#( your obedient servant o.g. ) asks

[delanuit]

❛ i wasn’t in love with him. ❜ ( from christine ! was lottaes before haha )

SALTBURN starters — accepting.

❝ Is that so? Forgive me for contradicting you, my dear, but that was not how it appeared. ❞ Erik's voice holds a tone of warning. His heart is wringing itself in his chest after the reunion he's just witnessed through her dressing room mirror. How he hates to be stern with her, when she is so trusting of and dependent on his tutelage. But she must learn.

❝ Were you not childhood lovers? Do not lie to your Angel, for he knows . . . he always knows. ❞

[polikszena]

Ficlet Advent Calendar - December 10

Title: Christmas spirit Fandom: The Phantom of the Opera Characters: Giles André, Richard Firmin, Reyer, Carlotta Guidicelli, The Phantom (Erik) Relationships: André/Firmin Word Count: 1069 Rating: Teen and up audiences Summary: As Christmas is getting nearer, The Phantom of the Opera decides to add his own touch to the festive decoration of the Garnier Palace. Notes: A little bit of festive crack straight out of the Paris Opera House.

December 10 - Christmas spirit

Dear Directors,

As Christmas is getting near, I have decided to collaborate in the decoration of the theatre to spread out a little Christmas cheer in the Opera Populaire. Keep them intact and nobody gets hurt. You do not want to see any alterations on the Nativity set in the hall, or do you? And, as usual, leave Box 5 empty for me.

I shall remain your obedient servant,

O.G.

Monsieur Giles André swallowed thickly as he put the letter down. What on earth did the Phantom add to the otherwise tasteful decoration inside the building? His imagination began to run wild and he envisioned cut-off body parts hanging from the pine branches and red tinsels. And how dare he threaten them again? And what did he want to do with the Nativity set? Rumours had it that a few years ago someone stole Baby Jesus and replaced him with a cabbage.

“What is this supposed to mean?” he burst out.

“Don’t worry, André, I checked it,” Monsieur Richard Firmin assured him. “I thought it was going to be something outrageous, but it’s actually some mistletoes only.”

“Mistletoes?” André raised a brow. “Why?”

“No idea,” Firmin shrugged his shoulders. “It’s still better than body parts. Or cabbages.”

“I’m not complaining, I just don’t understand. Mistletoes are not that beautiful. I think he put them up for a purpose other than decoration.”

“Perhaps he was just touched by the Christmas Spirit,” Firmin mused. “He’s human after all.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Maybe he is a Christmas Spirit himself,” the other director continued. “The Ghost of Christmas That Never Comes.”

“This is not a joke,” André warned him.

“I know. But I think mistletoes are pretty harmless.”

“Well, a few kisses cannot hurt, can they?” André said after thinking about it a little.

At that moment the door opened and Monsieur Reyer stormed into the directors’ office, followed by an enraged Carlotta Guidicelli.

“This has to stop!” the man said.

“Good morning to you, too, Monsieur Reyer,” Firmin greeted him.

“What is it that has to stop?” André wondered.

“Someone hung a mistletoe above my piano, and we cannot start rehearsing because the girls keep kissing me!” he told them, with his moustache trembling with anger under his nose. “On my cheek, of course, but still, it stops us from working!”

“You can go to the other rehearsal room,” Firmin suggested. “Nobody is using that right now.”

“Or we can take the mistletoe down,” Reyer said.

“To have a cabbage instead of Baby Jesus? Thank you, but no.”

“The mistletoes are presents of the Phantom,” André explained.

“Of course,” Carlotta snorted. “Should have known.”

“And what about you?” Firmin asked. “Does the mistletoe stop you from rehearsing a well?”

“No, and that’s the problem! Nobody wants to kiss me!”

Firmin had to press his lips together to suppress his laughter. He could understand the others not wanting to kiss their primadonna – he wouldn’t want to kiss her either, and no mistletoe could make him change his mind.

“Well, according to his letter, there are several mistletoes in the building,” André said, showing her the Phantom’s letter.

“You might get lucky under another one,” Firmin added, and now André had to struggle with laughter. “Just keep on trying.”

“The rules are whoever is standing under the mistletoe can be kissed and not has to be,” Reyer pointed out.

“But what’s the point of mistletoes if nobody wants to kiss me?” Carlotta continued.

“Perhaps they are intimidated by you, Signora,” Reyer said.

“We suggest talking to Signor Piangi about the case,” André said.

“Unless Monsieur Reyer volunteers,” Firmin added.

“My apologies, but I’d rather not,” he shook his head. “I don’t think I’m worthy.”

Nice save, Firmin thought to himself.

“Indeed, you’re not,” Carlotta said then she left the office with a huff and her head held high.

“We’ll continue in the other room, then,” Reyer said and he left as well.

“Harmless, huh?” André asked once they were alone again.

Truth to be told, The Phantom didn’t place the mistletoes just for the Opera Populaire’s delight: he put them up because he wanted to kiss somebody. Christine Daaé, the young and talented soprano. However, he wasn’t lucky. Christine either managed to avoid standing under the mistletoes, or she was always with company. The young ballerinas and the chorus girls soon realised that moving in groups could prevent the men asking them for kisses, even if they were underneath a mistletoe, so Christine was always walking around with Meg Giry or with some other girls from the choir. The Phantom didn’t give up; he continued hanging mistletoes in other places inside the building as well: such as above the door leading to the stage, or some more on the corridors (including one near the directors’ office), and he kept his eyes open.

The cast and the crew got used to the mistletoes within a few days; some of them even forgot that they were there. The Nativity set in the hall remained intact as well: no-one touched Baby Jesus or any other figurine either. One Day, when Monsieur Firmin came to work, he stopped in the corridor to take of his thick, leather gloves, when Monsieur André stepped out of the office.

