One life after the other...

A modest collection of Phantom of the Opera OCs, along with their AU variations. For more information on each character, please refer to the X's across the screen. Tracked tag: desetresmultiples

[multsicorn]

You will laugh at me for consulting you about such a trifle, but I want to know whether you would prefer my receiving the nuptial benediction in my uniform or in a different habit. It will be just as you please, so consult your whim and what you think most consistent with propriety.

Alexander Hamilton to Elizabeth Schuyler, October 5, 1780 (via multsicorn)

[shirogancs-deactivated20160819]

roses are red

violets are blue

I wasn’t your first choice, but

[guidetoclassy]

Your age doesn’t determine your maturity,

Your grades don’t determine your intellect 

& rumors don’t determine who you are. 

[grapeseedy]

“I was never very happy in institutionalised environments, and you have to get better at it if you’re in boarding school. I was one of those boys who smoked at school because it was illegal. In university, as soon as it was allowed, I gave up smoking.”

Dan Stevens for Guardian Magazine (30.08.2014), photographed by Perou

[desetresmultiples]

Years, pt 6 || short story

Another installment to this horrid brainchild of mine. Never gonna be sorry. Find the earlier stories here: part I, part II, part III, part IV, part V

Years, part VI

Aisling had only seen the DiRusso manor a scant few times in the past as a girl; she had always found it obnoxiously overlarge then, and found it just the same as a young woman now, all the more so for the passing of Armand and the wilting of her Aunt Carlotta. And the continued absence of her damnable cousin. Business in the city indeed. She quite well recalled Alonso being the sort to cower in the face of altercation, as he expected none to oppose him, which was why she and him had carried on contentiously as children. Aisling cowed to none but her parents, and even then only when it suited her. But the biggest difference between herself and Alonso rested in the sole fact that she was in fact willing to listen, while he had become less and less so.

Regardless of their past, Aisling waited in that ghost home for his return a total of ten days, during which she did her best to lift her Aunt’s spirits in the daytime, and mourned with bitter, youthful tears that she could see her efforts could not reach deep enough into the heart of Carlotta DiRusso to at all mend the damages these years have done. A part of her could hardly believe the stories of her Aunt in youth, of a fiery, defiant woman determined to see her life changed, only to fail most spectacularly to escape that which she strived so gallantly against. Of a man who could no more help her than he could help himself from adoring her.

It was the story made for the operatic stage, where the pain ought to last for the duration of the performance, allowing life to continue in bliss. Instead it was reality.

Aisling could hardly stand it.

When Alonso at last made his return, Aisling noted with regret how Aunt Lotta retreated back into her chambers and was not seen for the remainder of the day, leaving Aisling the perfect opportunity, however saddening, to confront her cousin as she would. And she did.

Claiming one of the studies as her own, she instructed her presence be made known to the master of the house, after which she waited until he came to her, his countenance, though fair and yet strong like his father’s, much harsher than she ever could recall. A pity, as he otherwise would have been a very handsome cousin, perfectly viable to introduce to acquaintances and friends. But Aisling would not subject even her most distance acquaintance the misfortune of knowing him.

Alonso eyed her when he entered, his riding gloves still on, hat in his hand—some courtesy, at least.

“This is a surprise,” he said, moving slowly into the room. “I seem to recall a declaration of never returning here again. Clearly respect of the recently dead is of no matter to you, so what has brought you back after all this time?” Seated at the desk, a book in hand, Aisling set it carefully aside, and stood, shaking out her skirts. “Why, a celebration with my dear Aunt, of course. This house is almost refreshing enough to stay now, but I’ll not ask it of you to understand.”

“You’ve come to mock me.”

“In a word, yes.”

He scowled, removing his gloves with the air of a petulant child, slapping them down onto a small table. “I never asked you to come where you do not feel welcome.”

“And by who else would I not be welcomed? Not my Aunt, surely, whom you seem to find particular pleasure in destroying. Continuing your father’s work after he is gone, I see. He must be very proud of you.”

