the flowers soaking up the water, Christine sought out the playful look in Raoul’s eyes or the tilting edge in his life at those words. But none could be found.

“Christine,” he said taking long steps towards her, “woul—would you do me the honor o—of joining me tomorrow for an afternoon tea?”

She could tell from both his voice and traits, furrowed eyebrows and shakes hands, not to mention how he shifted his weight to and from when he would normally stand tall and confident that the Viscount DeChagny was anxiously awaiting her answer.

So, giving him her brightest smile to ease any nerves he has, Christine speaks with a soothing voice to further calm her friend that she indeed would like to join him for tea.

“Of course Raoul! I would love to, it would be the perfect time to catch up with my oldest friend.”

To Christine he could not have been more happy about her answer, but anyone else could plainly see that the Viscount was less than pleased with how she described him.

A friend

Although he was able to stand up tall again his brows remained furrowed at the choice of Christine’s wording. Regardless, he bid her adieu with the promise of sending a carriage to pick her up tomorrow at 11:45.

“I’ll make sure the driver knows what you look like to wait for you. Uh— until then, Christine. Remarkable performance again. Bonsoir.” With that Raoul left the leading lady’s dressing room with his head clouded by confusion, thinking his romantic advances had not caught on.

On the carriage ride back to the manor, he promised himself that midday tomorrow he will put every effort to make his affections known to his childhood sweetheart.

Without a care in the world and still on cloud nine after her performance, Christine undressed herself from the garment and re-racked it for the seamstress to retrieve later. After pulling on a dressing gown over her underthings, she sat down at her vanity to brush out her hair after being manipulated into a theatrical updo for the final act. As she hummed a simple tune whilst brushing out strand after strand, Christine Daaé had no clue that one of the wealthiest bachelors in Paris sought out her attention.

But where she was blind, Erik was not.

Having arrived early to give his star pupil an arrangement of flowers that barely compared to her own beauty, Erik immediately realized that she had not entered her dressing room alone. She had brought that boy with her, and worse, had happily accepted his bouquet with great enthusiasm. What was worse, the blunderbuss had asked to accompany him for tea tomorrow. And she accepted! Erik was glad his anger kept him immobile or else there would have been a great massacre in poor Christine’s dressing room from the sheer amount of rage boiling over in his rail thin body. Every bone was about to burst from the fire coiling its way through his veins, so angry was he that the hidden passage behind the mirror where he now stood grew too hot and bothersome to stand in. Blinded by his fury Erik did not notice that the object of his ire had slumped out of the room with disappointment , defeated by being shut out of Christine’s affections.

Now that she was alone, Erik intended to show Christine that she was more than just a student to him, how he was prepared to take her as his wife and give her a life full of joy and music, ready to bend at her every whim.

The opening of the mirror caught Christine's attention from the corner of her eye. Turning, she smiled as she watched her maestro step into the room wearing his usual black suit, minus the cape seeing as how he had been in the theater to watch her tonight. Even if his towering form should have been frightening, Christine found it comforting to always have someone easily envelope her. She recalls how fast she could hear his heart beat when she caught him by surprise and hugged him for the first time; her head barely grazing his chin but he rested hit on her crown for a few precious moments Christine swore she could live in his arms forever.

Although, she’ll have to do something about his weight. Standing at such a tall height the poor man would have to eat five times as much to even reach a healthy weight at the pace he is going now. And with his bad habit of frequently skipping meals to focus on his music, Christine is sure she could pull him away from his organ for a few minutes to eat a simple dish of her making.

Leaving her vanity to meet her maestro halfway, Christine noticed that in his hand, that remains by his side, held a bouquet of blood red roses. Abandoning any and all cheekiness that she would normally use with Raoul, she became more nervous than the young ballet rats.

“Erik, I hope you enjoyed the performance tonight. I know it's only the first of the season but I felt I did rather well.” She could not look him in the eye,so instead she focused on his recently polished shoes.

Simply like that, the meek words from the angel before him and all of the anger and fury that resided in Erik’s bones perished. How could it not? When his dear Christine looked how she did with her curls cascading down her swan-like neck, the colour of her dressing gown perfectly matching that of her eyes, not to mention how she worried her dolls hands about what he might say. And, dare he hope, the faintest warmth emitting from her cheeks? Yes, anyone with a soul as corrupted as his could rid of their anger the second they took in the scene before them.

Stirring him from his thoughts was the questioning tilt in her delicate voice. “Who are those for, might I ask?”

