#fic: the phantom of the opera

[alicefromwhichplanet]

The Phantom of the Opera

My treat for 2024 Blitzbee Week!

Day 5: Scars

@blitzbee-week

Summary:

A little walk that turned into a chaotic role-playing of a humans’ musical, that almost caused serious consequences.

P.S. The fiction comes with two songs in “The Phantom of the Opera (original London Cast)”:

“The Music of the Night” and “The Point of No Return”

I wrote this while listening to these songs. You’re highly recommended to listen to them as you read (the later half of the story in particular). ;)

The story came from a headcanon of @xiaoddexingjiutang Thanks for your brilliant idea!

P.P.S I really love Bee learning to be the harbor of Blitzwing’s madness. And, Beeverse Blitzy is reaaaally maaad.

P.P.P.S. I actually don’t like the musical itself very much, plot-wise. However, I think the musical serves as a perfect backdrop.

[void-of-unparalled-chaos]

The Literal Phantom of the Opera (DpxDc prompt)

When Cassandra Cain first began taking ballet, her fellow dancers quickly warned her about the ghost haunting the theater.

"He likes to watch us. I see him looking down at the stage from the catwalk all the time."

"It looks like he stole one of the Phantom of the Opera masks last time a tour came through, but its been covered in stars!"

"I heard him when I was acting in Wicked. I was alone in the green room doing some last minute practice and I swear he was humming along while I was singing!"

"It was the phantom who stole my makeup from my dressing room I just know it!"

"Haley from front of house didn't believe he existed until they came backstage to grab supplies for seat repairs. I don't know what they saw, but now they refuse to go backstage."

"That ghost is evil. It pushed me down the stairs to the office and I tore my suit on the railing. Do you know how hard it is to find an all white suit on short notice? I'm lucky it didn't break my ankle!"

"We used to have balconies before the renovations. Sometimes it sounds like someone is moving inside the walls where they used to be."

"I'm not sure that the ghost is fully aware we're performers. A few years ago when Heathers was here, the actress for McNamara said that it felt like someone was hugging her after Lifeboat."

"I've seen him without the mask. His face looks like it was just... shredded. I only saw it once, but I'll never forget that face."

"I heard that he likes to mess with the equipment in the control booth."

Cass isn't sure that the ghost is real, but she is sure that the other dancers think he's real. They often gossip about the theater ghost in hushed whispers, knocking on wood at the very mention of him. Her teachers prefer not to talk about the ghost at all, but they don't deny its existence.

It's not until she is practicing alone on stage and feels eyes on her that she thinks there might be something to the ghost rumors.

[yumemi-emi]

So this is the art I mentioned in an earlier post, and the girl is my OC, Adelina

I will never not shamelessly ocxcanonpost so sorry if you followed me expecting something else :3c

( Artist is @royalavera ! ^ω^ )

[habunnn]

bingqiu but they’re in a phantom of the opera au

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[ prompt @kyannnite by for @SVSSSAction ]

[saradika-graphics]

Hi!! I'd like to request some phantom of the opera themed dividers if that's alright. Thanks for taking requests, even if you pass on this one. All your stuff is great! ✨

hi! I can give that a shot - hope you like these! 💖

[Free] Masterlist Headers & Dividers!

Please consider liking or reblogging if you use 💕

[alisscared]

I just don’t feel like people appreciate book phantom enough. Like sorry but I have a fat crush on that no nosed gaunt looking wimp that literally dies after getting a kiss on the cheek and I feel like more people should too

[its-avalon-08]

Hi hiii!! Can I request lando watching y/n perform think of me from the phantom of the opera??

my angel, my haven

(this is super different from what i usually write so im sorry if its shit)

lando's pov :

the crimson velvet curtains billowed outwards, revealing a stage bathed in the soft glow of a gaslight replica. y/n stood center stage, the spotlight catching the way her sequined gown shimmered like a thousand scattered diamonds. her back was straight, her posture radiating an ethereal confidence that sent a jolt through me. i couldn't tear my eyes away.

think of me, think of me fondly

this wasn't the first time i'd seen y/n perform. we'd been together since our karting days, but tonight, something felt different. maybe it was the grandeur of the opera house, the hushed reverence of the audience, or maybe it was just the way the stage lights painted her face in a thousand dramatic strokes. whatever it was, it took my breath away.

we never said our love was evergreen

as the opening notes of "think of me" swelled from the orchestra pit, a familiar warmth bloomed in my chest. it wasn't just the beauty of the music, though that was undeniable. it was the way y/n inhabited the song, her voice soaring through the theatre with a power and control that never ceased to amaze me. it was a voice that could shatter glass and soothe a broken heart, all in the same breath.

think of me, think of me waking, silent and resigned

as she sang, a thousand memories flickered through my mind. goofy backstage moments, stolen kisses in the pit lane, late-night talks where her dreams intertwined with mine. here she was, living out one of those dreams, and i was lucky enough to witness it. a thrill of possessiveness, quickly doused by a wave of pure pride, washed over me. how could this incredibly talented, captivating woman be mine?

recall those days, look back on all those times

her voice climbed higher, weaving a tapestry of emotions with each note. christine's longing, the phantom's obsession, it all poured out of her, raw and unfiltered. her voice sounded like a dream. the audience was enthralled, hanging onto her every word. and me? i was lost in a world of my own creation, a world where the opulent stage was replaced by a dimly lit garage, the smell of grease oil replaced by the sweet scent of her hair. in that world, it wasn't christine pining for a masked figure, it was y/n, my y/n, captivating me with her talent and her love.

but please promise me that sometimes, you will think of me

the final note faded, leaving a stunned silence in its wake. then, as if a dam had broken, the applause erupted. it was a thunderous roar that shook the very foundation of the building. a wide smile bloomed on y/n's face, as radiant as the spotlight itself. as she caught my eye and smiled i felt all the stars align. in that moment, i knew. no matter what challenges life threw our way, no matter how bright her star might shine, she would always find her way back to me. and i, the luckiest man alive, would be waiting.

🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️

thanks for reading and sending in your request! do send in more! 🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️

[yandere-writer-momo]

I need some Karou Phantom on the Opera Headcannons, he lives in my head rent-free

Yandere Baki Short Stories:

The Phantom of the Opera

Yandere Phantom Hanayama Kaoru x Christine! Fem Reader x mentioned! Raoul Katsumi Orochi

Large hands lovingly traced up and down (your name)’s figure from the other side of the mirror. A dark eye observed her ethereal form prepare for her performance in awe. His beautiful muse, the Apple of his eye… his angel.

Hanayama pressed his lips against the mirror, his eye fluttered shut in bliss. Desire had him in its clutches and he had no interest in stoking the fires that burned within him. He desired (your name). He’s been alone for so many years, rotting in this opera house and he finally has an angel of his own… and he’d be damned if he let that Count Katsumi stole her away! All he had ever asked of her was her loyalty and he knew that devilishly handsome man had entranced her. Hanayama would not let her fall under Katsumi’s spell. He would save her!

Hanayama had prepared for his arrival in his dark dwelling for months now. (Your name) would be pampered and doted on endlessly. She would never need to worry about money or food. And certainly not about him having a fickle heart. Hanayama had plenty of connections to keep her satisfied beyond human comprehension. It’s the least he could do…

Hanayama had trained (your name) for months to perfect her melodic voice. She owed him… she belonged to him! And Hanayama would not let her escape his grasp when he finally has the love he’s always wanted within reach… (your name) was his for all of eternity.

Hanayama began to sing to catch his angel’s attention. His heart swelled with pride when she immediately responded with a bright smile. There she was! His obedient song bird…

Their voices perfectly sung together in harmony, his eye never left her form as she twirled in her beautiful gown in her dressing room. Just a bit closer to the mirror… there!

Hanayama pushed the mirror open and quickly snatched up his prize. His large palm pressed firmly against her mouth as he pressed numerous kisses to the side of her face.

“Oh my darling song bird… let’s go home.” Hanayama huskily whispered in her ear. “You needn’t this life any longer… you only need me and the music.”

(Your name) was still entranced by his magical melody as he pulled her through the tunnel behind the mirror. The mirror gently clicked shut behind the duo that would never be seen again.

This Phantom would never be lonely again… they have reached past the point of no return.

[ilustrariane]

Set me free.

Let me live.

Help me hide.

Kintsugi by @soignante - Kintsugi - the art of repairing the broken with gold. Her passion was fading, her greatest talent hidden even from herself. His humanity lost, his spirit broken long ago. In the hulk of an abandoned opera house, the art of restoration begins.

---

Ive been reading my favorite Phantom of the Opera fanfics, and KINTSUGI by Soignante is definitely one of them. Its also very hard to read it cause of all of the trauma, abuse and horrible human beings in general (and its not Erik). But its also so amazingly written...Soignante is really a master in her craft. I miss her work.

If you like Phantom, i recommend it, but a lot of trigger warnings, so beware...

-

yes, i realize i like to draw my men UGLY and my monsters BEAUTIFUL. i wonder what my therapist would think of that particular piece of information LOL

LINKTREE

[yona049]

𝕻𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖔𝖒 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕺𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖆 𝖝 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗

Part 1

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

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Disclaimer!

This is a story following the events after the Phantom of the Opera (2004) and only follows the movie and not any other adaptations!

Started with this fic a few years ago and finally continued bc I couldn't find any new fic's to read! 🥺

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(For ambiance~)

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Y/n stood with her feet planted infront of the burning Palais Garnier opera house, the ashes of a once red stage curtain falling on her bare shoulders. The only bit of warmth was the costume she was wearing.

A red fire dancer, her hair still in perfect shape. Tho it seems that the other staff of the Opera house weren't as lucky.

Her home was burning down infront of her eyes, and snow did nothing but usher on the burning flames of rage.

This was the doing of one Phantom of the opera. The damned demon took it all from them, their home, their jobs and even Christine Daaé.

The lead singer and great musician that made Y/n dance like never before, Christine's sweet melody made her feet float inches from the ground as her soul danced in sync with her body.

One shiver crawled up Y/n's spine when she heard an unghastly scream. Her feet simply lept to it, only to find a man crawling out of the burning opera house.

"Monsieur!" she cried out to him.

His face seemed to have already been caught by the fire and he barely wore anything but a shirt and his trousers. Y/n fell to her knees beside his weak body.

"Don't worry, Monsieur, you are out of the fire! Please, be still! You are injured. "

She trembled watching blood force its way through the thin gaps between the snowflakes. Blood still warm enough to melt and merge with ice to water.

In a desperate attempt, Y/n pulls off the bottom part of her dancing grown and desperately looked for the point of injury when she finally found the wound on the calve on his leg.

Tieing it tightly before Y/n hoisted him up to his feet.

