#the phantom of the opera rp

[aurelio-the-propmaster]

he watches

@erikaskblog

Aurelio doesn't notice Erik watching him, and continues going about helping La Sorelli with the doll and lemur situation.

[doeoftheopera]

"Ah, my! I believe we've met before.. Though, we were not properly introduced." He straightens the lapel of his jacket and extends his hand for shaking, then retracts it and quickly bows instead.

"Julien de Auclair." He grins, eyes crinkling on the edges, "And you, miss?"

Idony puts on a smile that she hopes comes across as friendly, extending her hand. When she realizes the gesture isn't going to be returned, she pulls her hand back awkwardly, reaching to fidget mindlessly with her locket necklace.

"Idony Petrikov. It's a pleasure to meet you, Monsieur." She mimics his gesture, bowing politely.

"You are one of the painters here, yes?"

[dasilvaaaaa]

looking for writing partners!

hello! I'm kay, 19f, and i'm putting this post out there because i'm looking for writing partners (18+), as the title states:) i've been on a bit of a break from writing following things that went on in my personal life, but am now very eager to get back into roleplaying and writing!

i've got a docs linked on my pinned post which details things like my writing styles, what fandoms and characters I enjoy writing, etc.! in short, i'm very open-minded aha. i enjoy both roleplays set in fandoms (such as the hunger games, the last of us, etc.) as well as original settings with original characters. at the moment i'm still very much in my thg/tbosas phase and would love to write something within that.

as stated though, i'm very open to all sorts of ideas and suggestions, so please feel free to reach out if you're interested and hopefully we can cook something up! thank you for reading:)

[findyourrp]

🏹 25+. TUMBLR ONLY lit writer looking for some more active mutuals to write general and mxf romantic relationship (ask me about my wanted ships) plots with; 25+, semi lit to lit preferred. I write Katniss Everdeen into other fandoms, so I am NOT looking for any Hunger Games muses unless those muses are written into any of the following fandoms as well:

Marvel Cinematic Universe The Amazing Spider-Man (Webbverse) The Hardy Boys/Nancy Drew Mysteries (or the Nancy Drew PC Games) DCEU DC's Stargirl Top Gun: Maverick J.M. Barrie's Peter Pan The Last of the Mohicans TURИ: Washington's Spies The Chronicles of Narnia Broadway's Newsies Singin' In The Rain Ghostbusters I/Ghostbusters II Riverdance (or Irish mythology) Night At The Museum Galaxy Quest

I am also looking for mutuals to write muses opposite Katniss with the plot lines from the following fandoms where our respective muses will take the place of two of the canon main characters:

Ghost The Bodyguard Twister The Addams Family The Phantom of the Opera Cinderella Beauty and the Beast Les Miserables The Secret Garden

.

[twistedcveryway]

{ I.....

am tentatively considering coming back to writing, likely only this muse...

what is the poto rp scene like these days? 

for that matter, what is the rpc as a whole like these days? I’ve been gone so long }

[findroleplay]

I’m 23F, you absolutely must be 18+. Now that that’s out of the way…

Hello, there! I’m seeking a long-term partner for a specific fandom (or phandom, in this case-) and I’m looking to play a specific character. I’ve been writing Christine Daaé from The Phantom of the Opera on and off for a couple of years now, and I’m hoping to find someone to write the basement dweller Phantom himself for my portrayal. I love their relationship, and mainly I just want to center a thread (or possibly multiple, if my partner likes multiple threads!) around what could have possibly happened, had circumstances been kinder in canon to Erik and Christine. Alternatively, we can pick up towards the end of canon and go from there! I’m also open to different verses and storylines and ‘what if’s, so long as the characters stay the same. Some darker and toxic themes are welcomed, as there’s canonical murder after all… I would like to collaborate on a plot together we both enjoy.

Preferably my partner knows the story and characters, and has at least read or watched one adaption. I would like you to be familiar with it, as too many people have tried to get into it specifically for a roleplay and it has never worked out. I myself lean to the book and to the Webber musical for inspiration. I want to center around romance and (what could be considered unconventional, but still) slice-of-life play in the nineteenth century in Paris. Smut totally optional, I’m not explicitly seeking it but it’s always a nice bonus. Mainly I just want them to be happy for once. (Or not… angst is always an option!)