“He was proud of me! When no one else was, and no one else will be because none understand the burden of—”

“Do spare me the sob story, Alonso, I haven’t the stomach for it. Armand was—”

“Uncle. Your Uncle.”

“Armand was a narcissistic brute.”

“My mother was a whore!”

Aisling’s expression slackened with shock, his words hanging between them as the clock ticked the silence away.

“You—“ She shook her head in disbelief. “You honestly cannot believe—“

Alonso grit his teeth. “I know what happened! I have always known what happened between her and that man she tried to have twist me around for her own gain! How she betrayed my father, would have gladly had him murdered in his own house by a man who portrayed himself as a friend. I am well aware of their plotting, and how she lost because my father had the means to withstand that sort of underhanded scheming to take what was rightfully his, what in now mine. You don’t think that my father warmed me Barozzi would return upon his death? That he was not simply waiting until my father had died to finish what he could not finish in the past?! I will not allow it!”

“What?” Aisling dared to step towards him. “That—that is not what happened at all! Alonso, she loved him, that was all! Why is that such a crime? Why does that deserve your blind hatred towards your own mother!?”

He retreated two steps to her one. “No. You will not lie to me as well, Aisling. You may believe what you want, but my mother has never been content after all that has been done for her. She has never appreciated how hard he worked to maintain this empire for her. He did not have to consent to marriage, and could have given her to someone else of a far lesser status, but he chose to keep her with her own.”

“Are you listening to yourself? Alonso, that just is not true; I cannot tell you enough.”

“And where have you been all this time to see what has happened in my own household? Hm? How can you tell me that what I have seen my entire life in untrue?”

Aisling pressed her lips together, looking at him, truly looking at him, at the distress hidden behind all of his anger. Whether it was born of confusion or something else, she could not tell, but he has been questioning himself, of that she was absolutely sure.

“Perhaps you ought to look at your mother and father through your own eyes, not Armand’s.” When he stepped away, turning as if to leave, Aisling followed after him, her voice raising as they both stomped down the hall. “Perhaps you ought to speak with your mother, if you can somehow manage to look her in the eye after all that you have done. You loved her once, Alonso; I remember that vividly, but you let someone else poison it, poison you. That does not make you strong, it makes you weak. Gullible. Foolish.”

“Enough!” Whirling around, he swung at her. He actually swung at her. But his swings have always been wide and sloppy, a testimony to how little his father actually cared I not teaching his son how to properly fight. Meaning Aisling had him flat on his back in three hits flat; one to the armpit, one to the ribs, the last to his face just because he had the audacity to try and hit her. Her. Had he not learned better than that from when they were children?

She stood over him, shaking her hand out as he squalled on the floor. “You broke my nose! You actually broke it!”

“Did I? Well, I must be a little more irritated than I thought. Honestly, Alonso, did no one teach you how to fight properly? Your Da hadn’t the time to spare for it? Or are you still in the habit of only assaulting those smaller and weaker than you?”

Glaring up at her, hand cupped over his face and blood seeping from his fingers, he scooted backwards before scrambling to his feet, storming off just as he used to as a child.

This time, Aisling let him go, but with a small, frustrated sigh. Perhaps it was wrong of them to pull away, no longer give him a proper influence in his life.

But then again, there had always rested on her family a lingering threat those few times they dared to visit the DiRussos. The situation remains precarious even now, despite that the cornerstone of their collective grievances now lays buried underground, and good riddance to him. If no one might somehow reach Alonso, however...it would behoove them all to withdraw one last time, and without leaving Carlotta behind.

[sirhardnight]

You stir my soul.” he said. “You calm mine.” she replied.