"Please lean on me, we need to get further from the flames!"

He didn't speak, only grunted in pain. His voice was deep, without effort as if he was willing to Perish without hesitation.

Y/n took a moment to gently touch his burnt skin on his face, he didn't seem to whine. It was as she thought, the wound was not from the fire that had engulfed many others in its treacherous flames.

She shakes herself awake and quickly focuses on the problem at hand.

"I have strength to carry you, but you'll need to carry your consciousness for a little while longer!" she shutted, her voice swelling with pity for him.

'What happened to this poor soul?' She wondered and dragged his feet though the snow.

Y/n didn't know his name, nor his origin from the opera house. Perhaps a operator for the theater special effects? Or perhaps a member of the audience, sitting among the red velvet seats and nearly getting crushed by the chandelier falling loose from its hinges.

It wasn't long after when Y/n and the other performers were taken to a nearby inn. Perhaps it was the will of a greater power that the Opera managers didn't leave them to rot on the streets. Rather to reclaim insurance funds or come around a lone?

At least, she hoped that was the case. But for the moment, she was afraid of what might happen.

The opera house had been home for the last eighteen years of Y/n's life. No, certainly more!

Her father was a dancer, and her mother's legacy had been lost among the chatter and rumors of the opera.

Y/n's father had passed when she was only ten. Now, she was eighteen years older and she promised to follow in his dancing steps to fame.

Still engulfed in her thoughts Y/n stared into the small oil lamp flames while she sat on the bed of the inn. The figure of a woman danced in the red and orange colors.

This seemed to distract her from the man waking up from his exhausted slumber behind her.

He winced with a grumble when Y/n's head turned to face him. His palm covering the burn on his face that she saw before.

"Monsieur?" she whispered in an effort not to frighten him.

His gaze slowly trailed to Y/n's worried expression, but his palm never left his face.

Y/n took this opportunity to explain their predicament.

"Please, do not be frightened. We're in an inn, the managers have sent us to wait until they can reclaim funds."

She stood up to take the bowl of water and cloth to dampen the burnt flesh on the man's face.

She knelt down beside the bed and lightly lifted the damp cloth to his face. His eyes met hers, but Y/n only stared in silence hoping he'd understand her efforts.

Tho he was hesitant, his palm lightly lifted from his face. She feared the wound was still hissing with pain. Lightly the cloth is placed onto his eye and he gave a simple sigh of relief.

Silence filled the room, it would've seemed like only the stars were their witness if it weren't for the drunken cheers from the bar below.

Finally the man took a breath and spoke.

"What of Christine Daaé? Has she been found?"

Y/n's breathing seemed to betray her when her body couldn't fathom the gentle voice the man muttered. She tried to form words, creating a stutter.

"Y-yes, it um, It seems she has been retrieved by the Viscount Raoul de Chagny. She has offered many services to those who did not escape the flames unscathed." she whispered and willed herself to not look into his captivating eyes.

He looks to the side and gives a simple smile, seeming satisfied with his thought.

As soon as his skin was dampened once more he tried to stand with a gasply hiss of pain.

"Monsieur, please be patient! Your wound is still open and fresh!"

He grits his teeth before taking his seat again but looking back at the fireplace.

The rest of the night remained quiet, like he didn't have need to ask her anymore questions.

An awkward night spent sharing a room with a stranger. He fell asleep quickly with exhaustion.

Y/n couldn't sleep. Things ended so abruptly! How could she? Her love died in the fire, her home, belongings. She had nothing to her name anymore.

Y/n quietly stood up from the bed trying to keep noises to a minimum. Avoiding the creeking floor boards and opening the window to look outside.

The smoke from the Opera house covered the sky, no moon in sight. This quiet moment with her thoughts caused her throat to close up and her eyes to push tears.

As quietly as she could, she tried crying everything out, to no avail. Morning her loss took more than just a moment of soft tears.

"I'm sorry my love, Aloïs, I couldn't save you!"

She whispered. Her lover in the theater house had been burnt in the flames because he pushed her away from falling beams.

"Aloïs?"

She gasped when the voice lurks from behind her caught her off guard. The man stood up from the bed and had walked to right behind her without her hearing him.

"Monsieur! I'm so sorry, did I wake you?"

He shakes his head before spotting Y/n's shivers. Looking back at the blanket on the bed, he grabs it with one hand and swings it across her shoulders.

A gentleman! Y/n wasn't sure many workers from the Opera were quite so kind.

"You knew my Aloïs?"

He nods before leaning on the wall next to the window.

"Indeed, he helped me with costumes, more specifically Masks." The man mumbled folding his arms across his chest.

Y/n quickly realized what he meant when the dim light shone on his burnt face. Aloïs was the lead costume designer for all actors, singers and dancers in the opera. He'd certainly be willing to help a gentleman like the man stood next to her.

With a small giggle she put her hand on his shoulder.

"Of course, Aloïs would do something like that. I'm sorry if I make you uncomfortable without a mask."

He looks at me confused almost relieved that he wasn't the one in trouble for once. That someone genuinely asked if he was uncomfortable instead of rushing him away and out of sight.

"You're apologizing? Mademoiselle-"

"Y/n, please."

He seems to smile before leaning closer and wiping a lingering tear off Y/n's cheek.

"Y/n, my name is Erik."

Small talk lasted for a few more hours until the sun started to rise.

All members of the Opera house were called to the outside of the Inn where Monsieur André and Firmin would enlighten them of the situation.

