#daroga/raoul

[royalavera]

I'll be uploading all my drawings in full res in my patreon, they'll be all available for free, for personal use, so leave a tip if you want to help me create more free content.

[hop3isaprison]

guys and rats

[thedrawingduke]

The old posts are reminding me how big ur brain is, so I made a meme about it (not actually trying to knock anyone's ships, it's all in good fun)

Love our beeg phantom man and his two little mice

The only flaw in this otherwise brilliant plan is how does the Daroga factor into this equation?

[hostess-of-horror]

Source: Pinterest

[unamazing-sheep21]

The Daroga is actually an extremely important character to the themes of Phantom of the Opera

Many people might not know this but living as a Muslim/brown person in the west ( especially France… see: burqab ban, burkini ban, hijab ban, etc) is extremely difficult for some. Not to mention in a world post 9/11. Not to mention ( probably) in the 1890’s like in Phantom of the Opera where orientalist art and inaccurate and often dehumanising portrayals of the Middle East and it’s people ( muslims, arabs, Persians etc) were common and were used to justify colonialism.

In classic literature there’s only like, ONE character who is brown and is treated like an actual human being by the narrative and is presented as a central cast member to boot: and that’s the Daroga/ The Persian in Phantom of the Opera. And even then, every adaptation after either replaces him with a white person or has an incredibly disingenuous and inaccurate portrayal of him and his ethnicity/religion. Heck, in the Phantom Susan Kay book he’s given the surname “Khan” which isn’t even Persian it’s a PAKISTANI name.

Every other presumably brown/POC character are written animalistically and antagonistically. E.g Heathcliff from Wuthering Heights and Bertha from Jane Eyre. Bertha especially who is just used as an obstical/metaphor instead of an actual genuine character who deserves her own nuance and voice.

Now, back to the tittle, why do I think The Persian’s mere existence and especially with him being Persian/Muslim is inexplicably tied to the themes of POTO? Because he’s just like Erik and completely unlike Erik at the same time. In the book he’s constantly described as wearing as astrakhan cap/ a fez. Something quintessentially Middle Eastern and exposes him as ethnic right away to the eyes of the then European public. Both Erik and The Persian have sides of them that the society they live in at large shuns/dehumanises/condemns. For Erik it’s his face, and for The Persian it’s his culture/ religion/ race. But unlike Erik, The Persian has the choice to “ take it off” or assimilate more into society. He can, and it was better for him if he wore, a top hat but he CHOOSES to wear a fez. And he never takes it off. While he CAN and he has the chance to be more accepted in society than he already is.

But Erik can’t “take it off”, he can’t take off his face.

Though we don’t know much about the Persians’ beliefs, it’s safe to assume he was probably Muslim since Persia has been a Muslim country for a long time ( ignore the one we have now lmao). And I like to think that even in France he doesn’t give up this one part of him. He could just convert to whatever the majority religion in France was at the time and he would be more assimilated into French society, but he doesn’t . He actively chooses to keep parts of who he is even though they put him at a disadvantage. In contrast, Erik would give anything and does try everything ( even to phycotic lengths ) to be considered “ Normal” in society.

And throughout all of Erik’s efforts the only one who was ever really there for him was The Persian. But Erik dismisses him constantly.

I like to think that The Persian stayed because he understands Erik to a certain degree, and I like to think that Erik resents him because he doesn’t use every chance he gets to assimilate into society. To be considered normal. Sometimes Erik quite literally would kill for. Instead hanging onto every part that makes him who he is even when it only isolates him further.

[cowgremlin11]

lil doodle page of my raoul/daroga vision cus the ship makes me feel so many emotions but its not popular at all and it hurts

[nerdypuddincup]

“You cannot be serious Christine!” Growled the Viscount. At that moment, the charming young man that had plunged into the sea to fetch her scarf was gone. A man now stood seemingly unfamiliar to the Prima Donna. She took a step back, she felt that she was back in the lair of the Opera Ghost again. This violent and sudden mood swing that had overcome her betrothed.

It had been three months since Christine Daee had been rescued from the bowels beneath the Opera Garnier Since she had been rescued by Raoul and the mysterious Persian man. Well, in truth it was her that truly rescued them. But it mattered little. Since that time, she had felt something within her. Or perhaps a more astute observation that she did not feel something within her. There was a hollowness in her chest ever since she had left her mentor a crying mass upon the ground of his house on the lake. She was so overwhelmed at the time that these feelings had not fully registered with her. When she again breathed fresh air it all came to her, she prayed silently that these feelings would subside. Yet they would not no matter how hard she tried.

A letter had arrived for her while her fiancée was away for the day. Upon opening it, a chill ran down her spine. The parchment paper and the childlike red handwriting were dead giveaways. This message was from him, her poor Erik. It had been a letter that she had dreaded to receive for quite some time. It was the announcement that he would soon be departing from the Earthly plain. He would finally succumb to that which his visage reflected. The Phantom of the Opera was dying. The letter asked only to see her one last time. He wrote that he wished for his final moment to behold beauty. She wanted to refuse but knew that she couldn’t. Something deep within her knew she would never feel whole again if she did not properly say goodbye.

