inside my mind...

𝑠𝑒𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑡  𝑎𝑛𝑑   𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒  [  ...  ]  angel.      it   frightens   me.

[chanteuse]

this  is  an  independent  roleplay  blog  for  christine  daaé  of  the  phantom  of  the  opera.  this  blog  is  now  highly  private,  meaning  I  will  only  be  following  friends  and  consistent  writing  partners  back,  and  writing  is  something  I  only  do  when  I  have  time.  below  are  listed  some  basic  interaction  rules  for  this  blog!

my  portrayal  of  christine  is  based  on  the  original  novel  by  gaston  leroux  (1910),  andrew  lloyd  webber’s  stage  musical  (1986-present),  and  personal  headcanon,  as  I’ve  been  writing  christine  a  long  time  and  on  many  blogs  before  this  one.  my  portrayal  is  not  compliant  with  the  2004  film,  susan  kay’s  phantom  novel,  or  love  never  dies.  I’m  okay  with  following  muses  from  these  canons  if  the  problematic  stuff  in  them  is  avoided.

I  take  additional  influences  for  christine  /  my  interpretation  of  phantom  from:  la  belle  et  la  bête  (villeneuve),  deathless  (catherynn  m.  valente),  crimson  peak  (del  toro),   the  gothic  short  stories  of  nathaniel  hawthorne,  the  compositions  of  tchaikovsky,  the  ‘descent  myth’  concept  (such  as  orpheus  and  eurydice),  and  elements  of  victorian  and  romantic  era  poetry.

as  stated  above,  I  only  follow  friends  back  and  I  will  make  exceptions  to  interact  selectively  with  phantom  or  gothic  lit-related  muses  that  I’m  not  acquainted  with.  this  is  to  preserve  my  experience  while  writing  christine  and  for  my  own  comfort  since  I  just  don’t  enjoy  having  a  busy  dash  on  this  muse  and  I  only  want  to  follow  people  I  interact  with  frequently,  and  will  not  follow  anyone  under  the  age  of  18.  thank  you  for  respecting  this.

there  is  triggering  content  present  on  this  blog,  related  to:  death,  murder,  violence,  body  horror  /  disfiguration,  emotional  manipulation,  religious  themes,  some  sexual  themes,  and  imagery  of  masks,  blood  and  nooses.  I  will  tag  on  request,  but  be  aware  when  following  that  these  will  likely  be  present.  nsfw  will  always  be  tagged  as  such.  other  triggers  are  tagged  as  tw:thing.  my  triggers  are:  animal  death,  eating  disorders,  suicidal  idealation.

basic  etiquette  -  I  softblock  instead  of  unfollowing  if  we  are  mutuals  so  please  do  the  same,  don’t  use  me  as  a  resource  and  please  reblog  from  the  source,  send  in  a  meme  if  you  reblog  one  from  me,  I’ll  end  interaction  if  I  see  vagueing  or  uncomfortable  content  on  the  dash,  or  people  posting  about  duplicate  anxiety  as  I  see  it  as  a  form  of  gatekeeping.  sentiments  of  intolerance  or  hate  speech  will  make  me  nope  out  of  your  blog.  *due  to  recent  discourse,  please  note  I  am  firmly  against  the  writing  of  historical  figures  as  muses,  including  those  in  musicals,  tv  shows,  or  “semi-fictional”  adaptations.  if  they  were  real  people  you  shouldn’t  be  writing  them,  as  this  is  engaging  with  revisionist  history  and  is  harmful.  

writing  is  slow  and  sporadic  since  I  work  and  am  a  full  time  college  student.  thank  you  for  being  patient  with  me.  I  prefer  plotting  for  interactions,  if  you’d  like  to  interact  the  best  way  is  to  send  a  meme.  starter  calls  are  rare  but  will  be  posted  on  occasion,  and  I  reserve  the  right  to  take  my  time  with  responses,  as  can  you.

I  only  am  interested  in  shipping  christine  with  her  canon  relationships:  with  raoul,  and  erik.  I  am  ship-exclusive  with  @revnante​​  for  the  erik/christine  ship,  as  it  is  a  difficult  dynamic  to  properly  portray  given  the  problematic  elements  that  can  arise.  I  am  open  to  writing  with  other  phantom  blogs,  but  not  in  the  shipping  context.  I  don’t  tolerate  hate  here,  so  if  you  post  frequently  against  one  of  the  characters  or  ships  in  phantom  it’s  unlikely  I  will  remain  following,  I  don’t  like  seeing  negativity.

anonymous  messages  are  off  as  well  as  IM’s  for  nonmutuals,  I  can  be  reached  in  my  askbox  if  there  is  a  concern.  mutuals  can  request  my  discord!  I’m  honestly  there  more  than  here.