“Good morning, Giles, how are you?” Firmin greeted him with a smile.

André opened his mouth to reply, but he noticed the mistletoe hanging down from the ceiling, right above his co-director’s head.

“What is it?” Firmin asked, seeing his eyes going wide.

André pointed upwards, and when Firmin saw the mistletoe, he just shrugged his shoulders.

“I don’t mind if you don’t either,” he said. He’d rather kissed André than Carlotta.

“Alright then,” the other man said.

The Phantom, who was hiding in the walls, watching the situation unfold, couldn’t believe his eyes: he had just witnessed the two directors kiss each other.

“Wow,” André mumbled when their lips parted.

“This was much better than I thought it would be,” Firmin admitted.

“Definitely,” André agreed. “Do you think we can run into each other under a different mistletoe?”

“I hope so. Just don’t tell my wife.”

“And to mine.”

They both laughed then Firmin went into the office and André headed to the rehearsal room. Hiding in the walls, the Phantom of the Opera had to admit that for this kiss only it was worth putting up those mistletoes.

Read it on AO3

[regrettablewritings]

Soulmate AU: There Is a Unique Song in Your Mind That Only You and Your Soulmate Know

The song in your head was . . . unique, to say the least. Arguably, that was the point: To have a song so distinct that there would be no bones about it this was your soulmate. But the older you got and the more thought you gave it, perhaps you were a special case. Because in spite of it being practically tattooed to your mind for as long as you could remember, you could never actually voice it, much less hum it any kind of justice.

It wasn’t that you were an incompetent singer -- after all, even the most incapable were at least able to sing just enough to find their partner. No, no, it was more like whenever you tried, no matter what you did, it just seemed. . . distorted, for lack of a better word.

Attempting to replicate it would always pose a problem because first you would need to decide what part to even focus on: The overbearing brass section; the delirious woodwinds; or the strings that sounded warped whenever they weren’t being trampled by everything else.

But if you were feeling particularly daring (or perhaps stupid), you would try with what you had decided were the singing parts. There weren’t any actual words, from what you could make out. But what you could discern were the pitches. Or rather, pitch: Rising above the cacophony, there was a high D-flat. Tainted by its surroundings, perhaps, but it was definitely there.

It was a note only a professionally-trained soprano could hit so unwaveringly. Admittedly, it might have been wishful thinking on your part to assume this meant your partner was connected to opera -- there were plenty people with symphonic pieces playing in their heads that found themselves matched with butchers, bakers, and candlestick-makers.

But even if it were, at least your ambitions had gotten you a pretty pleasant job: Not just anyone could say that they had gotten a job as a costumer at the prestigious Opera Populaire.

However, the downside to this was that not just anyone you came upon there could admit they shared your affliction of an aria.

“Is it . . . supposed to sound like that?” you would often get asked after every “performance” you gave. The answer, unfortunately, was maybe which meant you definitely weren’t meant for each other on that aspect. You tried not to feel too shocked after a while, especially as the pool of possibilities began to dry up.

Nonetheless, you stayed: After all, the pay was good and the people were, for the most part, decent.

Perhaps, you often found yourself contemplating, it’s just my lot in life be alone and go insane. For whatever this noise is to slowly drive me into the embrace of madness -- You would often pause after thinking such things, ceasing your needle as you tended to split seams or loosening beading. When have I ever spoken like that? How dreadfully dramatic! Maybe being in this place was having more of an effect on you than you’d thought . . . Or maybe you truly were losing your grip on reality.

You were humming more often, for one, and not even any of the arias from rehearsals that you constantly had to hear La Carlotta screeching. There would be many times as you worked the midnight oil where, in a moment of clarity, you would realize you had been humming your own song. You tried to consider why this was (maybe you had been singing it so often since you got here that it was becoming second nature; maybe it was to give you some sense of companionship as you tended to stay up late in the sewing room by yourself lately). But as much as you wanted to believe in the latter option, to provide yourself some romantic comfort and hope, the reality was there was also a bit of a third option: Perhaps it was a reflex to quell the increasing sensations of feeling like you were being . . . watched.

The dance choreographer’s daughter, Meg, had recently begun to whisper about the possibility of a ghost living in the walls of the opera house. You had no idea where she’d gotten that idea, nor did you want to invest any stock in it, but it was moments like tonight where you couldn’t help but wonder . . .

Against your better judgement, you paused your hemming and tempted to glance at a nearby mirror before mentally scolding yourself.

Don’t be so ridiculous! you fussed. You are not going crazy and even if you do, it’s not going to be over some ghost that isn’t even there!

And that was that.

Until one morning, that is.

Notes weren’t exactly the most practical means of communication in the opera house. The way of the little world generally boiled down to just shouting upwards (or downwards) at nearly any given location, and surely the message would get to whomever it was for. There was just something ominous about receiving a note, sparking both curiosity and anxiety.

The blood-red seal in the shape of a death’s head wasn’t doing much for your morning, either.

You glanced around the workshop: Nope, nobody was here this early. You tried listening for any breathing heavied by anticipation amongst the piles of petticoats in need of washing or the mannequins sporting half-finished gowns. Nothing. If this was a prank, whoever was pulling it was either really good at hiding or was perhaps missing the point of sticking around to watch the victim’s reaction.

But, as you so often found yourself doing whenever in this room, you went against your better judgement: Gingerly, you peeled away at the parchment’s lips before retrieving the letter from within . . . and couldn’t help but furrow your brows.

You read it again. A third time. A fourth. But the black script remained in the same strange message:

Dear (M./Mlle. L/N),

I extend to you my fondest of greetings, as well as my firmest of apologies for my belated welcoming of you to my opera. I can assure you I shall not fail to be attentive to you again. On that note, it has not gone unnoticed that you have a melody you struggle with conquering.

