#daddy daae

[textsfromthefifthbasement]

Grace in Your Heart and Flowers in Your Hair

Christine set little acorn tops in front of her dolls and pretended to pour them some tea. Wet grass popped up around the quilt she had laid down, and she hummed a folk tune her father often played on the violin.

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[douxmarin]

old drawing of Christine and Daddy Daae and....could it be! Phantom! 

(wanted to present him before I show him unmasked o:) 

I called it ! - Old Friend 

[ange-de-la-musique]

[i-am-melancholys-child]

Fanfic: Il Est Né, Phantom of the Opera | FanFiction

I stuck my childhood AU oneshot on FF!

When her father visits a traveling carnival, little Christine finds more than just animals in a cage.

[confessionsofanoperaghost]

Sometimes I wanna think about even darker re-reads on Phantom

Example: what if Christine’s father was abusive? What does that change in dynamic do to the rest of the story? If Daddy Daaé was possessive of his daughter and if their tight knit bond held some secrets, how does that change Christine’s relationship to Mama Valerius, to Raoul, to Erik, to the whole concept of music itself?

Also wondering how you’d change the story to make other people the villain: Christine and Daroga are my favorite to try putting in that position.

Or what happens when it’s just kinda set in an Everyone is Kinda Evil AU... (answer: a phantom themed black comedy that I wish I could draw)

[douxmarin]

Here’s Daddy Daae, part of a postmortem family portrait I was working on. 

the afterlife comes with >free bottle of wine >skeleton hands cuz they say “I’m dead!”, and >fancy clothes you probably never wore in your other life :D.

(if you ever see skeleton hands in my pics, it’s probably Mr. Daae, the other deceased parents don’t “present” this way xD) 

[douxmarin]

Let Go

trying to be poetic about phantom of the opera again 😅😅

Oh don’t take him away from me. 

She turned with her hand to his and his weight below her. She tried to carry him by his back, but he was too heavy, too fragile. 

The world was turning bluer, a deep blue, perhaps she had left Earth for the oceans.

An old song played in her head, his music.

Who’s?

An old friend’s, he

Played it all the time.

His hand is made of dry plump flesh, it scratches at her skin while she is only holding it. 

His head is laying back and his eyes have disappeared,

She knows he is going away. 

Perhaps it’s the texture of his skeleton that reminds her, he had already left. 

And the music is gone. 

[operafantomet]

...on a shawl from 1884 this appeared...!!! (The National Museum, Norway)