I  don’t  claim  ownership  of  christine  or  of  phantom  of  the  opera,  which  belongs  to  its  respective  creators.  please  don’t  steal  from  me,  as  I’ve  worked  hard  over  the  years  to  develop  headcanons,  views,  graphics,  ideas,  etc.  my  psd  is  a  hybrid  of  plutocommissions  +  kingsleigh  with  adjustments.

that’s  about  it,  other  than  that,  if  you’re  interested  in  discussing  phantom  of  the  opera,  gothic  literature,  and  the  like,  I’m  always  up  for  those  conversations  and  for  sharing  my  interests  with  others!

my  name  is  wendy.  she/her,  22,  gmt-8.  aries  w/  some  conflicting  pisces  placements.  we  probably  already  know  each  other,  but  if  not,  it’s  nice  to  meet  you!

[chanteuse]

*thinking about phantom of the opera*  *thinking about phantom of the opera*  *thinking about phantom of the opera*  *thinking about phantom of the opera*  *thinking about phantom of the opera*  *thinking about phantom of the opera*

[chanteuse]

the best way to attract christine is to have a dog.

[anneboleyns]

[chanteuse]

no one:

christine:

[chanteuse]

every time I watch phantom vids on youtube I regret it because no one can stop arguing over which casting is better and it’s always the movie, the 25th or the original cast.

[chanteuse]

I feel like I don’t talk enough about victorian womanhood and the struggles of being a career woman such as an opera singer or even being in that setting as a woman during the era on this blog so when I can I’m gonna go into that and break it down for personal reasons.

[chanteuse]

what’s endlessly frustrating is that the concept of having a musical set in early 1900′s coney island is such a good one  ...   and yet it was wasted on a really bad phantom of the opera sequel which shall remain nameless.

[chanteuse]

for the sake of the festive.

[chanteuse]

hi wendy, the light of my soul, the merriest of christmases to YOU! I love you so much, I've probably said it a hundred different ways already. thank you for letting me be a part of your life, your passions for phantom and e / c and all the weird stuff in between. this holiday and all the ones to follow will ALWAYS be happy because I have you to celebrate them with me. here's some tinsel to hang over your dressing room mirror that is definitely not a doorway to my underground lair, or anything.

[janylate]

Happy Holidays to everyone :)

[revnante]

*puts a red nose on your mask* (merry christmas keats I love you!)

[viscomte]

                                         𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐘    𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐒  !

no super fancy graphic  ,    but i still wanted to make a post for the few special people in this rpc who have made this season  ,    and this year  ,    a little more special    &    bearable  .    it’s been a hell of a year for everyone  ,    and these people absolutely deserve only the very best  ,    i adore each and every one of you  ,    and thank you for being here for me  —-    for telling me bad jokes when i’m sad  ,    for playing dumb games  ,    and for getting to discuss something we’re all so deeply passionate about  .    i love you all and i hope your holidays are bright    &    full of joy  ,    even if it is a little bit of a hard year  .

Keep reading

[chanteuse]

up  in  the  rafters  arose  such  a  clatter  [ ... ]  we  all  sprang  from  our  seats  to  see  what  was  the  matter!  —   and  what  to  our  wondering  eyes  did  appear,  but  an  unlikely  ghost  and  a  falling  chandelier.

merry  christmas  to  the  phantom  of  the  opera  rpc!  thought  I’d  post  a  fun  little  something  to  spread  some  positivity  for  this  community  over  the  holiday.  you’re  all  such  talented  writers  and  it’s  a  privilege  to  see  you  all  on  the  dash.  your  enthusiasm  and  friendliness  make  you  wonderful  roleplayers,  fun  conversation  partners  and  excellent  friends.  have  a  good  one,  and  a  calm  new  years  eve  masquerade  in  which  no  ghosts  interrupt  your  festivities!

@vicmtes​ @revnante​ @swede​ @thesoprano​ @cadavrange​ @operagheist​ @viscomte​  !

[chanteuse]

@ the person who thinks it’s okay to continuously send hateful anons to christine writers / members of the poto rpc ... 

[chanteuse]

christine would decorate erik’s lair in tinsel and every manner of obnoxious christmas decorations, exchange his candles with ones that smell like gingerbread and put a wreath around his neck while he stands there in silence. then she’d give him a red nose to add insult to injury.

[chanteuse]

◜（ *♫     revnante:  phantom.

his mind is a labyrinth of mirrors now,   that shifts with silver light and etches every single image back and forth,   back and forth     ———     a face in a face in a face,   a scream in a mouth,   that held another scream,   that held another mouth.     where is your thread now,   ariadne ?     what must I do when the maze does not feel like a home anymore ?     did your brother see his face when he turned every corner too ?     did he thrash and weep as a child when his father cursed his roars ?     what part of him was left a man,   and what part an animal ?     far away from reality he runs,   he runs    ———     and it is all a ghost can do,   really     ———     crashing every mirror against his bleeding palms,   until his hands begin to run red like a malaise dripping from his fingertips.     even now,   they are claws,   where he folds within himself like a ruined automaton on the floor  ;  red,   a red so deep and dark and violent that it feels like fire.     his red,   the red she will never come to understand,   not without time.