That all being said, I’m a relaxed partner. I can write extremely long replies (ones that require Discord Nitro to send in one piece-) and I can also do shorter stuff. I only write in the third person. I do not use asterisks. I’m an English major, but I’m not exceptionally picky about the occasional typo. Post sizes fluctuate and change based upon what happens, but I would like a partner who gives enough detail to chew on. When talking OOC, I usually type in all lower case, and sometimes it gets messy. Don’t judge me based on that, it’s a bad idea. I’m just here to chill and write. I would prefer to write on Discord! 

I tend to fixate on things easily, and I would appreciate it if the enthusiasm was reciprocated (at least a little…).

If you’re interested at all, feel free to like this post and I will reach out to you! I’m looking for lax people and collaborative fun. That’s all ♡

-

[operas-phantom]

We’re.. multiplying..

[n1ght0f-nyx]

The Face I Cherish

erik destler x reader

i lost the request by my own stupidity but the basic plot was that one part in the phantom of the opera books, where erik reveals his face to Christine (in this fic, reader) he says something along the lines of 'im a handsome man, arent i", in this version, reader shows him love instead of hatred

tags/warnings- slowish burn, tender angsty fluff

word count- 672 words divider by- floriseu

Erik stood before me, the darkness of the candlelit room casting long, jagged shadows on the stone walls. His breath was ragged, as if he had fought to reveal his face, a battle within himself against a lifetime of torment and disgust. Slowly, with shaking hands, he reached up and tore the mask from his face.

His disfigurement was exposed—half of his face twisted and scarred, the flesh marred by a cruel fate. The other half, though, was breathtakingly beautiful: sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw, and piercing eyes that flickered with an intensity I had never seen before. He glared at me, challenging me, waiting for my inevitable recoil.

“You see?” His voice wavered, a mixture of bitterness and vulnerability. “Look upon me and behold the monster I truly am.”

I didn’t move. I couldn’t. My heart ached for him, for the man who had spent his life hiding behind shadows and masks. His expression darkened as he mistook my silence for disgust.

“I’m a handsome man, aren’t I?” he sneered, his voice dripping with sarcasm, mocking his own reflection. He was daring me to lie, to pretend, to do anything but look at him for who he was.

But I didn’t see the hideousness he expected me to recoil from. Instead, I saw the years of loneliness, the pain etched into every scar, and the desperation for love in his eyes. Without thinking, I took a step forward, my hands trembling but not from fear. His sharp inhale was audible, but I ignored it. I reached out, my fingers gently cupping his face—both the unmarred side and the scarred side, treating them both with the same tenderness.

“Yes, you are,” I whispered softly, my thumbs brushing over the rough patches of skin, feeling the warmth beneath them.

Erik froze. His whole body went rigid, as if my touch was something foreign, something he didn’t know how to comprehend. His wide eyes met mine, searching for some hint of cruelty or pity, but there was none.

“You are beautiful, Erik,” I continued, leaning closer. “Not because of this—” I gently touched the scarred side of his face, “—or this—” I moved to trace the smooth lines of the other side. “But because of who you are.”

His lips parted, a sharp intake of breath that he seemed to choke on. His hands hovered in the air, unsure whether to push me away or pull me closer.

Before he could decide, I leaned in, pressing my lips to his forehead, just between the ridges of his scar. His skin was warm under my lips, and I could feel him trembling beneath my touch.

I moved to kiss the side of his face, planting soft, lingering kisses along the jagged lines of his scars, treating them with the same reverence I gave to the unmarred parts of him. “You are beautiful, Erik,” I repeated, the words punctuated with each gentle kiss.

Erik’s breath hitched. He stood still, as if he didn’t know how to react, as if my affection was something he had never imagined could be real. Slowly, tentatively, his hands found my wrists, holding me as though I might vanish if he let go.

“You don’t have to hide from me,” I murmured, my lips moving to his cheek, then the corner of his mouth. “You never had to.”

His grip on my wrists tightened, and for a moment, I thought he might pull away, retreat back into the shadows of his mind. But instead, he leaned into my touch, a soft, broken sound escaping him—a sound that was almost like a sob.