And that was how it came to be. Christine expressed her intentions upon Raoul when he returned home. She didn’t want to hide anything from him, not ever again. But when she explained she was not at all prepared for the look of disgust and anger that crossed upon his usually soft features. His nostrils flared even as he spoke. “You are to be married soon Christine, and you want to go galivanting about with that inhuman thing!” He roared.

“I am not galivanting anywhere with anyone Raoul. I simply have to do this.” Christine said, feeling rather offended at the accusation.

“Have to do this?” He parroted her. “Go see the man who murdered my brother in cold blood? The thing that locked me in a torture device and made you play some sick game so he could lie to himself and say he won you? Absolutely not!” Raoul’s fist came slamming down upon the table he stood beside. “I forbid you from seeing that beast.”

“You forbid me?” Christine now getting mad. “I am not yours to control anymore than I am his.” Christine yelled, trying her very best to hold back the tears that were threatening to come spilling out. “If you want some puppet who will do your bidding then maybe you’re not the man I thought you were.” With that, Christine turned and ran out of the room. Raoul just glared in her direction and sat down in his chair.

“Damn women.” He grumbled. Ever since the death of his brother, Raoul had taken on the responsibilities of House de Chagny. He was the last male of his bloodline who could. His older sisters already married off and his dear Phillippe now dead. He was worn out from carrying out the tasks of a count. Raoul never took much stock into his title, merely using it when it suited him. But now, with actual responsibility he would have to grow up rather fast. He snapped his fingers for a servant to fetch him some much needed wine.

Christine had managed to hail herself a carriage and bring herself back to the Opera House. Upon entering she was greeted by the managers who questioned why it was that she was here. A quick lie about leaving something behind easily brushed them off. She made her way to her dressing room where the entrance to the Phantom’s world lay for her to descend into.

She had been taught the trick to opening her mirror and with ease she slipped behind the illusion and found herself at the top of a large staircase that went down into the darkness below. By now she knew the way, she could do so blindfolded. Which would have only been slightly hampering as the void that lay before her was thick and seemingly endless. Taking a deep breath Christine was about to take a step when she felt a hand touch her shoulder. She whipped around to find a man that she recognized but did not know well.

“Ms. Daee.” The Persian said. “You have come. Good, he is expecting us.” He said, pulling a nearly identical letter to her’s from his jacket. “I do not believe we have been properly introduced…” He bowed his head. “I am Nadir Khan, an honor to finally meet you.” Christine took a deep breath and nodded. She was surprised and comforted by his presence here. It would be better if they would not be going alone. Even better was that from beneath his cape he pulled forth a lantern to light their way.

The trek down into the depths below was silent aside from the sound of their footsteps. The small boat had been left behind for them to use. A small ride across the glassy lake and they were once once more at Erik’s house upon the lake. The place where the deformed and half mad genius lay, and was dying. Nadir called out to his old friend but there was no response. Now the silence was cold and ominous. Christine could feel her heart wanting to beat out of her chest. Then she tried, she called out into the seemingly empty house. After a pause that felt like an eternity a response came. It echoed and swirled around her head. However, it was not the hauntingly beautiful tones of the voice that she had once known. Instead it was horse and strained.

“The bedroom.” The voice spoke. Nadir and Christine shared a look between the two of them and then slowly began to make their way. Behind the curtains there lay Erik, in his white coffin. He never looked more like a corpse than he did when he lay there. His chest rising and falling was the only indication that he lived at all. His yellow eyes opened and fell upon the two. Slowly and weakly he lifted himself up and was now sitting within the casket. He hadn’t even bothered to place a mask upon his horrid features.

Where once there was a yellow pigment to his thin skin like that of an Egyptian mummy, now the features were more sunken and pale. His once careful and delicate hands shook as he gripped the sides of the coffin. “I...apologize… for not greeting you...properly.” His voice came out in slow and ragged breaths. “I am...not myself.”

“Shh do not speak Erik.” Nadir said, walking to his side. “We are here now.”

“Daroga...my friend...oh what a friend I have been to you.” Erik’s eyes moved down as he shook his head. Then he turned his head. “And my...my Angel of Music…” He tried to reach a skeletal hand out to touch Christine but pulled away before touching her. To his surprise, Christine had taken it before he could recoil fully. His eyes widened and from within those deep sockets tears began to stream down. “I am so so sorry...to both of you...but to you Christine...oh the horrors I have inflicted…”

“Erik...please, there’s no need for that now.” Christine cooed. “We are here because we care. If we did not, we wouldn’t have come.”

“Care?” Erik whispered. “Never in my life have I been cared for…” His thumb gently caressed her soft and warm hand. His was deathly cold to the touch no matter how long Christine held onto it. “In my final hours...I am finally blessed.”