Monsieur André took the lead standing ontop of the inn balcony.

"Listen all! I'm afraid we have terrible news you will all now be let go from the Opera house!"

A sudden uproar of voices filled the street and Y/n felt my body wobble a little from shock. Erik stood beside her with his hand on the small of my back trying to stabilize her.

Monsieur Firmin then took the lead and explained:

"This was a terrible tragedy! And with the business in shambles we have no hope of reviving it, thanks to our generous sponsor, Viscount Raoul de Chagny, we will be giving out warm clothes to help with your resignation."

They both quickly scurry out of view back into the inn, likely out the back door leaving the crowd in shock and anger.

Y/n bit her lip feeling another wave of sadness overcome her. Quick breathing and a pounding heart for the unknown future that lied before her.

"Fools!" She hears Erik mumble under his breath.

"We must go quickly!" he said grabbing her hand and pulling her through the crowd to the front.

They got their clothes, thanks to Erik for getting them there early enough to take a few extra pieces of clothes.

Even with a wounded leg, Erik managed to take them to a proper alleyway to get dressed in the clothing.

He dressed first, then stood at the front of the ally to let Y/n get dressed keeping a look out.

A gentleman walked by peeping into the alleyway, but Erik growled loudly and with his burnt face scared the gentleman away.

"I'm done!"

Y/n smiled walking out with the costume she wore neatly folded in her arms.

Erik seemed to smile at her for a very small second then it quickly fell away, he brought his palm to cover his face.

"May I?"

He looked at Y/n confused until she gently took his hand and pulled it away.

"This might not be as good as Aloïs's handy work."

She looked down at her costume before quickly ripping off a piece of the skirt. She used the edges to tie it delicately around the side of his face tracing over it.

"You shouldn't have to hide! People are children! Gasping at the first strange thing they see." Y/n declared.

Erik chuckles but only for a second before going back into a smile.

"Perhaps."

He offers his arm which Y/n gladly took. They walked out into the crowded streets.

The sights were great and all the small shops and children seemed so foreign to her. In the Opera house they only had wooden or stone walls with the occasional windows high up in the building. The space of an open sky and streets going as far as the eye could see was a breath of fresh air.

A few hours later, Y/n suddenly realized that neither Erik or herself currently had a place to live, she have no living family to rely on.

Walking around the city for the first time in years distracted her from the dormant thoughts about the trouble we were in.

She looked back at Erik ready to ask him if he has a plan, but his eyes were sparkling. He was bewildered and intrigued by buildings, people, sounds and other sights. Y/n was starting to wonder if he'd ever been outside the Opera.

She felt a smile spread across her face from the warmth radiating off Erik.

"Erik, have you never-"

"Hello little mis!" a voice from behind her.

Three men quickly surrounded them and Y/n felt her body shrink into fear. Her lack of outside experience made her forget about the rats lurking around the city.

"Well, well! Give us a smile! How much?"

Y/n felt one of the bigger men behind her run his hand down her back.

She jump forward from his touch ready defend herself however, Erik pinched her arm tightly between his bicep and torso.

Y/n looked up at him and noticed the grimace clenching of his teeth.

"Now, this is unfortunate, just as I was starting to enjoy the outside." Erik fumed.

The man reaches for Y/n's behind again but this time Erik uses a closed fist to swing right into the man's nose.

He pushed Y/n off to the side, just hard enough for her to delicately hit the wall. She watched while this night old acquaintance fights off three large men with a bit of wood he swooped off the ground.

Using it to jab into the first mans forearm and then kneeing him in the groin.

Erik kicks the second man in the side, and to their luck, the third starts running. Finally all three run at the first sight of blood.

Erik breathes heavily before dropping to a knee with a loud grunt,clutching his injured leg from the fire.

"Erik!" Y/n ran to his side and wormed her arm underneath his arm and around his torso.

"We have to leave before they bring friends." Y/n stammered.

Her eyes dart around to land on a Inn with a tavern at the ground floor. The sun was setting again so soon and the candles of the tavern were lit.

She walked with Erik and quickly made their way inside to set Erik down in the corner of the tavern by a table.

"Oi!" The barkeep yells at us.

"Out!! You don't have no money!"

Looking at their clothes Y/n understood exactly how he knew we had no money to spend.

"Please! This man is injured, we need-"

He interrupts Y/n again.

"No money, no service! Out!"

Y/n bit her lip hard, thinking of anything to pay this man until she got a small shred of an idea.

"I dance!"

This makes the barkeep stop and look back at them. He leaned against the bar and waited.

Y/n realized he wanted an example before she swallowed the lump of pride in her throat.

She slowly pulled her coat off revealing a very inexpensive dress they received from the Managers.

Low cut to account for all bust sizes and too long skirt for all heights of woman in the Opera house. Throwing the coat over Erik she leaned close to his ear to whisper.

"Hold on, I'll get more help and medicine for that leg."

He groans grabbing Y/n's arm, objecting to what he knew she'd do. She felt her heart want to cry at his genuine worry for her pride. She gently lifts his hand off before turning back to the bar keep.

She looked down at her skirt before lifting it and tieing it into a knot showing just above her knees.

The musician with a pocket fiddle in the corner starts playing a rhythmic song and patrons start coming in.

Y/n puts on the best smile she could muster before starting to move her legs and hips.