“You don’t understand…” he whispered hoarsely, his voice cracking. “I am a monster.”

“No,” I said firmly, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. “You are a man, Erik. A man who deserves to be loved.”

For a moment, his eyes searched mine, filled with disbelief, vulnerability, and something that looked like hope—a hope he had long buried. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against mine. His hands slid down to my waist, holding me as though I were his lifeline.

“I don’t know how…” he whispered, his voice trembling, “to accept that.”

“You don’t have to know right now,” I replied softly, brushing my lips over his in the lightest of kisses. “Just know that it’s true.”

For the first time since he revealed his face to me, Erik didn’t try to hide. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he held me tighter, his scarred face pressed against mine, as if in that moment, he finally believed that he was worthy of love.

[aurelio-the-propmaster]

his raven jumps on his head

Aurelio groans quietly, and reaches up to carefully grab the bird and set it on his desk.

"My head is not a perch." Aurelio lightly scolds it, before continuing to work on props.

[doeoftheopera]

Hello! :)

I don’t believe that @creez-un-compte has been here yet, so here’s the general advice:

1) if someone asks to shake you, say no.

2) If someone asks to test your intelligence , say no.

3) If someone asks to see your ankles, just run.

~ @sweetest-soprano

Idony tilts her head, her expression contorting into a look of confusion.

"I will keep that in mind then, thank you!" She dips her head appreciatively.

"Although, I have done a fine job thus far of abiding by said advice, if I may say so myself." She grins, her tone playful as she brings her shoulders up in a shrug.

[not-the-phantom-of-the-opera]

You?

Delete this images of Erik at once.

[ablatheringblatherskite]

POTO RP BLOGS!

So there is this really fun little community of POTO RP blogs here on tumblr that I think the phandom should know about! Because they thrive on interactions. They're all a lot of fun and have a lot of fun roleplaying and interacting (I should know, I'm one of them!). I also think that it's nice to support these parts of the fandom. So I thought I'd make a little post dedicated to them!

Go ahead and harass send asks to all of them!!

Erik: @thisloathsomegargoyle

Another Erik: @not-the-phantom-of-the-opera

Another Erik: @erikaskblog

Another Erik: @operas-phantom

Another Erik: @thephantomofthisveryopera

Another Erik: @gentle-as-a-lamb

Cherik: @askcherik-blog

Winslow Leach: @an-american-songbird-in-paris

Christine Daaé: @lovely-lotte

Another Christine: @cchristtineeddaaee

Raoul de Chagny: @vicomte-raoul-de-chagny

André and Firmin: @memoirsofamanager

La Carlotta: @the-better-soprano

Monsieur Reyer: @godstiredestmusicmajor

Philippe de Chagny: @comte-philippe-de-chagny

La Sorelli: @la-sorellis-askblog

Francine Garnier (OC): @sweetest-soprano

Calloway Agosto (OC): @anangrytrombonist

Alexandré Garnier (OC): @valiant-violinist

Aurelio the Propmaster (OC): @aurelio-the-propmaster

Julien de Auclair (OC): @juliendeauclair

Idony Petrikov (OC): @doeoftheopera

Nour Mebarki (OC): @daydreamingofafairytale

And another RP blog that does everyone, but as a muppet!: @ask-muppet-phantom

Also, I'm sure there's more, these are just the ones I know about (if you know of any more feel free to reblog tagging them!)

[bonzlydoo]

The prompt was 'Swan'

[aurelio-the-propmaster]

"Do not. Do yourealize how expensive that damn thing is?!" Aurelio butts in, having heard the Eriks chatting in the walls from where he's at backstage.

What a nice chandelier you have there.

Would be a shame if someone

broke it

or knocked it over.

[n1ght0f-nyx]

hello! I was wondering if you’d be willing to write a Phantom of the Opera request centering around reader’s appreciation for Erik’s hands. I mean… he is a musician and can play pretty much any instrument. Not to mention, he can be so delicate in the way he touches reader while also having strangled men (which reader isnt crazy about but… one step at a time…)

How would he react to them showing him such appreciation? And would it lead to anything more…? if you do decide to do nsfw… how would he feel about reader asking him to (lightly) choke them?

feel free to make this sfw or nsfw as you're comfortable with!