when his eyes open,   he prays the rot of his face does not seep so grotesquely through his hands like wax,   begging to be loved.     demons they are that run through the cracks of his knuckles into the view of the light,   where death had taken it from him.     his gaze are candlelit,   and meets hers,   an ocean itself framed with tears,   with hair that does not shine like the sun.     look at us,   my dear.     we are kneeling before one another,   the earth may as well swallow us both whole.     maybe only then can we be together.     his hand moves to obscure more of his curse,   staining even the better side of his visage that same dark red  ;  he had ripped out the wings of an angel and its blood ruins his hands,   its feathers were once as white as the mask she holds in her hand.     it does not exist here,   in the space between lost love   ———   neither angel,   nor mask.

the breath is given a voice,   is not given a voice,   is quiet like the night,   before giving way to a hum that almost seems a laugh,   the way a shadow on the wall seems a man at first.       ❛  I am frightening you  …  I frighten you.  ❜       the edges of his tone are sharp when the voice moves even lower to punctuate it,   cutting through each syllable as if they are charred silk   ———   frighten,   to terrify,   such a dagger of a word.     his cadence crawls in an almost mocking musing,   tired and aching,   wracked with pain the way thorns would choke a garden  ;  but somewhere within him an old anger grows,   and she knows now too keenly it is not an anger to her,   anymore.       ❛  tell me   ———   what about me,   christine,   frightens you ?  ❜

the  feeling  crawls  up  her  skin  like  knives,  his  words  are  swift  and  sudden  blows  against  whatever  courage  she’d  mustered,  begging  him  to  stop.  all  that  it  was  is  too  much,  all  that  it  means  is  a  nightmare  she  now  lives  in:  thorns  growing  about  the  mirror  as  though  if  she  reached  it,  if  she  somehow  found  her  way  out  of  the  dark,  they’d  bar  her  from  leaving  more  surely  than  his  oaths.  obscenities  still  linger  in  the  air,  a  miasma  of  hatred  that  clouds  her  judgement  and  renders  the  sight  between  the  cracks  of  his  fingers  more  cursed  then  it’d  been  to  her  eyes.  must  she  then  blame  this,  as  the  reason  for  her  devastation?  how  fair  would  it  be;  whatever  cruelty  had  so  twisted  those  features  and  warped  his  soul,  it  could  not  be  blamed  for  the  destruction  of  her  dreams,  no.  this  was  his  own  cross  to  bear  (  and  a  mockery  of  one  it  is,  a  sacrilegious  thing  that  burdens  him  ).  the  blood  that  stains  his  hands  is  as  much  his  own,  each  word  driving  into  the  idol  which  has  fallen  at  her  feet.  now  she  is  on  her  knees,  and  his  posture  cannot  even  be  considered  a  pantomime  of  humanity.  

her  eyes  shut,  lashes  playing  against  tear-sodden  cheeks,  as  though  ice  has  melted  on  the  hot  skin  of  her  face.  each  one  is  a  question:  what  has  made  you  like  this?  have  you  been  born  into  this  cruelty,  or  has  it  been  of  your  own  making?  what  can  be  helped,  and  what  have  you  chosen  of  your  death?  please.  angel.  devil.  whatever  you  are,  might  you  satisfy  each  of  my  sorrows  as  you  have  created  them?  his  knuckles  bend  so  that  they  nearly  break,  grasping  as  a  visage  they  will  not  crumble  into  a  fist  so  tight  that  every  shard  of  glass  now  embedded  in  her  throbbing  head  might  escape  her  memory.  hers  bend  about  the  face  she  has  stolen  from  him,  clutching  past  falsehoods  that  she  is  unsure  she  can  return  without  another  violent  surge  of  emotion.  no  matter  how  time  might  fly  away  and  fade  behind  them,  it  seems  now  this  horror  might  never  be  forgotten.

repetition  serves  the  muse  no  more  than  the  maestro;  for  it  is  blasphemy  and  truth  at  once  against  the  bond  they’d  shared.  i  frighten  you:  as  though  it  were  a  realization  first  bequeathed  at  the  dawn  of  all  things  and  not  the  end.  christine,  haunted  and  fragmentary  girl  that  you  are,  if  you  close  your  eyes  tightly  might  you  wash  away  all  that  has  transpired,  and  begin  anew?  might  you  blind  yourself  again,  and  would  it  be  a  necessary  evil  if  your  angel  would  return?    ❝    yes.  your    [  …  ]    your  face,  your  mask,  your  home  beneath  the  ground  and   your  lies,  all  of  it!    ❞    each  word  bitten  out  against  reincarnated  grief,  and  she  can  feel  him  dying  again.  she  can  see  him  reaching  out  on  his  deathbed,  where  she  could  not  stand,  and  the  door  shut  and  stolid  before  her.  how  does  one  so  young  cope  with  what  is  unimaginable,  impossible  to  understand  no  matter  how  the  years  too  pass  on?  —        ❝    but  you  don’t  have  to  believe  it,  if  you  don’t  wish  to.  you  can  pretend  all  is  well    [  …  ]    we  can  forget  this.  you,  and  me.    ❞      it  is  a  plea  disguised  as  assurance,  as  though  spoken  to  a  fragile  child  as  she  once  was  when  they  told  her  the  same  lie  —  and  not  another  broken  soul.    ❝      i  can  forget.    help  me.    ❞