It is a fragile piece. One that, in the wrong hands, could fall sour and lay defiled. I write this to offer you my services. I believe I can help you. All I ask of you is your dedication. Then and only then will you and your song be brought to your true potential.

I await your response with anticipation.

Your Ever-Obedient Servant, O.G.

You blinked and flipped the paper over, but nothing more remained to be seen. What you saw was all you had, but what exactly even was that? You looked at the signature once more.

Who the hell was O.G.?!

Truly, if this was a prank, what sort of purpose did it serve beyond to confuse you? You had half a mind to toss the paper in the wastepaper basket and carry on with your day . . . except for the fact that another half of your mind was . . . reluctant to say the least. You weren’t quick to call it a gut-feeling -- that was the term you’d used when deciding to use that D-flat note as a lead, and look where that got you: An opera house where nobody you knew of seemed to recognize your song.

No, a more proper term probably would have been . . . curiosity. Morbid curiosity, even. Though as you tucked the envelope and letter away into your apron pocket, you decided to correct yourself: Intrigue. Sentimentality. And, admittedly, some anticipation as to what would happen next.

You tried to continue on with your morning, deciding to use the quiet to collect yourself and to dwell on the subject for a later time. But as you positioned yourself at your table, ready to sew roses for the dress of the prima donna’s upcoming role, you couldn’t help but give yourself pause.

You could have sworn that distantly, faintly, you heard your song being sung.

It sounded . . . otherworldly . . .

[cataclysmicmystic]

Dear monsieur,

Might I ask, how would you feel about being romantically paired with Theanduil, King of Mirkwood.

Yours truly,

A writer with a certain level of personal investment in this matter.

I.....who is that? @tiny-adorable-and-hyper , do you know who this person speaks of?

Personally, yes, I do mind it, however, since this would count as another adaptation, it makes no difference to me.

I remain, your obedient servant,

-O.G

[karmaholmes221]

Vicomte de Phantom

Part 9- The Manager's Office

The love story of Raoul and Christine is timeless, how they overcame everything to be with one another, but there is much more to their story than that... there was another woman, Raoul's first wife. The first Vicomtesse de Changy. And she was just as much a part of the story as any other character.

I clutched several letters to my chest, my skirts shifting around me as I walked quickly into the manager’s office, which contained a desk and several chairs, both covered in papers. Firmin sat staring scornfully at a newspaper article. “‘Mystery after gala night,’ it says, ‘Mystery of soprano's flight!’ Mystified baffled Surete say, we are mystified we suspect foul play!" “ Firmin read out loud, lowering the paper. “Bad news on soprano scene first Carlotta, now Christine! Still, at least the seats get sold gossip's worth its weight in gold." He seemed to catch sight of me in the doorway, as he stood up and gestured me further into the room. "What a way to run a business! Spare me these unending trials! Half your cast disappears, but the crowd still cheers! Opera! To hell with Gluck and Handel, it's a scandal that'll pack 'em in the aisles!”

There was a stomping behind me and I moved away as Andre burst in, in a temper. “Damnable! Will they all walk out? This is damnable!”

Firmin moved to stand beside his colleague. “Andre, please don't shout. It's publicity! And the take is vast! Free publicity!”

Andre’s voice came out as a strangled cry. “But we have no cast.”

“But Andre, have you seen the queue?” Firmin asked calmly before spying the letters in my hand. He gave an annoyed wave of his hand and I took that as my cue to begin to read.

I quickly opened the first of the letters and began to read. "Dear Andre what a charming gala! Christine enjoyed a great success! We were hardly bereft when Carlotta left, otherwise the chorus was entrancing, but the dancing was a lamentable mess!" I glanced up at their distraught faces and opened the next letter. "Dear Firmin, just a brief reminder: my salary has not been paid. Send it care of the ghost, by return of post. P.T.O.: No-one likes a debtor, so it's better if my orders are obeyed!" I read aloud.

The managers shared a look. “Who would have the gall to send this? Someone with a puerile brain”

Firmin took both of the letters from me and examined them. “These are both signed "O.G.". “

“Who the hell is he?” Andre snapped.

A look of realization overcame both of them. “Opera ghost!”

“It's really not amusing!” Firmin said, unamused.

“He's abusing our position!” Andre snapped

“In addition he wants money!”

Their voices merged together as they continued to speak. “He's a funny sort of spectre to expect a large retainer! Nothing plainer, he is clearly quite insane!”

I jerked around as my husband stalked into the building, turning to face the managers, one of Erik’s notes in his hand. “Where is she?”

“You mean your wife?” Andre asked.

“I mean Miss Daae, where is she?” Raoul snapped.

Firmin gave him an exasperated look. “Well, how should we know?”

”I want an answer. I take it that you sent me this note?” Raoul accused, holding up the envelope.

“What's all this nonsense?” Firmin questioned.

“Of course not!” Andre ordered and Firmin quickly jumped in as well.

“Don't look at us!”

“She's not with you, then?” Raoul asked almost surprised.

“Of course not!” Firmin said, repeating what his partner had just said.

“We're in the dark. “ Andre assured.

“Monsieur, don't argue, isn't this the letter you wrote?” Raoul snapped holding up Erik’s letter.

“And what is it, that we're meant to have wrote?” Firmin questioned hotly before realizing his mistake. “Written!”

Raoul held out the letter and I lunged forward, snatching it from him, rolling my eyes at the surprised look on his face as I ripped open the letter and began to read aloud. "Do not fear for Miss Daae. The Angel of Music has her under his wing. Make no attempt to see her again."

“If you didn't write it, who did?” Raoul asked the mystified managers as I tried desperately to find my voice to ask about what Erik meant by see her again.