Y/n felt the gazes of every drunken basted, but worst of all, she felt Erik watching her. Intrigued or Disgusted? She wasn't sure. She hoped for the latter. It was the better of the two.

Moving her hand over a rich looking patrons shoulders before spinning to the bar and smiling at another gentleman.

For what felt like forever, Y/n danced following each rhythm of each song played.

Getting a small tip from some patrons before she stopped and leaned against the bar.

Out of breath with her chest moving up and down rapidly. Another song had ended. She wasn't sure how much longer she could continue, her legs burnt from no warm up before hand like she knew she had to.

The barkeep, more likely the owner of the inn, pushed a glass of water toward her.

"Well done girl! We haven't had this many patrons in a while."

He praised but Y/n growled and reached out to him with an open palm.

"I did my part, I need payment."

The barkeep looks disgusted and Y/n was afraid for a moment he would refuse her payment. Thankfully he reached into his apron pocket and gave her a good hand full of coins.

Before she could pull her hand back he grabbed her wrist and smirked.

"Come back, with a better attitude, and you can make twice as much."

Y/n gritted her teeth looking away knowing its a large possibility she'd need to come back for more payment.

She pulled her wrist back then ran to where she'd left Erik only to spot him with an angry expression.

"Erik?"

She knew it, he was disgusted! She hesitated in front of him. He only managed to lean forward and pull the knot out of her skirt letting it cover her legs again.

He looks away but patted on the seat beside him. Y/n felt her body once again shrink in on itself as she sat beside him.

She took this opportunity to count the coins and realized they had enough to rent a room for the night and for her to go buy bandages and medicine.

Once they were in the room she felt a very strange hole in her heart, she felt like she'd betrayed him. She was sure he'd leave the next chance he got. She basically did what he'd tried to prevent in the first place.

She sat on the bed facing away while Erik used this time to wash up in the wash room and apply the medicine and bandages himself.

"Y/n."

His voice stood out from the muffled cheers downstairs.

His hand traveled to Y/n's and he sat beside her on the bed.

"I'm sorry."

Those small words made Y/n breath a sigh of relief before she felt his arms wrap her into a hug.

She'd never cried in front of anyone or at least she tried to avoid it as much she could, so how is it possible for this man to have seen her cry twice.

His chin rested on her head as she sobbed. It felt like she would never stop. Until Erik started humming. A soft but familiar tune. A song from the Opera house used in one of the famous plays.

It was beautiful, an angel of music. A voice she didn't know she longed to hear. In sleep he sang to her, and in dreams he he came.

Y/n slowly calmed her sobs before her body fell into a limp sleep and exhaustion.

Erik smiled before slowly laying her onto the bed, however she was clenched onto his shirt so tightly, Erik gave in and layed with her on the bed.

He looked at her calm face wondering how she was able to remain so strong though everything, even taking care of him aswell as herself.

Feeling his heartbeat similarly to the first time it did when he saw Christine. He placed a gentle kiss on her forehead and slowly pulled her into his chest, keeping her covered from all the worldly wrongs.

[hallahart]

here's 2000 words of self-indulgent solavellan veilguard reunion fic that is wildly noncanonical, apropos of nothing~

-

The Lighthouse, for all its depressing divorcée energy, is gorgeous—lots of magic lights, frescoes and paintings, high ceilings. Definitely nicer than the mud hovel Rook used to sleep in. But one mural (in what Rook is generously calling the living room—it has more of a tomb-like feel at the moment) is particularly eye-catching, seeing as how it’s about a story high: a woman reaching skyward, rising from the jaws of a snapping wolf with some kind of weird green geometric patterns surrounding her. 

“Who’s she?”

Rook doesn’t know Solas well enough to read him—the man is as impenetrable as Nevarran poetry—but they can hear his teeth grind from across the room. For a thousand year old god (or whatever), he sure is touchy.

“Must you pry into every nook and cranny?”

Rook ignores him, peers closer. “Oh, wait, I see it now. Green glowy hand, pointy ears. You know the Inquisitor?”

“I am surprised that Varric—“ he stops himself, starts over. “Yes. I knew her.”

He’s so obviously annoyed and uncomfortable that Rook has no choice but to wiggle their eyebrows. 

“Knew her, knew her?”

“The Inquisitor is of no concern to you.” Most people would probably backpedal when Fen’Harel looks at them like that, but Rook isn’t most people. They never really had a knack for survival instincts.

“Oh wow, you did, didn’t you?” Rook can’t quite imagine the standoffish man in front of them being romantic with anyone. He’s pretty…severe. They’re pretty sure he’s never smiled in their presence. “You know, I’ve never seen her in person, but those recruitment posters they put up back home—was she really so, you know…” Rook mimes some unlikely curves. 

Solas pinches his nose, and Rook is delighted to see a blush spread across his cheeks. “This conversation is over.”

Rook almost takes mercy on him. But apart from the sad silverware situation, this is the first glimpse of Solas they’ve gotten as a person and not some freaky wolf god with great taste in real estate. 

“So did she break up with you before or after she learned you were an evil trickster god?” They wiggle their fingers in mock menace.

Solas’ eyes flash and Rook knows they’ve gone too far. Whoops. Solas can’t kill them, not without possibly frying his own brain (or spirit, or whatever, Rook’s fuzzy on the details), but they’re sure he can make their life pretty damn unpleasant.

But all he does is sigh, the dark circles under his eyes deepening by the second, and holds up a hand. “Let us please focus on stopping the evanuris. Anything else is a…distraction.”