Nadir took a step back, allowing the two of them to speak. Christine reached her other hand out and cupped Erik’s cheek. “Oh my poor Erik, you will get through this sickness.”

“No...this is a sickness that has poisoned me from my first cry.” Erik insisted. “It finally comes to claim me now that I have known true happiness and redemption. Ironic is it not?””

“You should save your energy.”

“For what purpose? I serve none other than….other than bringing misery and misfortune to others. Like you Christine…”

“It is in the past now, I forgive you.”

“But I do not forgive myself...for the rest of my short life I never shall. I hurt and kept hurting...the one person whom I would have...burned down the world for…” A weak smile formed upon the death’s head. “I love...you...so...much...words cannot…” Before Erik could finish he began to cough rather violently. He clutched at his mouth and fell back into the casket. When his hand moved away a bloodstain was revealed upon his palm.

“I love you too Erik.” Christine whispered, a sad smile upon her beautiful face. She leaned down and just like before she planted her soft lips upon his forehead. She wanted to cry, to pull him close and embrace him. But, she knew that this could never be now. “Goodbye Erik...my Phantom. You will forever haunt my mind.”

“Then...I shall truly be immortal...I thank you for...your kindness and...and...I…” With that, Erik’s eyes closed and his chest ceased rising and falling. The Opera Ghost was dead. Christine let out a cry that echoed throughout the house. Nadir tried to console her but it did no good. She fell down to the foot of the casket and gripped tightly at her dress. It was truly over, he was gone.

“May you finally know peace my friend.” Nadir said and then recited a Persian prayer over his body.

[madreemeritus]

There isn't enough queerness in the Phantom of the Opera fandom in my opinion

I want bi/pansexual Christine. Lesbian Meg Giry. Bi/pansexual Erik. Genderqueer Erik. Christine as a trans girl. Bi/pansexual Raoul. God damn it, can we have a gay Daroga/The Persian?

Listen listen everything about Erik is genderqueer: aside from naturally not being what a 19th parisian society expects from the "male sex", he kins Death (agender), he is known as The Phantom (genderfluid? non binary?), The Siren (common associated with femininity), let's have a He/She/They Erik please.

[vinegar-rights]

trying to get better at drawing daroga. anyways here are some older doodles

[royalavera]

Get them here (I'll get them to work on Instagram in the near future too.)

Another way to access them, install the app Whatsticker, then search the code Ysunic and the you go!

This is the last post of this year so happy christmas and happy new year, see you in 2024!

[lord-phantasm]

[thedrawingduke]

I barely made it in time but UPDATE! I can’t believe I made it this far. I’ve been aching to get to Rosy Hours for so long it’s a little concerning.

Also I gave Raoul some pants.

@ thedrawingduke on Instagram + Bluesky

[doctor-octiddius]

guys i think i downloaded the wrong version of the phantom of the opera 😧😳

[aggclarke]

Erik, Persian and Raoul at the end of the book.

Reading the book you realize that the great hero was Daroga

[cowgremlin11]

shakes them around with my teeth im so unwell

[night-unfurls-its-splendour]

In Sympathy

Phantom of the Opera Fanfiction || Raoul de Chagny x The Persian

Thanks to @deeznutsthethrid for letting me use your incredible art <3

Rating: E

Chapter Word Count: 15,580

Summary: Trapped in the torture chamber, Raoul and the Persian are forced to listen to what happens between Erik and a desperate Christine in the room outside. The experience leads to a shocking and unexpected outcome.

Companion piece/sequel to What Do You Offer? by @sloanedestler which I highly encourage everyone to read before reading this, as they take place simultaneously and i refer back to it several times. You can find that here:

Basically, my piece is what Christine sees when she looks through the window, what led to it, and what happens next.

Read in Full on AO3

PREVIEW

Both Raoul de Chagny and Inspector Ledoux were sprawled on the floor of the mirrored chamber, hardly sensible of anything except relief as the blinding light suddenly disappeared, casting the two men into semi-darkness.

And yet for Raoul there was perhaps a greater torture, for there was enough sense left in his mind that he understood; the simultaneous cessation of both the blazing heat and of the monster's impatient urging in the room outside the mirror chamber wherein Raoul had been roasting alive could only mean one thing: that Christine—his poor, darling Christine—had at last succumbed to that vile monster's will.

He could not bear to think of it. What was the sense in living if he could not save his betrothed from such a terrible fate?

Raoul let out a tormented groan and Ledoux watched on in sympathy as the young Vicomte curled in on himself with the agony of his heart. He felt wretched for the brave lad, whom he had tried—alas, in vain!—to help.

The silence continued for a few moments during which the considerable heat still trapped in the room continued to smother them, radiating from the mirrors. Ledoux did not like this silence; it seemed, he thought, to bode very ill.

~~~~~