The doors were thrown open and Carlotta burst in. She carried a letter as well and look no more cheered about it than the others were. “Where is he?” She snapped as the managers rushed to meet her.

“Ah, welcome back!” Andre began before Carlotta cut him off.

“Your precious patron, where is he?”

“What is it now?” Raoul inquired, unimpressed.

Carlotta’s eyes fixed on Raoul and a murderous look crossed her face. “I have your letter; a letter which I rather resent!”

Firmin turned to Raoul and asked quietly “And did you send it?"

Raoul glared. “Of course not!”

“As if he would!” Andre sassed.

Carlotta narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “You didn't send it?"

“Of course not!” Raoul repeated.

“What's going on?” Firmin questioned, tired of being ignored.

“You dare to tell me, that this is not the letter you sent?!” Carlotta sneered waving the letter around and I stepped forward to take it from her.

“And what is it that I'm meant to have sent?” Raoul snapped looking to me as I quickly pulled the letter from the envelope and read it.

"Your days at the Opera Populaire are numbered. Christine Daae will be singing on your behalf tonight. Be prepared for a great misfortune, should you attempt to take her place." I looked up from the card to glance at the managers, who were obviously beginning to tire of the intrigue.

They moved forward and each of them took one of Carlotta’s arms their voices joining to become one. “Far too many notes for my taste and most of them about Christine! All we've heard since we came is Miss Daae's name.“

Out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of Madame Giry and Meg and moved to stand beside them, already well aware of their message. They were here to give the news of Christine’s reappearance. Giry silently handed me yet another letter. “Miss Daae has returned.” the managers turned sharply to face her.

“I trust her midnight oil is well and truly burned.” Firmin stated drily.

“Where precisely is she now?” Andre questioned.

“I thought it best that she went home.” Giry said simply and Meg stepped forward.

“She needed rest.”

Raoul moved forward. “May I see her?”

“No, monsieur, she will see no-one.” Giry said, glancing between me and Raoul.

“Will she sing? Will she sing?” Carlotta snapped, angrily.

“Here, I have a note.” I said and Carlotta lunged toward me.

“Let me see it!” She shrieked and Raoul threw an arm out, keeping her from crashing into me.

“Please!” Firmin snapped, gesturing for me to read.

I glanced around and cleared my throat. "Gentlemen, I have now sent you several notes of the most amiable nature, detailing how my theatre is to be run. You have not followed my instructions, I shall give you one last chance. Christine Daae has returned to you and I am anxious her career should progress in the new production of "Il Muto". You will therefore cast Carlotta as the Pageboy and put Miss Daae in the role of Countess. The role which Miss Daae plays calls for charm and appeal. The role of the Pageboy is silent which makes my casting, in a word, ideal. I shall watch the performance from my normal seat in Box Five, which will be kept empty for me. Should these commands be ignored, a disaster beyond your imagination will occur. I remain, Gentlemen, Your obedient servant, O.G."

“Christine!” Carlotta screeched, outraged.

“Whatever next?” Andre snapped

“It's all a ploy to help Christine!” Carlotta continued.

“This is insane.” Firmin exclaimed.

Carlotta quickly shouted out. “I know who sent this;” she jabbed an accusing finger at my husband. “The Vicomte; her lover!” I turned to face Raoul, wondering deep down if this was true.

Raoul wrapped an arm around my waist. “Indeed?” Raoul said, irony dripping in his voice before turning his attention to the others. “Can you believe this?”

“Signora!” Andre protested.

“O traditori!” Carlotta continued, in a fit of rage as the managers continued to try and sooth her.

“This is a joke!”

“This changes nothing!”

“O mentitori!” Carlotta screeched at them and they tried again to calm her.

“Signora!” Firmin tried.

“You are our star!” Andre followed.

“And always will be!”

“Signora.”

“The man is mad”

“We don't take orders!”

“Miss Daae will be playing the Pageboy, the silent role.” Firmin announced to everyone.

Andre, catching on joined in. “Carlotta will be playing the lead!”

Carlotta ignored them and continued with waxing melodrama that only she could accomplish. “It's useless trying to appease me! You're only saying this to please me! Signori, Š vero? Non, non, non voglio udire! Lasciatemi morire! O padre mio! Dio!”

“Who scorn his word, beware to those the angel sees, the angel knows.” I warned as Carlotta turned on the manager's again.

“You have reviled me!” she turned from them and began to make her way through the opera, the managers on her heels and the Girys, Raoul and I following after. “You have rebuked me!”

“Signora, pardon us.” The managers spoke.

“You have replaced me!” Carlotta snapped.

“Please, Signora, we beseech you.” The managers were beginning to sound desperate.

“This hour shall see your darkest fears.” I warned.

“I must see her.” Raoul and Meg said together

“Abbandonata! Deseredata! O, sventurata!” Carlotta continued.

Giry moved forward and took my am. “The angel knows, the angel hears.”

“Where did she go?” Raoul asked quietly, speaking to no one in particular.

“Abbandonata! Disgraziata!” Carlotta continued.

“Signora, sing for us! Don't be a martyr.” the managers begged.

“What new surprises lie in store?” Giry’s, Meg’s and mine voices became one as we all looked to Carlotta.

The managers approached her lovingly. “Your public needs you!” Andre said dramatically.

“We need you, too!” Firmin added.

“Would you not rather have your precious little ingenue?” Carlotta said, unassuaged, her lips curling into an unappealing sneer at the last word.

“Signora, no! The world wants you!” the two managers quickly disagreed before the two adopted their most persuasive attitudes and I rolled my eyes, disgusted by the scene in front of me. “Prima donna first lady of the stage! Your devotees are on their knees to implore you!”

“Can you bow out when they're shouting your name?” Andre questioned.

“Think of how they all adore you!” Firmin said sweetly before there voices merged again..