His voice is hoarse, and Rook immediately feels bad. Clearly this wasn't some meaningless fling (the twenty foot mural should have probably clued them in)—Solas is in it. Present tense. The sad empty rooms start to make a whole lot more sense.

You are the loneliest asshole I’ve ever met, they want to say.

“Yeah,” they say instead. “No problem. Plenty else to discuss. Ancient blighted gods freed from their eternal prisons, etcetera. Say no more.”

Rook can’t be certain, but they’re pretty sure the look on Solas’ face is grateful relief. 

What the hell happened between this guy and the Inquisitor that makes thinking about the gods that want him dead a relief?

___

Rook is lying on the couch pining over Taash and her stupid sexy crystal horn when Varric and Solas enter, already deep in furtive conversation.

The polite thing to do would be to let out a discreet cough to announce their presence. Rook burrows deeper into the pillows and holds their breath.

“Absolutely not, Varric,” Solas hisses. Sometimes he reminds Rook of a sad stray cat they used to feed. Very similar auras.

They come to a stop behind Rook’s couch. “Listen. I get it. Trust me. But if there’s anyone who can help us—“

“No. It is simply out of the question.”

“You’re going to have to face her eventually, you know.”

“There is no reason for the Inquisitor to involve herself. These are my mistakes to fix. Not hers.”

Rook can picture the pitying expression on Varric’s face. “Look around, Chuckles. Your Lighthouse isn’t empty anymore. Like it or not, you have to rely on the rest of us. And Ellana is already involved, even if you don’t want to admit it.”

“The Inquisitor is not—“

Varric scoffs in exasperation. “Took her arm off and can’t even say her name?”

Took her arm off? Whoa. Rook’s heard rumors, but…

There’s a brief pause. Rook can imagine the seething look Solas is giving Varric—it’s been pointed at them often enough. 

“Perhaps I should find a crossbow to name after her. Would that please you?”

Varric lets out a breath that’s half sigh, half chuckle. “Too soon. Way too soon.” 

Rook’s tried to pry into this whole romantic situation, of course, but Varric always deflects, saying something like Don’t even get me started or You’ll just have to pre-order my next book.

Another silence. Then Solas speaks again, his tone softening. “I have caused her enough grief.”

Varric sounds unmoved. “Yeah, by avoiding her for ten years. Has anyone ever told you that you’re impossible?”

“On occasion, yes.”

“Seriously, if you think she’s going to sit this one out now that she knows you’re here—“

Any gentleness is gone. “Excuse me?”

Varric’s nervous laugh makes Rook cringe deeper into the couch. “Yeah, about that… listen, you know it’s impossible for Sparkler to keep secrets from her. It was going to come out eventually, what with the whole ancient evil gods thing. I think she could put two and two together.”

Rook can practically feel the frost radiating from Solas’ voice. “You will tell her you were mistaken.”

“A little late for that,” Varric says sheepishly. “She’s, uh, arriving tomorrow.”

Rook winces at the slammed door that follows in the wake of this new information, and the movement is enough to give away their hiding spot. 

Varric peers down at them, his eyebrows raised. “You heard all that, huh?”

“Yeah,” Rook says, sitting up. “That was, uh…”

“Tell me about it.”Varric sighs, rubs a hand down his face. “Tomorrow is going to be a shitshow.”

___

Inquisitor Lavellan is very short in person. And she looks almost as tired as Solas. And she’s pretty–dark hair and skin, bright green eyes and a wry set to her mouth that looks out of place on the person who was supposed to be Andraste’s prophet. Rook was expecting someone a lot more dour and…Chantry-y. 

She’s also really obviously out of Fen’Harel’s league. No wonder he’s been pining for a decade.

She shakes their hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you from Varric,” she says.

“It’s an honor, your Worsh—uh, your Inquisitorial—“

“Ellana is fine,” she says—kindly, but impersonally, and Rook supposes she’s had this same interaction about ten billion times.

“Ellana, then,” Rook says, and she rewards them with a small smile.

“So you’re the one who interrupted the ritual,” she says. “With some rather interesting side effects, I hear.”

“You mean being magically linked to the grumpiest elf in Thedas? Yeah, interesting is one word for it.”

They’re arrested by the Inquisitor’s hand on their arm. “You could have been cruel to him, and few people would have blamed you. I must thank you for that.”

Her eyes are piercingly kind, and Rook suddenly understands how this woman had entire nations bowing to her will. They have no idea what to say, mouth dry.

“Still, I can’t imagine it’s been easy,” she continues, the wry smile back.

Rook shrugs, hoping their blush isn’t as red as it feels. “In terms of difficult personalities, he ranks a little below my Aunt Beryl, though Aunt Beryl couldn’t turn people to stone with—“

Then they spot Solas over the Inquisitor’s shoulder, hovering in the doorway like a ghost. He’s about as white as one, too.

“Inquisitor,” says Solas, his voice so void of emotion that it gapes like an open wound. 

Rook has a front row seat to the expression that plays across Inquisitor Lavellan’s face. Shock — she grabs the shoulder of her missing arm. Then something Rook can’t quite name—a deep well of some dark thing that makes them shiver, something they hope they never have to feel. 

And then her mouth settles into a grim line, eyes closing for a moment before she turns, back ramrod straight.  

“Solas,” she says, voice steady as she releases her shoulder. Solas’ eyes track the movement with his jaw set.

“You look well.”

It’s like he’s commenting on the weather. 

