angel, I hear you speak

independent rp for Christine Daae from the phantom of the opera ALW / Leroux based; tracks #christineofparis main account: showtunesandrp

[soprxno-blog]

                          ❝  In sleep he sang to me                                           in dreams he came,                                      That voice which calls to me                                          and speaks my name. ❞

                              independent Christine Daaé rp blog ;                                                                                    ♫the Phantom of the Opera; musical & Leroux based                                                               ♫ one-liners / lit / chat / para / novella ;                                         ♫ adaptive of length and style                                         ♫ multiverse, multiship, multifandom                                          ♫ aggressive musical fan of a mun                                         ♫ oc friendly

                                                    H O M E | A S K

[operawench-blog]

REFOLLOW AT THIS BLOG

            I’ve finally decided to make Christine my main blog! Please refollow over there, and this will serve as an archive!

[operawench-blog]

REFOLLOW AT THIS BLOG

            I’ve finally decided to make Christine my main blog! Please refollow over there, and this will serve as an archive!

[operawench-blog]

REFOLLOW AT THIS BLOG

            I've finally decided to make Christine my main blog! Please refollow over there, and this will serve as an archive!

[princeofconjurers]

//ikr? This blog started out as a side blog but then I made a new account for it because it was annoying

[operawench-blog]

should i do it

should i

[operawench-blog]

I'M thiNKING OF SWITCHING THIS CHRISTINE BLOG TO BE MY MAIN ONE bc it's annoying as hell not being able to send asks tbh

[aseaofquotes]

[aseaofquotes]

Erin Morgenstern, The Night Circus

[yearnsforheavenxsecretly-moved]

♪ —        How easily the all-powerful Opera Ghost could become Don Juan, his body held so specifically, each word and movement beckoning a woman successfully to his bed….                               He was a seducer, a man who could win the lust of every woman he encountered…! With a few words, he would reign, triumphant!                                                                   Perhaps he had won Christine over at first.                                 Oh, but now, he’d lost her.          No matter, it appeared that the soprano’s own understanding of the Opera prodded her ever forward, keeping her in place, allowing her to prance back toward him again, for her voice to curl into the tense and heavy air of the Opera Garnier that hinted that each audience member was holding their breath. Was there anything the Opera Ghost could do that was different from them?      His air was caught in his throat, chest trying to push it out to no avail. Oh, not until he heard her grow nearer, not until her words were practically against his ear did he realize the danger of her confidence, of her courage, of her acting.                            It was only acting. Only ever acting.          And then there she was. He felt her, lifting against the bench, her pelvic pressing forward into his spine. Hands that waited patiently on his knees no longer sat idly. Oh, no… no, indeed.          With the feeling of her behind him, there was a renewed shot of adrenaline that pumped his heart even faster, more wildly within his chest. The air was knocked from his lungs, ribcage aching… And his spine—-?       Oh, his spine arched, jolting back and upwards, eyes under the mask and hood widening, shooting open as his jaw dropped and an abrupt inhale intercepting his breathing. Skeletal fingers clamped down upon  his kneecaps, instinctively groping for foundation midst the rocking drive, the warmth seeping within his lower  abdomen…… They gripped and collected fabric within his palms, imagining if they were Christine’s own clothes…… With her so close, Erik realized the new desire within him, that need to take her in his arms and claim her as his own!         Following the words, the choreography that urged him on,                        even in the depth of pure    n  e  e  d   that drove him,          his hands pried away from his legs and lifted. They shook violently, fingers quivering with the overwhelming feeling of everything, of her body pressed to his, of the heat and the music and the lust shared between them… And unable to control it, they’d shake until his fingers, cold and deathly, entwined with hers, like to bodies getting caught in one another.

[operawench-blog]

♪ "--One final question!          How long should we to wait          before we're o n e?" ♪ 

      Christine swayed her hips along the subtle curl of his back, followed the line of spine while she felt the chiffon of her dress' fabric bunch up and press in the lack of space between them.

Nearly intoxicated with the thrill of it she allowed thin wrists to nearly float in the air, to hover so delicately in the space above his head,

                                                                              to w a i t 

                                                                              to anticipate. 

Christine felt the arch of a spine, the slow coil of bones, languidly, curling as a snake; she paused, glanced towards the audience from beneath thick eyelashes, gaze heady, knowing and all too confident.

For but a moment, Christine found herself breathless... 

