#christinee!reader

[gremlinmodetweeker]

thank you for the beautiful, lovely and amazing wonder of phantom of the opera x konig <3!!!

i would love to know more, especially with phantom!konig winning and keeping sweet, songbird reader all to himself. he deserves! the love! the connection of their love song would be so sweet and pure!! <3

Okay so Phantom!König is going so hard in my head right now it's insane. I was making new AUs and the ask I got kept coming back so now it's probably gonna be a whole new story series, so keep your eyes peeled for that. I love this guy so much. He's such a dweeb.

So, he genuinely loves reader more than anyone else he's met. More than the women he met on tour in the military, more than the nurse who cared for him in the hospital, more than the girl who gave him flowers in school. He's obsessed with Songbird (name for reader) on a different level. He needs her. He can't be without her.

He is so horrified by his face, but I'm gonna be honest, for having a mild case of leprosy it's not that bad. I am down to draw some out on paper, but sadly I can't make a reference for him digitally because my school photo shop license got revoked ;-;. It hurts my soul.

But! Phantom!König is determined to win over Songbird. He will leave bouquets of roses by their door, he'll always give them bottles of water from the vending machine (gonna go into this later, but he had to learn what the heck a vending machine was just to use it), he'll go so far as to mess with the stage equipment to shine an extra light on Songbird even when they're in the back. He'll do anything to bring Songbird to center stage.

He's terrified when he sees your ex lover come back into your life. He's horrified to know that it's a man who's known as a monster in this city, and he wants so badly to steal you away to save you from him. He's going to do everything in his power to wrench you away from that vulture's talons. He won't have you stained by that filth.

He's not a good lover. He's strange, possessive, archaic. He's older than you by centuries, so his idea of a proper relationship is pretty outdated. But he also wants to be good. He knows he's a sick and twisted man, but he wants to be good for you. He wants to love you as you deserve to be loved. He doesn't want to steal you away into the darkness, he wants you on stage for everyone to hear your beautiful voice. He wants you to be loved by everyone nearly as much as he loves you. But nobody will ever love you as much as he does.

Nobody.

[gremlinmodetweeker]

PLEASE

everyone will have to hear me out on this one BUT MOOSE KONIG…. MOOSE KONIG IN RUT

[gremlinmodetweeker]

A Man Among Ruins

So do any of you guys remember this one post HERE where someone told me about phantom of the opera!König? Well it's stuck in my head now. I'm gonna be reading the books, but before I did I wanted to start out with this little drabble here to set the stage.

TW: references to König being a nazi colonel (he left the army because he was disgusted by the nazis)

Wordcount: 1.5k

Art from This Post

Story below the cut

A Man Among Ruins

In 1861, construction of an opera house began in Vienna. Over the course of many years, an elaborate building of columns, gold and marble was constructed. Stone was shipped from across the land to build up into the towering building, carved to perfection by the finest sculptors Austria could find. It took decades of work, but the Vienna State Opera opened its doors to the public.

Music echoed from the great belly of the beast across the land. Many came to take in the great and elaborate shrine of the arts, a beautiful and majestic plinth upon which life, death, romance and tragedy was acted out upon, dazzling spectators for generations to come.

Glorious, beautiful, and tragic.

During the world wars, the building was bombed by Allies, reduced to naught but rubble. There were no sculptors who came from generations of artisans, most had died in the war. There were less painters of great standing, for they had died in the war as well. All the greats of the time were lost, and the people were left to weep over what once had been.

However, in this tragedy, there came a small miracle.

A man, tarnished by war and now an outcast among his cohorts, found refuge in the basements beneath the building. Nobody saw the man slip in, nobody cared when he disappeared amongst the halls and stages of the rubble. Who could care? And why? He was a homeless man who could matter less, so why bother him when he slept among rubble and bones?

Maybe, that’s where he belonged. It certainly seemed that way, at least.

He was left to his meager kingdom, and so he relished in it. He took from the scraps left behind, fashioning himself a gentleman in costume garb. He found a great cloak, one big enough to hide even his grand size, and he managed to fashion himself a pretty mask from some remains. He then hid himself in the darkness fro years to come, only leaving at night to feast from rubbish bins and off local scraps. Occasionally, someone would find him and give him offerings, taking sympathy on his sorry state. He’d thank them in broken words, and retreat back into the darkness where no being could ever have the misfortune of laying eyes on him.

But the Vienna State Opera lived on as more than a memory. This man, no longer able to remember his name of who he was, was awoken by the sound of machines and men’s voices. He ventured forth from his lair, hiding among the ruined gardens to dare see who would trespass on his lands.

To his surprise, they were architects. They were overviewing the building, debating its demolition or its salvation. The man suspected they would disappear, but they came back. He feared they’d destroy his home, but they did nothing of the sort.