Rook, frankly, wants to throttle him. The woman you’ve painted onto every other surface of your house is right here, you idiot! Say something better than you look well! They try to communicate this through a series of glares, but Solas seems to have forgotten anyone but the Inquisitor exists. Fair enough.

“You look terrible,” she replies, stepping closer. Her voice is thick. Solas takes a step back.

“I think it best if we—“

“Solas,” she says, stepping forward again, and there is nowhere left for him to retreat. She has the Dread Wolf cornered. Slowly, as though taming a wild animal, she raises her hand to him, coming up to touch his face, the line of his jaw. “You’re really here.”

Rook backs away, knowing this is very much not for their eyes and ears, but—well, they’re nosy, and so they pause in the doorway, shamelessly eavesdropping. Luckily the two elves seem to have forgotten Rook’s even there.

Solas exhales roughly at her touch, ten years of tension rushing out of him in a moment. “Inquisitor—Ellana, I—“

“Hush,” she says, and drops her forehead to his.

Solas’ face crumples. “How can you—I do not deserve—” Rook can barely hear him.

“We have plenty to catch up on,” the Inquisitor murmurs, her voice gentle. “But you are alive, and safe. For now that is enough.”

Like a dam breaking, Solas reaches out, his arms wrapping around her like a drowning man, tight as a sieve. Rook is pretty sure he starts to cry, a sob coming from deep in his chest and shaking his entire frame.

Okay. Enough. Rook’s pretty sure Solas would actually murder them if he remembered they were still there. So they make their exit and ease the door closed without a sound.

They’re happy for him, despite everything. And they really hope they don’t fuck on Rook’s favorite couch.

[gh0stsp1d3r]

phantom of the opera!Rafe x Christine daae!reader

(Is this too niche? Sorry it’s the theater kid in me)

okay this is the last one i swear, im sorry i love making moodboards so much 😭 Ill write soon i swear

[flagbridge]

All Vows Cover Art by @bonzlydoo (IG: noellenorthstar)

Happy one year anniversary to All Vows launching on AO3! Thrilled to share this cover art and a new appendix on the fic.

Phantom of the Opera: E/C, R/C, C/M, Post-Leroux/ALW Canon; Redemption Arc, 140K Words, 40 Chapters, 18+

[spicyboelives]

Im kinda surprised that so many fanfics make the Phantom seem like this Top/Hard Dom. Do yall remember how he reacted in the Don Juan scene? Idk i just...I feel anyone could control him if they knew how to pace giving him smooches.

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

Pt. 1 | Pt. 2

Shorter Part 3, sorry y’all 😭

“Does this have to do with the rose?” Dustin asks them as soon as they are alone in the car. ‘Damn,’ Steve thinks, ‘I should’ve dropped you off first.’

“What do you know about the rose?” Steve asks, trying to sound nonchalant.

“I know it’s from his secret admirer.”

“You know about that?”

“Of course I do, Steve, he tells that story to everyone who will listen.” Dustin says as if it’s common knowledge.

“So who are your theories? I know you’ve got them.” Steve says

“I have no clue.” Steve looks at him confused “I really don’t. I even told Eddie that we could figure it out if we saw the note but he just shook his head and went back to grinning that goofy grin he had.”

“…And that’s bad?”

“Well no, I just figured he’d want help figuring it out, but that’s not the weird part about it all. He didn’t even have everything set up when we got there.”

Steve gives Dustin a confused glance, trying to keep his eyes on the road in front of him.

“Eddie normally gets there super early to set everything up, but even by time Lucas got there just before we were about to start, all of Eddie’s DM stuff was still in his bag. Literally only the tables and his throne were pulled out where they were supposed to be. He just kept staring at that damn rose with that lovestruck look on his face.”

“Hey, language! But yeah, that is weird? What? Don’t look at me like that, I’ve been around you all long enough to know that’s out of character for him..he loves that game.” Steve chuckles to himself, thinking about the party’s collective confused faces at Eddie’s soft one. “Alright, doofus, this is you. Tell your mom I say ‘Hi’.”

Dustin rolls his eyes and shuffles out the car door and up the drive.

Steve waits until he’s safely inside before backing out, and heading home.

‘holyshitholyshitholyshitholyshi—‘ Steve’s brain played on a loop, his face splitting into a grin.

——————

The (now) third time Eddie "hears" from his secret admirer is definitely not when he was expecting. It kind of makes sense, if his secret admirer really is into him still he'd know that Eddie plays at the Hideout on Tuesday nights. But if he's being honest with himself, the rose flung up on stage while they were still drowned in spotlight was the second most surprising thing of the night. Actually, make that third.

First was the size of the crowd. Being accused of a ritualistic murder does have one benefit then, it has a tendency to make you seem more metal than you might actually be (especially within the metal community). The dingy little bar was actually packed tonight. So many people were there to see Eddie and his bandmates that it was the start of his nervousness. And Eddie never gets nervous about playing, it’s like breathing to him.

Secondly (and the second reason for Eddie to be nervous that night) was that Steeeeve Harrington himself was there to see him play. Him along with Buckley AND Nancy Wheeler had even dressed up for the occasion, pulling out as much black and grungy looking pieces from the backs of their wardrobes as they could find. Eddie swears Wheeler is wearing one of the old band tees Robin stole from him and Steve is wear-holy fuck. HOLY FUCK. Steve Harrington is wearing his (His! Eddie Munson’s!) battle vest. How the fuck he managed to keep it is beyond him but…yep. Eddie’s vest looks just as good on Steve now than it did in that upside-down hellscape.