Where Trust Lies

i didnt make it nsfw but it is still suggestive!! erik destler x gn reader warnings/ tags- light choking, not nswf, gn reader, i demand requests!!! word count- 1649 words

Erik’s hands were the first part of him you truly knew.

The gentle curve of his long fingers on the keys of his organ, the quiet strength they showed as he adjusted his scores, the rhythmic flex of his knuckles when frustration gnawed at him—all of it fascinated you. His hands were, in many ways, the truest representation of him: deft, expressive, and disciplined, yet trembling with the undercurrent of a deeper, more turbulent self.

You often found yourself watching them from across the dim room as Erik lost himself in music. Tonight, however, was different. Tonight, you let your admiration slip through the walls you carefully built to keep your thoughts concealed from his sharp, all-seeing eyes.

The candlelight barely reached where you sat on the edge of the divan, but it illuminated Erik clearly at his organ. His hands, ever graceful, moved like water over the keys, coaxing out a melody that was equal parts melancholy and tender. You didn’t know the piece, but you felt it—the notes wrapped around you, luring you into his world.

Your gaze lingered on the pale stretch of his fingers. They danced with precision, pressing and lifting as though the keys were extensions of himself. You’d often admired his hands in silence, but tonight, the sight pulled at something deeper within you. Those hands had given life to the beauty in the room: the music, the carefully inked compositions scattered on his desk, the delicate carvings on the furniture he’d restored.

They were hands of creation. Hands that bore the evidence of their toil, calloused but precise, and you couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to feel them against your own skin.

You barely realized you were staring until Erik stilled. The final chord hung in the air before vanishing into the heavy quiet of the underground lair. Slowly, he turned toward you, his movements deliberate, and you realized with a flash of embarrassment that he’d caught you watching.

His dark eyes narrowed, suspicion clouding them. “What is it?” he asked, his voice low and clipped. “Are you displeased with the music?”

You shook your head quickly. “No. The music is beautiful, Erik.”

He tilted his head, his disfigured lips pressing into a thin line. “Then why do you look at me as though you pity me?”

Your breath caught. “I don’t pity you,” you said softly, leaning forward. “I was admiring your hands.”

For a moment, Erik froze. His eyes flicked to his own hands as though seeing them for the first time. He flexed his fingers once, and a soft scoff escaped his throat. “My hands,” he repeated, almost mockingly. “They are as grotesque as the rest of me. What is there to admire?”

You moved before you could think better of it, slipping off the divan to kneel before him. His sharp intake of breath made you pause, but you pressed forward, gently lifting one of his hands between yours. “They’re not grotesque,” you murmured, running your fingertips over the calloused pads of his fingers. “They’re beautiful.”

Erik’s breath hitched, and you glanced up to see him staring at you, his face unreadable. You pressed on, letting your thumb brush over his knuckles. “Your hands create so much, Erik. Music that moves people, pieces that live beyond this place. Even this lair—it’s you. Everything you’ve built is because of these hands.”

His fingers twitched under your touch, and for a moment, you thought he might pull away. But he didn’t. Instead, he watched you, something like vulnerability flickering in his gaze.

“You… you think so highly of them?” he whispered, as though the words were foreign to him.

“I do,” you said, your voice steady. “I’ve always thought so. I’ve just never told you.”

He swallowed hard, his free hand gripping the edge of the organ bench. His breathing grew uneven, and you realized how much weight your words carried. Erik, who was so accustomed to rejection and fear, was staring at you as though you’d spoken something sacred.

Carefully, you placed his hand against your cheek, closing your eyes for a moment. His touch was hesitant, but warm, his thumb brushing your skin in the lightest of caresses.

“Why?” he rasped, his voice breaking. “Why would you say this?”

You opened your eyes, meeting his. “Because it’s true. And because I want you to know how much I see in you.”

Something inside him seemed to shatter at that. His hand cupped your cheek more firmly, and before you knew it, he was pulling you closer, his other hand lifting to cradle the back of your neck.

“Do you know what you do to me?” he murmured, his voice trembling. “To speak of beauty in something I’ve always loathed… You undo me.”