Realizing that she was pointing to the flowers by his side, the gears in Erik’s body and mind finally started to move again after being stopped momentarily by a foul angry rust. “My apologies my dear,” he said before stretching his hand out for the bouquet to reach inches from her, “these beauties are for only the most beautiful rose in the opera house, nay, the world.”

Taking the roses from his gloved hand, Christine brought them to her nose and inhaled the most potent and floral scent she has ever had the pleasure of smelling.

“They’re absolutely magical, Erik, thank you.” She told him with great sincerity.

Feeling a wave of confidence radiate from her words, he responded, “Only the best for the most talented young woman in France. You were radiant tonight, Christine, truly.”

Shifting her gaze from the flowers in her hand to her maestro’s eyes, Christine got lost for a few seconds in the pools of swirling amber that made her feel safe and warm.

“I suspect our lessons don’t have to be as grueling as they were before tonight. Maybe we could start again tomorrow? I hope that is not too soon.”

“I would love to, Erik. Although, it might have to wait until after I return. I’m to join Raoul tomorrow for tea at midday.”

Her simple words should have made a normal man respond in the positive, saying something along the lines of how they can schedule an early evening lesson where the hours get lost to them both, forcing Christine to stay for dinner that he could make for her before retiring to the living room and sharing more music before the warming fire.

But Erik was not a normal man.

He himself was a monster, but within him housed a greater evil that took the lives of many men, and women, before him and will continue to do so until the sun burns out.

Jealousy, that green scaled thing that sinks its teeth into the soul telling mankind everything that could be taken away from you in an instant.

Having been quiet a minute too long, Christine started to become concerned for her beloved teacher. Hoping to stir him from his unraveling thoughts, she placed a small hand on his forearm, bringing him back to the present moment.

“Erik, are you alright?”

No. No, for not even the sweet way she said his name and asked about his well being was enough to draw him back from the brink of pure rage that he currently stood on.

“The boy?” He asked in a deathly low voice, sending shivers down Christine’s back that she willed to stop.

“Raoul? Yes, we hope to rekindle our friendship after so long apart—“

“You would rather spend time with that fop than sing with me?!” He practically bellowed for it not for the partying cast members hanging around the dressing rooms causing a racket.

Amidst his anger the ferocity of his words hit Christine like a bolt of lightning, causing her to cower back from him in fear.

“What? No, Erik, you’re misunderstandi—“

“You tell me that I do not understand what that boy wants to do with you?! That he doesn’t want to take you in his arms, surrounded by his lavish manor, and claim you as his own! He will destroy you, Christine! Take you away from your music, our music!” He continued to scream like a mad man, only making things worse as he flailed his arms around to further accentuate his anger. Those emotions that he tried to keep bottled up earlier are now rearing their ugly head and making both of their lives a living hell.

“N—no he wouldn’t, he doesn’t even feel that way about me Erik.” She tried to reason with him even through her unshed tears, but there was no calming him down now that he had flung himself off the point of no return.

“Oh no? Tell me dumb girl, do you know what I see in his eyes? There’s a lust that resides there, Christine, a wanting that most any man would feel for a beauty such as yourself. He wants to lock you away, make you a wife, a mother, force child after child from you only to find his pleasure elsewhere in a young maid! Not I Christine, no not Erik! Where he would toss you the second you start to spoil, Erik would keep you happy with his music and love! Yes, love Christine, Erik loves you, the fowl creature that he is, he would love you for all of eternity! Ugly and alone, undeserving of any kindness at all, but you gave me a taste of that, Christine, and I have fallen for your charms and niceties. How poetic, the damned ugly monster in love with the angel that graced him!”

Somewhere along his rant and walking around the small quarters, Erik chanced a look at Christine, and what he saw tore him to pieces. A small, shivering figure,with a wetness covering her face, looking scared for her life that he might direct his anger towards her with his strength.

What scared him more was that he could not reassure her that she was safe from his harm.

Needing to leave before things got worse, as if they could, Erik quickly got back into the mirror and began to shut the door, refusing to look back at her fear shaken eyes so he was not tempted to try comforting her, lest he further scare the poor girl.

Before shutting the two-way mirror for what he hoped would be the last time, he looked down at the pile of roses that he bought for her and told her, “You need not hurry back tomorrow, I should think our teachings are done. But know this, Christine; I will love you for all of eternity,” his hoarse voice carried over through the chillingly silent room.

All the way down his catacombs and passageways Erik fought with himself that she did not need him to come back and make things right, that both of them needed space to clear his head and not harm her more than he already has.