“Prima donna, enchant us once again!

“Think of your muse.”

“And of the queues round the theatre!”

“Can you deny us the triumph in store? Sing, prima donna, once more!”

Carlotta smiled and nodded, registering her acceptance as the managers continued to cajole her while the three of us watched.

“Christine spoke of an angel.” Raoul murmured.

“Prima donna your song shall live again!” Carlotta said to herself in triumph.

“Think of your public!” The managers said to Carlotta

“You took a snub but there's a public who needs you!” Carlotta continued.

“She has heard the voice of the angel of music.” Giry murmured to me and I knew immediately that she was talking about Christine.

“Those who hear your voice liken you to an angel!” The managers complimented.

“Think of their cry of undying support!” Carlotta sang.

”Is this her angel of music?” Raoul said and I gazed around the room, looking for some sign that Erik was listening.

Andre leaned over and whispered to Firmin. “We get our opera."

“She gets her limelight” Firmin replied in the same tone.

“Follow where the limelight leads you! You'll sing again, and to unending ovation!” Carlotta sang, caught up in the moment.

“Is this ghost an angel or a madman?” Giry asked, almost silently.

“Leading ladies are a trial!” The managers whispered.

“This miscasting will invite damnation.” I whispered to Madame Giry and she nodded.

“Tears. oaths. Lunatic demands are regular occurrences!” The two managers said with annoyance before the persuasive looks returned.

“Bliss or damnation? Which has claimed her?” Meg asked.

“Think how you'll shine in that final encore! Sing, prima donna, once more!” Carlotta said, a far away look in her eyes.

”Oh fools, to have flouted his warnings!” I snapped loudly.

“Surely he'll strike back.” Meg whispered to me.

“Surely there'll be further scenes, worse than this!” The managers said simply.

”I must see these demands are rejected!” Raoul said, a set look in his eye

“Who'd believe a diva happy to relieve a chorus girl, who's gone and slept with the patron? Raoul and the soubrette, entwined in love's duet! Although he may demur, he must have been with her!” I tried desperately to ignore the managers as they continued to talk about my husband and Christine. “You'd never get away with all this in a play, but if it's loudly sung and in a foreign tongue it's just the sort of story audiences adore, in fact a perfect opera!” Firmin and Andre said.

“His game is over!’ Raoul said confidently and I gripped his arm, trying to gain his attention.

“This is a game you cannot hope to win!” I warned, my voice growing desperate.

“And in Box Five a new game will begin.” Raoul said and my grip on his arm tightened.

“For, if his curse is on this opera…” I trailed off and Meg spoke.

“But if his curse is on this opera”

“Prima donna the world is at your feet! A nation waits, and how it hates to be cheated!” Andre and Firmin continued, in their element.

“The stress that falls upon a famous prima donna! Terrible diseases, coughs and colds and sneezes! Still, the dryest throat will reach the highest note, in search of perfect opera!” Carlotta’s voice carried, filling the room.

I glanced around me, worried about what would happen if Erik were listening. “then I fear the outcome.”

“Christine plays the Pageboy, Carlotta plays the Countess.” Raoul mumbled.

I continued as if he wasn’t there. “should you dare to” Meg’s voice overlaid mine as she joined in. “when you once again,”

Our voices all merged together. “Light up the stage with that age old rapport! Sing, prima donna, once more!”

Out of nowhere the Phantom’s voice boomed out. “So, it is to be war between us! If these demands are not met, a disaster beyond your imagination will occur!”

I felt fear grip my heart and I looked to my husband, praying that he wouldn’t be collateral damage in this war.

[flashflashitsash]

Phantom of the Opera 5

1 ... 4 / 6 coming soon

Hello everyone! Thanks for all the likes/reblogs and love you guys have sent!! Its beyond encouraging and greatly appreciated!

—

~ Present time~

Adrien hugged his coat closer to him as the wind blew into the buggy when the doors opened for his nurse to sit next to him, he glanced out the window seeing a familiar face he hadn’t seen in some time...Alya Bustier(or now known as Lahiffe). His jaw dropped for a moment, he removed his hat flashing her a soft smile.

Alya made her way to the bottom of the opera house entrance stairs, turning her gaze straight forward, locking faces with the old but wise green eyes that were in the street, she smiled back at him, it’s been quite some time since she saw him last. She watched him clear his throat, and the buggy yanked forward, leaving her there standing alone, wind blowing leafs all around. Remembering her best friend and her love story.

Adrien leaned to the side, watching Alya stare at him drive away, his mind flashing back to the time he and Alya witnessed and lived the worst, but the best time in Marinette's life.

~Past time~

M. Gabriel barges in through the front doors of the opera house going on and on about his big dilemma of his singers coming and going.

“It says “Mystery of sopranos flight, mystified, all the papers say! We are mystified, we suspect foul play” bad news on soprano scene, first Chloe now Marinette!?” He stomps up the stairs frustrated. “Still at least the seats get sold...gossip worth it’s weight in gold. “ he nods to the maids cleaning up for the show that’s to come

“What a way to run a business...spare me these unending trials. Half your cast disappears but the crowd still cheers! Opera… to hell with Gluck and Handel! Have a scandal and you’re sure to have a hit!”

M. Andre huffily walks to Gabriel holding a letter in his hand, “Damnable, will they walk out? This is damnable!” He shouts clenched fists.

Gabriel shushes Andre grabbing his shoulders “Andre please don’t shout! It’s publicity! And the take is vast..free publicity!

He stares at Gabriel stunned, “But we have no cast!!”

“Andre...have you seen the queue?” He glances down to Andres hands, groaning he says “ Ah… it seems you’ve got one too?”