In fact, they built around him.

These practical people were stable and pragmatic, undeterred by whispered stories of giant men who lived among the ruins. Instead, they took to teasing each other as they cleared out what was lost, and rebuilt what they could. 

The man watched as his palace was built around him. Great stone columns stood tall and proud in the yard. Cherubs fluttered in pairs above doorways. The man watched the building rise around him, and though once he was afraid, now he saw himself as a king of a new land, and so he called himself as such.

He would watch from below as painters lay on their backs as they brushed billowing clouds and lush forests onto the ceilings. He saw designers bicker and argue over which curtains to hang on the main stage, hidden just out of view in the newly built seating area. He would crawl through the catwalks to follow set designers shaping the stage to their views. 

And he was proud.

He had been a soldier, a good soldier at that. He’d risen up the ranks, but when he learned of the war he was fighting, he fled. All the titles he’d earned, once glorious and beautiful, now were blemishes to his name. He would tell you he fled the world because of the blemishes that consumed his face, but this was not so. Rather, he could not live to be a part of such an evil on earth.

So, shame followed him wherever he went, a shadow of a deserter cast onto the walls behind him.

Now, he was different.

It started one day when a young actor caught sight of him on the catwalks.

He only knew she saw him because she raised her finger at him, and called out a word he’d never heard used against him before.

“A ghost!”

A ghost? Was that what he was?

He didn’t stay long enough to figure it out. Instead, he swung out of sight and back into the darkness. He worried someone might shoo him from his home like a common gutter rat, but instead, he was more welcomed than before.

“It’s a ghost,” he heard someone whisper when he crawled through the backways of the building, now perching to peer down at the backstage where the actors had huddled.

“It must be a man who was here during the bombing,” said a big, burly man with a resonating voice.

“Do you think it’s possible?” a strawberry blonde waif of a woman perched on a velvet stool before her vanity.

“I saw him with my own eyes!” the blond woman from before declared, “it’s not just possible, it’s real!”

“Do you think he means any harm?” the woman on the stool finally turned to her coworkers.

The blonde woman thought for a moment. She pressed a finger to her chin in deliberation, then said, “I think he was more afraid of me than I was of him.”

“Well, if he was afraid of you, what’s the likelihood he could do any harm?” the big man’s laughter rolled like thunder.

The man smugly thought that he could kill them all within a minute of descending down on them, but was quite content to keep such things to himself. He’d come to like these patrons of his home, considered them a sort of family by now. He was more than happy to let them stay, as long as they didn’t try to drive him out.

And they didn’t. Instead, they welcomed him in with new rumors, and to his delight, gifts. They said that if the phantom accepted your offerings, your performance would go smoothly. The man was more than glad to ensure all their performances were exemplary, so long as his stomach was full.

He didn’t take too kindly to one woman begrudgingly complaining that ‘the phantom’s going to get too heavy to sneak so silently if this keeps up’, but he still ate her offered truffles happily, and when a stagelight looked as though it might fall, he held it in place the entire evening. Only when the last guest left did he let go, where it tumbled down into a cacophonous mess. She notably left out two boxes of truffles the next time she was set to go on stage.

The man relished in his palace. He was a beloved being, a mascot for the theater. They adored him and showered him with gifts, and he took them in kind.

Of course, looking from the balconies could be lonely. He watched them perform, acting out beautiful stories of love and joy below him, and he would imagine himself as the great hero below. He envied the men, sometimes. However, he still took their gifts and watched over them. They were all part of his watch, and he’d treat each of them in kind.

When the stage was empty and nobody was around, the man would go down and onto the stage. There, he would sing to the empty chairs. His voice would project, following all the tips those singers gave each other, and he would fill the entire building with his beautiful, sonorous voice.

So there he stood on his stage, singing The Marriage of Figaro’s ‘Se voul ballare’ so brightly to an empty stadium, accompanied by a silent orchestra. He sang with all his heart, his voice carrying across the entire hall and resonating back at him. Beautiful, glorious and true. He was glad, and you could only imagine his surprise when he heard a small set of hands clapping.

His eyes snapped over to the source of the sound, and there he laid eyes upon the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen in his life. And just as soon as he was spotted, he dashed to a stage ladder, scrambled up to a series of props, and ducked behind them out of sight.

As he raced back to the basement, he could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He could hardly believe he’d let himself be seen. And for how long? He’d finished the song by the time they made their presence known. A part of him wondered what they thought of his singing. Did they like his voice? He’d trained for so long, but he’d never expected an audience. He was never quite good enough for that.

But they had clapped for him.

Warmth bloomed in his chest.

Yes, they had clapped for him, and they had done so happily.

He would need to keep watch over this new little songbird.

Konig Dump

Konig AU stories