You barely managed to reply before he leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. His breath ghosted over your lips, his hands anchoring you to him as though you might vanish. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Erik’s forehead rested against yours, his breath shallow and uneven. His hands trembled slightly where they held you, one against your cheek and the other cradling the nape of your neck. His eyes searched yours, filled with an unspoken question, as if he were waiting for you to push him away.

But you didn’t. Instead, you reached up to trace the back of his hand, marveling at the strength beneath his pale skin. “Erik,” you whispered, your voice barely audible in the stillness.

“Yes?” His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard, his thumb brushing your jaw in an almost reverent motion.

“I want you to choke me.”

The words hung between you, heavy and electric. Erik froze, his breath catching as if you had struck him. His hand stilled against your neck, the tension in his fingers palpable.

“What… did you say?” His voice was low, laced with disbelief and something darker—a flicker of curiosity.

You shifted closer, your hands resting lightly on his chest, feeling the erratic beat of his heart beneath your palms. “I want you to choke me,” you repeated, softer but no less certain. “I trust you, Erik. Completely. I want to feel your strength—your control. I’m not afraid of you.”

Erik’s expression twisted, his lips parting as though to protest, but no words came. Instead, he stared at you, his brows furrowed, his hands twitching as though he were waging a silent war with himself.

“You… you don’t understand what you’re asking,” he finally said, his voice strained. “I could hurt you. I’ve spent my life as a monster, wielding my hands for harm, not… not this.”

“You’re not a monster,” you said firmly, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “And I trust you not to hurt me. I’m asking because I want this—not because I see you as dangerous, but because I see you as powerful.”

His breathing grew heavier, and he closed his eyes, his grip on your neck tightening just enough for you to feel the weight of his hand. When he opened his eyes again, they were filled with something raw and unguarded. “If I do this,” he said slowly, his voice shaking, “you must promise to tell me if it’s too much. I cannot bear to harm you.”

“I promise,” you said, your voice steady.

Erik let out a shuddering breath, and his fingers flexed against your skin. Slowly, he brought his other hand up to join the first, his long fingers curling gently around your throat. The pressure was light at first, almost hesitant, as though he feared breaking you.

“Like this?” he murmured, his eyes locked on yours.

You nodded, your breath hitching at the sensation. “A little more,” you whispered.

His fingers tightened incrementally, and you felt the strength in his hands, the undeniable control he held over you. The sensation was intoxicating, not because it left you breathless but because it was Erik—vulnerable, conflicted, and utterly present with you in this moment.

“You’re trembling,” you said softly, your hands moving to rest over his.

“I—” He cut himself off, his voice breaking. “I’m terrified. I don’t understand how you could want this from me.”

“Because I trust you,” you said again, your voice steady despite the weight of his hands. “Because I want you to see that you don’t have to hold yourself back with me.”

Something inside him snapped then, a low growl escaping his lips as his grip tightened just enough to make your pulse quicken. He leaned closer, his face mere inches from yours, his breath hot against your cheek.

“You undo me,” he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. “Do you know what you’re doing to me?”

Before you could answer, his lips were on yours—fierce, desperate, and unyielding. His hands remained steady on your throat, a perfect balance of control and care, grounding you in his presence. The kiss deepened, his body pressing against yours as though he couldn’t bear to leave any space between you.

When he finally pulled back, his chest heaved, his hands slipping from your throat to cradle your face. His eyes were wild, dark with desire and something deeper—a fragile kind of devotion.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

You shook your head, your lips curling into a soft smile. “No, Erik. You were perfect.”

He let out a shaky breath, his forehead falling against yours once more. “You are either the most reckless creature I’ve ever met,” he murmured, “or the only one who’s ever truly understood me.”

“Maybe I’m both,” you said, your voice light but full of affection.

Erik let out a soft, breathless laugh—rare and beautiful, like the man himself. And as his hands slid back to rest lightly on your shoulders, you knew that this moment, fragile and fierce, was just the beginning of something neither of you could put into words.

[vicomte-raoul-de-chagny]

*Kisses your forehead*

“Did I ever tell you what a lovely husband you are?” ~ Lovely-Lotte

O-oh-!

[His cheeks turn a bright pink when she does this, and his eyes light up with so much love.]

Darling!

[He grabs her around the waist and pulls her in for a deep kiss on the lips, tangling his fingers in her curls.]