Only a second had gone by in the time it took Eddie to process all of this before the lights go down and the spotlight is blinding him to everything beyond the stage.

“Get your head in gear, Munson, you’ve got a whole bar full of people to blow away… shit” Eddie mumbles to himself before stepping up to the mic.

And of course, no matter his surprise or nervousness about anything (or anyone) in the crowd that night, the show goes off without a hitch. He’s saying his goodbyes to the crowd as they cheer, holler, and whistle for them, some people are even throwing things. A couple of coasters with phone numbers scrawled on them are frisbee’d onto the stage around him, one (1) singular pair of panties (wtf this is insane), and from his right, just before the lights come back up in the bar, a single red rose tied with a black ribbon.

Time slows down. That’s the only way he could’ve snatched it out of the air the way he did.

He catches it and the crowd lets loose a few wolf whistles. Eddie grins so wide his face hurts. “Thank you guys so much, we’ll be here next week!” he jeers and lifts the rose in his hand in the air like he’s showing it off. The lights finally come up, and Eddie looks directly toward where the rose came from, trying to see if he recognized any of the faces. The only face he recognizes is Steve’s, off a good bit to the left from where the rose came at him, and who is also looking around for who it would’ve come from. Steve looks up at Eddie, and shrugs, he didn’t see anything either.

‘Of course he’s going to act like he didn’t see anything if he’s the one who threw it.’ Eddie’s brain helpfully supplies.

Nope. NOPE. Not going there, that’s so impossible. Steve was a good friend, even if he was blissfully unaware of the affect he had on Eddie.

Eddie shrugs back at Steve before turning back to the guys and helping them pack up their stuff.

“What does this one say?” Gareth asks him when they’re lugging the last of the equipment off the stage.

“Ermph durnup.” Eddie mumbles around the rose stem in his mouth. He sets the amps he was carrying at the back door to be loaded into his van (Which Steve was so graciously helping with). Eddie spits the rose out into his hand as Steve comes back into the doorway. Now ALL of them waiting on Eddie to read out the note. Even Robin and Wheeler have come backstage to watch them work. “Haven’t read it yet.”

“What’s happening now?” Nancy asks, confused. ‘Was she really never around during any of the re-tellings of this story?’ Eddie thinks to himself

“My secret admirer threw this to me as we were wrapping up our set.” Eddie waggles his eyebrows at the older Wheeler “I tried to see who it was, but by the time the lights came back on and I could actually see past the stage, the crowd was already thinning out.”

“They probably didn’t want to be recognized just yet? Even I looked around as soon as I could see again, but yeah, everyone had started dispersing.” Steve chimed in from the doorway he was leaning against, arms crossed across his chest. Damn were his arms always that huge?

“Uh_uh yeah, I do love a guy with a flair for dramatics.” everyone chuckled at that

“Of course you do Munson” Steve smiled at him “Now hurry up and read it!”

“OK, OK, this one says ‘You alone can make my song take flight’.” Eddie sings the line softly, redness creeping up his cheeks as his friends react around him.

“Ew, that’s so gross I’m gonna barf.” - Robin

“That’s so sweet!” - Nancy

“You’re going to be talking about this for weeks aren’t you?” - Gareth

Various well-meaning eye rolls come from the rest of his bandmates as they take care of the amps Steve had been neglecting.

And Steve, Steve was looking at Eddie with the warmest, fondest smile he’d ever seen.

Hmm…

____________________________________________

Pt. 4 will be here! Thank you for reading!!

Now on AO3! Several Notes of the Most Amiable Nature

Tagging everyone I can!: @manda-panda-monium , @destielinimpala , @ilovecupcakesandtea , @maya-custodios-dionach , @thefreakandthehair , @youmakemyhearthowl , @phantypurple , @kerlypride , @hagbaby420 , @yes-im-your-mom , @tinydragonhuman , @beeing-stuupid , @ineffablecolors , @m00gl3ness , @background-noise-headache , @jojobeaner , @bitedownonmydestiel , @orangeandthefairroadkill , @llamaoftheinternet , @captain-daryn , @undreamingscatworld , @britishmysteries , @sharpbutsoft , @funnymagicman-named-dandy , @allbymyselfexceptformycactus , @wearelosersyoudumbfuck , @itsthebeckyzone , @thegingervulcan , @urmomification , @wonderingglances , @calciferousoai , @csinnamon-fox , @straight4joekeery , @alex-axolotl , @nitro502 , @whorenerdking , @skeletoneddie , @eddiehashands , @prosedumpofmaya , @werewolfpeterparker , @bigboyandmetalhead , @stevethescareington , @xxbottlecapx , @starkdusk , @legitcookie , @withacapitalp

[flora-gray]

Save the Date!

August 3-9 2024

Hello hello! It's time for the second annual PotO Crack Week…and of course by annual, I mean it's been two years, not one. Sorry bout that. I had a bunch of travel that took more of my time than expected, and then had a tough time pinning down a date, but better late than never, right??

Anyway, it's time to start writing down all those "omg that would make a great crack fic!" ideas and polishing up your best goofy art and memes. Like last time, there will be a friendly contest and fun prizes. This event had some truly iconic work last time—I can't wait to see what you all come up with!

PS—follow the poto crack week 2024 tag for updates and reblog to spread the word!