He opens his letter, reading it aloud, “ Dear Andre, what a charming gala, Marinette in a word, was sublime. We were hardly bereft when Chloe left! On that note— the divas a disaster, must you cast her when she’s seasons past her prime?(in reference to Chloe)” Andre crinkles the letter in his hand as Gabriel pulls out his own letter he received.

“ Dear M. Gabriel, just a brief reminder, my salary has not been paid, send it care of the ghost, by return of post!” He flicks it with his finger “ P.T.O. no one likes a debtor, so it’s better if my orders are obeyed.” The men glance at each other baffled, together…

“Who would have the gall to send this? Someone with a puerile brain!” They shout

G: “These are both signed O.G!”

A:” Who the hell is he?”

They look to each other, realizations hitting them, “Opera Ghost!”

G: “It is nothing short of shocking..”

A: “He is mocking our position!”

G: “In addition he wants money!”

A: “What a funny apparition..”

They both groan turning the corner, “ To expect a large retainer, nothing plain-er. He is clearly quite insane!”

Adrien bursts through the door of the office where the men stand, “Where is she!?!” The blonde man shouts

Andre turns to Adrien “You mean Chloe?”

He frowns, “No! I mean Miss Dupain-Cheng!” He runs a hand through his blonde locks, “Where is she?!”

“Well how should we know?” Gabriel retorts

“I want an answer!” He almost growls, he takes a deep breath composing himself, “I take it that you sent me this note?”

Andre takes the envelope form Adrien, “What’s all this nonsense?” He skimms over the note and scoffs “Of course not!”

“Don't look at us” Gabriel says glancing over Andres shoulder at the envelope

Adrien face relaxes, going from hate to worry, “She's not with you then?”

“Of course not!! We're in the dark..” Andre exclaims

“Monsieur don't argue! Isn't this the letter you wrote!?” He points to Gabriel anger building back up

Gabriel’s takes the envelope from Andre opening it “And what is is that we're meant to have wrote?.....Written!” He grimaces at his grammatical mistake.

“Do not fear for Miss Dupain-Cheng,

The Angel of Music has her under his wing...

Make no attempt to see her again…” Gabriel pauses his eyebrow going up in confusion

“If you didn't write it then who did?” Adrien questions before the doors bust open again

“Where is he?” Chloé yells her heels clacking against the marble floors

The opera house owners grin wide, opening their arms to the drama queen, “Ah, welcome back!”

“Where is he?! Your precious patron, where is he?” She gets in their faces jabbing her finger into Andre’s chest

Adrien steps forward hoping to de-escalate the situation. “What is it now?”

Chloe whips around towards him, he takes a few steps back, as she comes closer, saying, “I have your letter...A letter that which, I rather resent!”

Gabriel’s raises an eyebrow towards Adrien, “And did you send it?” He asks him.

“Of course not!” He exclaims shocked.

Andre scoffs, “As if he would!”

Kim holds Chloe back, they both say simultaneously “You didn't send it?”

Adrien pinches the bridge of his nose “Of course not!”

Andre interjects Chloe from going after Adrien along with Kim, “If I may, what is going on?”

Chloe grumbles, “You dare to tell me

That this is not the letter you sent?!” She holds the letter out to him shaking it

He huffs going and taking the letter from her, “And what is it that I'm meant to have sent?” He glances down at the letter then begins to read it aloud, "Your days at the Opera Populaire are numbered. Marinette Dupain-Cheng will be singing on your behalf tonight. Be prepared for a great misfortune should you attempt to take her place…” he swallowed hard looking at everyone in front of him.

Andre and Gabriel glance at each other both bubbling with confusion and hate. “Far too many notes for my taste… And most of them about Marientte.

All we've heard since we came

Is Miss Dupain-Cheng’s name!!” They announce together

Madame Bustier comes in with her daughter, the doors creaking and her staff bring a hum to the room as it hits the floor. “Miss Dupain-Cheng has returned.”

Andre sighs, “No worse for wear as far as we're concerned. Where precisely is she now?”

Madame Bustier glanced to him, “I thought it best she was alone in her room.”

Alya comes over toward Adrien, “She needed rest..” she glances up at him giving him a soft smile.

He looks down at Alya, “May I see her?” He makes his way to the door, being stopped by Madame Bustiers staff.

“No Monsieur, she will see no one”

Chloe and Kim groan in unison, “Will she sing?

Will she sing?”

Bustier closes her eyes to keep from rolling them, “Here I have a note..”

All except Ayla make their way to Madame Bustier, all yelling, “Let me see it!!”

Gabriel groans, being the tallest man in the room, “Please..” , he reaches over everyone grabbing the note from Madame Bustier, reading aloud, "Gentlemen, I have now sent you several notes of the most amenable nature detailing how my Opera House is to be run.

You have ignored my orders...I shall give you one last chance

Marientte has returned to you..

And I am anxious her career should progress

In the new production of Il Muto. You will therefore cast Chloe as the page boy and put Miss Dupain-Cheng in the role of Countess.

The role which Miss Dupain-Cheng lays calls for charm and appeal…

The role of the page boy is silent which makes my casting in a word, ideal—I shall watch the performance from my normal seat, in box 5 which will be kept empty for me.

Should these commands be ignored, a disaster beyond your imagination will occur

I remain, gentlemen, your obedient servant

O.G”

Chloe and Kim’s mouth agape, “Marinette?!”

“What next?” Andre asks checking his watch

Kim rolls his eyes, “It's all a ploy to help Marinette!”

“This is insane” Gabriel sets the note down

Chloe snapped her fingers, the light bulb going off in her head, “I know who sent this! The Viscomte, her lover!”

“Indeed, can you believe this?” Adrien rolls his eyes huffing.

“Signora..” Andre begins quietly.

“O tradori!” She throws her arms up in the air, being dramatic per usual.