                   --and his hands were shaking when she caught them in a firm grasp, fingers clamping instantaneously, c l a i m i n g. 

             And, oh, the exhilaration! 

-- Yet still he trembled, and only briefly did her mind wander,              had she distracted Piangi from an actor's pointed focus?

No, she wouldn't flatter herself, pushed the unwanted ponderings from her mind. This was a c t i n g, in every sense of the word. Though, how would it be had it not been acting? Had the passion taken place elsewhere than a stage, shared with only t w o, no audience, no lights.... 

                --Enough!

         The heat of their bodies mingled and melted when she leaned over him, 

    ♪ "When will the blood begin to race,          the sleeping bud burst into bloom?"

Christine's grip remained unyielding when she dropped her arms -- choreography took ahold and she kept his hand clasped in hers, dragged the both of their arms along the fabric of the cloak;

                    first, her left hand crawled along the silhouette of a leg, bundled fists pressed so firmly into one another and then along the silk of the fabric.

                She did the same with her right, felt the subtle heat of his skin from beneath the silk and skittered the edges of her nails along blackness-- 

          ...in the process her chest p r e s s e d against the figure's back, the lilt of her words growing ever closer to the muffled shape of a head, straddled knees further entrapping the man... 

Ah! So consumed was she by the character, by the alias in which her confidence was unmatched, hands unwavering! It was unlike anything young Daae had ever felt -- the tightness coiling like a knot in her stomach, the radiation of warmth expelling from her flushed cheeks.

         Another beat, and Christine expertly, insistently outstretched the both of their hands in a single gesture, fingers still clamped and guiding--

♪ "When will the flames at last                                                    c                                                    o                                                     n                                                      s                                                       u                                                        m                                                          e                                                             us?" ♪

When the note lowered Christine crossed their arms ever so s l o w l y,            hands going with a painful dragging to cross over the thin chest of the man who sat in front of her.

           It was tortuously slow -- her palms pressed, nails dug, all against the flat plane of a chest, bodies further moving into closeness--

           The lilt of her voice dipped, then, and Christine's head trilled the note from against the silhouette of a head, the angle of a cheek--  of a hollow, harrowing cheek, of a cheek not belonging to the overweight Don Juan.

     Fear--! Oh, the fear, and the soprano absolutely jumped, the held note jittering violently of apprehension and severed characterization. She recoiled instantly from her seated position at the table. 

[yearnsforheavenxsecretly-moved]

christineofparis   I heard u were feeling down so look at the things I made

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[operawench-blog]

i'M

IIIII'M

.

f irst of all how d are you

[operawench-blog]

{ life is feeling overwhelmingly shitty right now,    so i'm delving into fictional rp world.

                            like for a starter! }

[themanofonebook-deactivated2017]

       ”—hurry up and talk or remove yourself.” He is incredibly busy, and he does not particularly enjoy people who are in the habit of stuttering or hesitating before speaking.

[operawench-blog]

  "--My apologies, Inspector.        I was directed here to inquire of your services,         and am a bit out of sorts."

Young Daaé fiddles with gloved hands, wonders briefly if this is the correct approach. 

[operawench-blog]

Point of No Return || Christine + the Phantom

[lassdentraumgeschehen-old-deact]

"Everything that happens tonight is entirely your fault." he growled. There were times when he would have rushed to her aid, but not tonight. Too much had happened and things no longer were as they used to be. "But please do tell me one thing, Christine. Why did you decide to betray me like this instead of just coming and taling to me?!"

[operawench-blog]

Christine's grip tightened on her dress, teeth chattering, fear icy and sharp in veins otherwise constricted; "It is no fault of m i n e that you behave as a murderer!" 

A pause -- she turned away from him, wiped the beginnings of tears splattered against her cheeks, "It was not my intention to betray you." 

[roleplayaskmemes]

Send me a ♤ and I will generate a number for what my muse will say to yours.

ANGST VERSION

1-50

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[shxriffwoody-deactivated2014071]

Anonymously tell me what you think of my character portrayal.

[operawench-blog]

yearnsforheavenxsecretly said: { gIVES YOU TEA WITH HONEY AND LEMON AND COUGH DROPS AND LITERALLY DOTES ON YOU LIEK eRIK }

t hANK FRIEND I FEEL LIKE CR AP UGHAhghghg

[operawench-blog]

u could say u r a le miserable.

         —too soon.

[operawench-blog]

{ my throat feels like it's on fire          s omeone help me          i'M MISERABLE }