Sir Hard Night  (via thedivineiswithinus)

[dirusso]

Her gaze had not flinched away from his, but whatever hint of sharp playfulness had been in her expression vanished. It had steeled itself in to a false imitation of the wine-warmed mirth of only a few moment ago. Those closest to the young Princess would take note how her eyes did not sparkle or jest as the smile on her lips might suggest they ought to. No, the look there was something more akin to bitterly cold. Icy resentment that had flared up so quickly in the span of so few words. Indeed their King had garnered quite the education in his time away to be so skillful in his handling of language.

Carlotta was q u i t e aware of how the others in the hall whispered to one another. The implication of his daring boast spreading fast from one courtier to the next. Their eyes, taunting and judging all in the same turn, darted from the Princess to her Betrothed. Blame for this apparent straying had already landed squarely on her shoulders… What failure of a future Queen was she if she could not keep the King’s attention even before the ceremony?

“Such a humble man ought to simply return from whence he came.” She stood from her seat, smile widening in to a mocking cruel thing with a burble of laughter to match. “As clearly there is nothing of interest here for your vicious appetite of l e a r n i n g. My dearest Ladies – Such a shame it is! Not even King by law yet, and our future Lord has already grown tired of the architecture here. Our curve of all our buttresses and arches simply bore him now that he has been blessed with such broad knowledge. Or … perhaps it is rather a blessing in disguise that he would prefer to overlook such familiarity for blissful hobbies elsewhere? That is certainly something to ponder.” Each word did nothing to conceal her agitation. One last cutting look was given to Salvatore before Carlotta dismissed herself from the hall out into the cool air of the gardens beyond.

[desetresmultiples]

Only a fool would dismiss the sharpened alteration of the Princess’ countenance, and, indeed, Salvatore has been subject to her similar mood alterations throughout his young life, then having no defense or understanding as to why this little spit of a girl suddenly turned on him with such violence. Now, as a man and a fool, evidently, he at the very least has gained the wherewithal to see not only her icy yet fiery defense, but the reaction of his words upon those his soon to be subjects, all turning their slander upon his future queen. Of course his words were not meant to be taken so literal, but the play upon words she began obviously continued even into his conclusion that, yes, his hobby rested in architecture itself, certainly not in any other woman. It was his mistake--a glance towards his mother absolutely confirmed his suspicion.

Naturally during and after such an assault, and despite his keen awareness of the ripple throughout the room, Salvatore remained dumb to rebuttal, as there was precious little to say for his redemption that ought be spoken before a mass. And, truly, the woman was wildly intimidating when spurred to rage. A dauntingly beautiful match, if only she saw the admiration behind the apprehension and initial confusion in his gaze. But no matter. It would be set straight immediately. As soon as she had gone, as he needed a moment to collect his thoughts.

Getting to his feet, Salvatore shoved his cloak aside to stride quickly away from the table, but paused, turning about to face the sniggering congregation, striking into their amusement with a sharp, deep tone that filled the chamber.

“You will have a care concerning your future Queen, always keeping in your minds to whom she is promised. Her tolerance for my error is long in comparison to mine for that which is spoken ill and false against her.” With which he turned abruptly, following Carlotta out into the eve.

Calling would likely bring only silence in reply, so he must seek her out himself, though fortunately enough he was acquainted with her most favored spots in the gardens, beginning his search there.

[jealousyyouhavetoearn]

Success is the only Option!

Going Huge

- a Gentleman’s Blog

[avenuesofinspiration]

California | Photographer © | IG | AOI

[blvck-era]

Black California

[jealousyyouhavetoearn]

[jealousyyouhavetoearn]

[jealousyyouhavetoearn]

Success is the only Option!

Going Huge

- a Gentleman’s Blog

[jealousyyouhavetoearn]

Success is the only Option!

Going Huge

- a Gentleman’s Blog

[jealousyyouhavetoearn]

If you develop your skill you will earn a living; but if you develop your gift you will make a fortune.

Dr. Lucas D. Shallua (via jealousyyouhavetoearn)

[auhron]

[exclusive-pleasure]