“This is a joke… This changes nothing!” Andre goes closer to Chloe

“O mentitori!” She lets herself collapse into a nearby chair, Kim rushing over to fan her

“Signora!” Gabriel yelps “You are our star! And always will be!” He announces

Andre slicks back his hair with his palms then straightens out his jacket, “We don't take orders!”

Gabriel nods in agreement, “Miss Dupain-Cheng will be playing the page boy...The silent role.” He says the last line sternly. “Chloe will be playing the lead.”

Chloe pouts, “It's useless trying to appease me!”

Kim turns towards the men, fanning Chloe faster, “Appease her!”

“You're only saying this to please me!” She grabs her handkerchief drying her nonexistent tears. Kim moves stray hairs from her face “Please her!” Both Chloe and Kim begin speaking at the same time, the more they plead together the faster they get what they want. “ Lasciatemi morire! O padre mio! Dio!”

Madame Bustier shakes her head, “Who scorn his word beware to those—“

Chloe cuts her off screaming, “You have reviled me!”

“—The angel sees, the angel knows..” she continues

Adrien sits rubbing his hands together, “Why did Mari fly from my arms?”

Chloe continues her fake tears chanting nonsense “You have rebuked me! You have replaced me!”

Andre and Gabriel beg her, egging on her mini drama performance, “Please Signora we beseech you!”

“This hour shall see your darkest fears..” she pulls Alya close to her as the four argue

Adrien rises from his seat in the corner going to Alya, “I must see her..” he whispered to her.

Kim gets in Andres face, “Abbandonata! Deseredata!

O, sventurata!”

“The angel sees, the angel hears..” Madame Bustier makes her way to the doorway, tapping Alya to follow her.

Adrien grabs her arm gently, “Where did she go?” He begged

Your public needs you! We need you too!” Andre begs Chloe, grabbing her hands. She moves her hands from him, “Wouldn't you rather have your precious little ingenue?”

“Signora no! The World wants you, Prima Donna first lady of the stage! Your devotees are on their knees to implore you! Can you bow out when they're shouting your name?” Andre sighs

Gabriel pushes Andre aside, sitting with Chloe, “Think of how they all adore you! Prima donna enchant us once again. Think of your muse And all your queues 'round the theatre!” He swoons as Andre rises back up going next to Kim “Can you deny us the triumph in store? Sing Prima Donna..once more!!”

Adrien makes his way to Madame Bustier, “Marinette spoke of an angel..”he begins and she shushes him.

Andre and Gabriel beg Chloe once more, “Think of your public!”

Chloe looks at them disgusted, “You took a snub, but there's a public who needs you” she mocks

Madame Bustier pulls Adrien closer to her, “She has heard the voice of the Angel of Music..”

Andre smiles helping Chloe turn back to them “Those who hear you liken you to an angel. Think of the cry of undying support—We get her Opera. She gets her limelight!”

“Follow where the limelight leads you” she smirks taking her fan from Kim. “Prima Donna your song shall never die. You'll sing again and to unending ovation” she continues to mock them as she circles around them, covering her smirk with her fan.

Gabriel lets out a shaky breath, knowing they’ve almost got her back in their clutches, “This misacating will invite damnation. Lunatic demands are regular occurrences. Think how you'll shine in that final encore! Sing Prima Donna once more!!”

Adrien looks to Madame Bustier with confusion but determination, “I must see these demands are rejected.”

Gabriel rolls his eyes at him, “Who'd believe a diva happy to relieve. A chorus girl whose gone and slept with the patron? Adrien and the soubrette, entwined in love's duet! Although he may demur, he must have been with her!”

Chloe smirks at Gabriel “Fortunata! Non ancor abbandonata!”

Andre smiles grabbing the letters throwing them in the trash, “You'd never get away with all this in a play, but if it's loudly sung and in a foreign tongue. It's just the sort of story audiences adore, in fact a perfect opera!”

Alya frowns, “For if his curse is on this Opera…”

All except Adrien, Madame Bustier And Alya, sing-

“Prima Donna the world is at your feet. A nation waits, and how it hates to be cheated!

Light Up the stage with that age-old rapport, Sing Prima Donna Once more!”

Kim, Chloe, Andre and Gabriel all exit to prepare for the show, Madame Bustier follows to prepare the dancers, “Alya! Come at once to the stage.” She nods at her daughter exiting the office.

Alya turns to Adrien as they come closer to the door, “my mother lied to Monsieur Gabreil and Andre..Marinette, she’s in my room, go quickly, they will start looking for her soon—“

“Alya!”

Adrien bites his lip as they exit the office. She turns behind her hearing her mother, “Coming!” She turns back to Adrien, she places a hand on his upper arm giving it a reassuring squeeze, “be careful, they will be looking for her soon enough to let her know chloe will be singing the lead, Good luck!” She smiles and leaves him.

He nods as she looks back at him before turning the corner. He tugs his jacket down, glancing down the corridor, before making his way to the in house, living rooms.

__

I AM SO SORRY I HAVEN'T UPDATED. I really am guys, these past few (alot) of days have been crazy! I had an issue with my college class I had to deal with right away but it's fixed now!

Luckily I only have class two days a week, but I babysit also so I hopefully will be going back to my normal update schedule by this week.

As always let me know what you think! I'll be adding my own flair for the beginning of the next chapter. I'm excited for you guys to see it!

Tags (let me know if you liked to be tagged!)

@findinglingling

@unabashedbookworm

@rubydrawsstuff

@alicedeoz

[another-chorus-girl]

“O.G’s Obedient Servants”

I as well as @phantomoftheoperea and @waiting-here-for--evermore are proud to present a Discord server for all your “Phantom of the Opera” relevent needs! 