Thankfully he reached the lake, longer than usual, but rowed across the waters and to his house. After opening the door he was welcomed with the usual silence that permeated the air, dank from how deep his house was and its proximity to the lake.

Stripping himself of his coat, Erik meangerd over to his organ and plopped down onto the velvet bench. Everything had gone so terribly, horribly wrong. All of the plans he had made to show Christine how much he cares and appreciates her, out the window. Well, at least he had told her he loved her. Yes, but only after comparing himself to that idiot boy who thinks his romantic affections went unnoticed, saying how he would take all music away from the poor girl's life. And while he didn’t believe that the fool would be stupid enough to cheat on Christine with some poorly house maid, he did believe that her life would have been obsolete of any public singing besides the odd house party. What really frightened the ghost was the very real possibility that the Viscount would take exponential care of his childhood sweetheart, catering for her every need, giving up things he loved just to make her happy in her gilded cage. If she married him and was the happiest she could ever be, what hope was there for Erik to steal her back to the opera house where she belongs.

That scaled green monster was once again nudging Erik to push his emotions to their limits, coming with vile scenes of the young couple and their happy marriage. For not the first time this evening, Erik saw red. Only this time, in his own devilish domain, he could create or destroy whatever he saw fit when the matter arose. Unfortunately for the world, there will be no telling of the scores and music that the Opera Ghost would have been composer of, for every image that his mind imagined of his angel giving her soul away to that damned boy he ruined his life’s most worked on projects.

As Christine walked down the aisle in her pristine, white gown to meet her beloved at the altar; Erik spilled ink and tore up his compositions, effectively rendering them useless. When they shared a happy first kiss after the minister pronounced them husband and wife; Erik smashed his organ with the velvet-tufted bench, bits and pieces flying everywhere. The party they threw to welcome the happy couple’s first child; Erik ripped and burned the various paintings and sculptures he made for his opera and Christine herself. But, as he watched a painting of his dearest, that he found too shoddy to gift her with, something changed in Erik.

He was yet again reminded of how he had scared and threatened her so, terrifying her to the point of tears running down her face, tears which he doubted she knew were freely falling.

It was with that horrifying image that Erik once again went from a raging, destroying mad man ruining everything he touched, into a sobbing mess. He cried out for Christine, begging for her forgiveness, hoping beyond all doubt that she would hear him and bring her light with her. He stumbled from his massacre of destruction, evidently throwing his mask behind, as he made his way to his room.

The room, which shouldn’t even be allowed to have such a name, consisted of only dark stone, a few candelabras, an old worn out Persian rug, and atop it, his coffin. The very same coffin that Christine demanded he get rid of once he disclosed to her that he sleeps there, feeling he deserves the feeling of the cold wood and no comfort, nothing else suited the world’s living corpse. Now, after all that he has done, all the harm he has caused and irrevocable damage done to his relationship, the purest to ever exist, he truly does deserve to succumb to the ghastly bed.

Taking the heavy lid, Erik slid it over just enough to crawl inside, and shut out all light from his eyes; undeserving of the heat and warmth they provide. Where he would usually count the lines in the wood grain, tonight he merely wallowed in pity for what could have been between his decrepit form, and the angel that he dared to love.

Unfortunately for Erik, tonight of all nights would have been the one for him to stay up all night, sitting at his organ and playing his music to ease the pain of a broken heart. But because he chose the comfort of a coffin, fit for the only purpose of serving as someone’s final resting place, his macabre lifestyle has finally caught up to him.

As many scientists would speak of years later, this night had reached record low for the city of Paris. Evidently if the Opera Ghost had stayed up late into the night he would have noticed the deathly chill had caused a light sheet of ice to form over his beloved lake. The temperature even caused candles that resided five cellars beneath the Opera Populaire, to harden so much that lighting them seemed futile. His warm fire that blazed while he was raging, simmered out whilst the poor ghoul slept, until that too ceased.

His grizzly end was described by some to be justified, a corpse deserves to live and die in a coffin found deep underground. Others, far more sympathetic, would continue to believe and tell their children of the Opera Ghost and his story of how he considered himself a monster due to his looks, how he fell in love with the only angel to grace the stage, and met his untimely end when she rejected him.

Regardless if you believe he died of a broken heart or hypothermia one thing remains true and will stand the test of time; the man died alone.

#phantom of the opera #christine daae #raoul de chagny #erik destler #musical fanfic #halloween #erik x christine #inktober #fanfic #fictober23 #andrew lloyd webber #death mention tw

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