Here you can chat via text or voice (you don’t have to use both whatever makes you comfortable), and discuss any Phantom related topics whether you love the Leroux novel, the stage show, the 2004 movie, or any other adaptations of the story. We even include Love Never Dies discussion as well! And if you want to contribute and share some of your art/fanfics or show off someone else’s lovely work feel free (giving the original artist credit of course). We also host Phantom themed streams every week on Rabb.it and watch stage show bootlegs, Phantom movies, and any announcements for streams will be posted in the server as well.

All we ask is just a follow a few instructions just before rehearsal starts rules we have in place. But as long as these are followed, be free and have fun with it! 

We’ll leave the door open for you :) ---> https://discord.gg/RutAW7q

Come join us in a strange new world Pham!

[asklefantome]

Monsieur, many thanks for reactiving your ask function. Do you think you will ever write your memoirs? Also, Mother says please can you return her set of keys? ~ Meg.

Mlle. Giry,I hope this missive finds you well. You have my gratitude for informing me that the post was not reaching its destination. My memoirs? Who the devil would read my memoirs? Chapter One: I Am Born, and the World is Very Sorry for It, Indeed.Chapter Two: Yes, I Lit This and Many Other Items AblazeChapter Three: Carnivals Are Vastly OverratedChapter Four: 1,001 Mazanderan Nights; Or, the Dangers Absolute Despotism and Opium BingesChapter Five: Why Am I Still Here?Chapter Six: Paris, Despite the Hype, Is Really Quite DreadfulChapter Seven: I Relocate to the BasementChapter Eight: She’s Just Not That Into You....Please inform your mother that she may have her keys if she returns my lasso and gunpowder. Until then, I shall remainYour obedient servant,O.G.

[guiltiest-gear]

Have you ever crashed a chandelier, Monsieur? Asking for a friend Your obedient servant -O.G

Not yet

[delanuit]

“Purge your thoughts of the life you knew before.”

a heavy sigh escapes Erik, one meant to expel pain like the smoke of the opium he used to use. he knows that Meg means well, that her words come from a place of concern. the weight of her hands on his shoulders is almost comforting, surely meant to be grounding. but he finds little reassurance in her touch. if only it were as simple as she makes it sound: to purge himself of his past, to let it wash away from him like waves, salty & clean.

but, “ it's not so simple, ” he says, leaning into her touch nonetheless. “ you know that. ”

[delanuit]

“Your hands are cold.” she grabbed them then Immediately said that, 10/10 politeness

it is a shock when her small, warm hands slip into his, gripping them with surprising strength. Erik almost pulls his own away at her complaint, but Christine makes no move to release them, despite her protest. a small, almost chagrined smile twists the corner of his already twisted lips as his hands squeeze hers in return.

“ apologies, my dear. they've always been like that. ” his hands tremble in hers, overwhelmed by the contact. “ it's why I usually wear gloves, you see. ”

[delanuit]

“I had rather hoped that you would come.” (herstoriies)

one moment, a shadow in the corner of the room. the next, the shadow condensing into a man, clothed all in black, stepping forward. Erik can't help the small smile that creeps onto his features at the knowledge that his presence was not merely expected, it was wanted. he presents the single pale rose held behind his back with a flourish and offers it to the diva.

“ you knew I would, ” he says, almost teasing. “ you sang beautifully tonight. ”

[delanuit]

🔥 🔥 gimmie TWO opinions

🔥 for an unpopular opinion

1. Kay's Phantom is literally my bible like. that's canon for me babey. when i think about Erik's backstory it's Kay all the way down — I don't agree with every single characterization or plot detail, especially towards the end, but overall it has been more formative to my muse and understanding of the character than the original novel ngl

2. i have a complicated relationship with LND, like i hate it but some of the music fucks and there are things within it that make my brain go brrrr like Meg's character arc and Erik having a son. my toxic trait is believing i can fix her

[delanuit]

"What are you looking for?" (hello!)

spring awakening sentence starters — accepting.

somewhere . . . it must be here somewhere! Erik does not look up from where he bends over his work desk, frantically shuffling papers, blueprints, manuscripts, scores. drafting pencils and dip pens alike are scattered in his search, and when a pot of ink overturns on an old design he swears loudly, lifting it from the mess. the current state of his workshop is entirely his own fault, which only serves to make him more frustrated. several days and nights he had been shut up in here, possessed by the idea of a new composition for her — he mustn't think it. it is self-indulgence merely, another dream to be brought into life and then shut away with the rest of his fantasies.

finally, he locates what his was looking for: a missing page of the score he'd been drafting. he opens the binder containing the rest of the pages and places it, almost reverently, among the others before closing them safely inside. only then does he raise his head and realize that he is not alone.

“ Meg, ” he says with a tone of surprise. “ I didn't hear you come in. what is it you need? ”

[delanuit]

“ i’m not sure i know who i’m supposed to be anymore. ”

Erik looks at the young woman through heavy, infinitely sad eyes. they are sat across from each other in the small parlor of the little house, a fire crackling in the hearth. its warmth hardly reaches him; he feels he his beyond such comforts now. his cheeks are sunken and hollow beneath the mask, eyes more shadowed than they'd ever been. one hand absently swirls a glass of brandy, but he does not drink, merely averts his gaze back to the fire. finally, he lifts his glass in acknowledgement.

“ nor do I, madame. nor do I . . . ”

[delanuit]

“A ghost who bleeds is less dangerous!” // raoul no ( also hello ! )

Erik's lips draw back to reveal the teeth of a lynx, a mad grin pulling the thin skin of his face taut. he laughs, and it is a terrible sound; beautiful in tone but hollow, devoid of mirth, a jackal's call. the young vicomte truly is all beauty and no brain if he thought it wise to challenge him.

“ and are you so sure you could draw my blood, monsieur? few men have ever had the pleasure, I can assure you. and those who have did not live to tell of it. ”