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bewarethewolfarmy · 7 months

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Music To Bring Us Together

(This one was on my mind for a while (yes a certain fic of mine has a twin of sorts to this...) sooo yeah it just took a while to write it actually up.

If anyone wants a steamy followup to this particular chapter then say so and maybe i'll gather my spoons Oh and I've decided to call this kind of series The Phantom and his Songbird so enjoy:

A Celebration for Two

Things Better Left Unshared )

If asked separately both Erik's and your answer to what your favorite time of the week was, it would be the same: it was when you had the chance to get away from everything at the opera and had time to go spend the night with the lonely ghost that lived below the operahouse. He lived for those times, unable to stand the fact that he still could not simply always be with his beloved, to hold and shower you in affection and attention constantly, but he had even in small bits learned his lesson from before and he would not dare do anything that could even possibly make him lose you. He would wait, impatiently, and watch and admire you from afar despite wanting to do so far more personally, and when the time came he'd appear and whisk you away and the smile you'd wear on your face would send his heart a flutter to think that there really was someone who enjoyed his company and didn't fear his face. Could he truly believe it? Of course not, he still expected some trick, some lie or deceit of how this was not real, could not be real, and that you truly did fear and hate him for all he was, had done and could be. The gentleness of your tone and kiss to try and reassure him calmed the voices within for a time but never enough; he needed you by his side always and how you wished you could be but you did love the Opera Populaire for what it was and could be, almost as much as you loved it's resident Phantom.

Today was one such day; a break in rehearsals and you slipped away to that small side room, knowing that any second the secret passage would open and Erik would appear. You could always go down yourself, how many times had you walked it to the being able to do so in your sleep if necessary, but you knew how much the man loved to be able to whisk you away and who were you to ruin that for him? The Phantom, still spoken of in terrified whispers and hunted by those who knew and remembered, had so few joys as far as you could tell, things that truly could bring him happiness and peace in his admittedly lonely existence; to take this one away was far too cruel to you and thus you would not. Part of you wished instead that you could do more.

You had only been waiting for a fraction of time when there came the familiar sound of the hidden doorway opening and familiar touch upon your hand. Some days he grabbed you so fast and hard you could practically taste his desperation and need for closeness but this was not one of those days. His touch was light, almost hesitant, and you knew exactly what to do: you smiled and moved your hand to entwine your fingers in his, your tone soft and happy as you spoke, “Erik.”

“Songbird,” he responded and you were pulled close into a tight hug; you were surrounded by the scent of roses and old paper, ivory and water and wood.

And yarn; you could feel a familiar scarf against your face and could not help but smile brighter. Since you'd given it to him for your shared birthday he become stuck between wanting to constantly wear it and treating it like some precious treasure bestowed upon him by a god. Which you supposed made some sense considering his feelings about you. You of course were happiest seeing him wear it, able to see him enjoying your little present and know you had done well in making it for him. It added a little color to his darkness, a light for the man sometimes lost to the shadows but a man who nevertheless you loved dearly.

“Shall we go down to the lair now?” As much as you loved being in his arms, and you truly did, the secrecy of his hideaway under the operahouse gave you both the space and ability to do more than this small room ever could.

The fact you would ask brought a shiver of delight to him and a smile to those ruined lips of his. It was like a puppy being offered a walk in the park by it's master, an apt enough comparison considering how he reacted to you. Luckily you liked that in him, the excitement he seemed to get from the acceptance you gave and the lack of fear you had for him.

He moved with the swiftness and ease of exactly what he was and the two of you were soon off, practically gliding over steps to go down, down, down deep below, into catacombs, into an abyss lit only by candlelight, past traps that were sent not to harm you but to prevent any from following, to an all too familiar lake. You settled into your seat upon the boat and watched him, unable to resist a smile at how he looked as he rowed you both across.

Once, near the beginning of this love you had found yourself in, you had offered to help only to see the strangest look of shock to cross his face. He had refused so verehemently you at first had been hurt before it had come out that rather he couldn't imagine making you do such a thing, that it was in his mind only right he do so for you and that you need only relax. The fact you had been hurt by his refusal even for a second had left him devestated in such a way that required quite a bit of cuddling and hair stroking and reassurance. It was one of those things you found both funny and adorable about Erik: he, the Phantom, terror of the Opera Populaire, murderer and genius, could be so full of confidence and self-importance yet so easily fall to the deeps of despair and terror with the simplicity of love. The complexity of his character was fascinating and endearing, making you unable to tear your eyes away at times when the layers started to show.

The trip across was like that, full of you watching him, adoring his figure as again he looked more the imposing Phantom than the lovesick puppy, though every time he caught you staring with your adoring gaze, his face turned red behind his mask and you only continued to smile knowing it. His eyes would widen, it was hard to miss as someone who so often looked at him, watched him. He brought you to shore without a word though you were sure his mind had a thousand and one things he wished to say to you, sing to you, beg of you.

Erik stepped out first and like the gentleman he really was he offered his hand to help you step out of the boat. This too was something you could do on your own, as easily remembered as every other step of this trip, and again it was something you would never try to take from your phantom. You placed your hand in his and saw him smile so brightly and happily; you stepped off the boat and into his arms once more. Any chance he had he seemed to take in hugging you, holding you, as if afraid that if he didn't keep doing it you might prove to be an illusion, a dream he conjured up from nothing to replace the dark and painful memories of his love for Christine Daae. You of course were indeed real and warm and loved him even knowing what had happened, what he had done. Because behind the rumors and stories and fears, you had found a man who was desperate for love yet never knew how quite to get it or give it healthily.

After he seemed convinced for the moment that you did care and would be going nowhere, Erik led you into the house proper and you sat in the sitting room, watching as he went back to being the adorable Erik that you knew and adored. His fluttering around, muttering about how best to please you, what he would do for you, what kind of food he should make, what kind of music he should play. Part of you was half tempted to tell him to just sit down with you so you could cuddle for a while; he always seemed to like that as did you, though if it went on for too long he would start to cry and weep about how he was not worthy of such softness, of how he was a monster and you were a sweet songbird, that he was something even his own mother could not love so how could you? You did not mind reassuring him of course, it was normal enough for you both at this point and being able to give your sweet traumatized Erik some love and reassurance was something you were happy to be able to do. But tonight, tonight you wished for something different.

You smiled as he made another pass across your path and you spoke up, making sure to be heard, “Erik, I do have a request.”

This immediately stopped him in his tracks and he turned to you, wide eyed, before falling to his knees before you. Requests from you were rather rare; you did not often ask much of him, because he always had hundreds of ideas and plans, because you knew he liked having some control in his life and this was an easy one, because you did not like to impose or possibly trouble him. But he jumped at any request you did make and fumbled to take your hands in his, staring right into your soul it seemed.

“Your Erik is listening, anything my songbird wants, I will give you; just ask and it will be done.” He didn't slip entirely into third person which was a good thing in your book; his emotions sometimes got so overwhelming he couldn't help it and you didn't mind but you didn't want to overwhelm him today.

You squeezed his hands with another smile. “I wish for you to teach me to play something”

He seemed taken aback, blinking a few times and staring at you in confusion. But of course, you were a songbird, a singer, and that was all you truly really ever asked to be; you liked to be part of the choir, to let the music fill your lungs and fill the air. You'd never before expressed an interest in learning more than that but you had listened to him play so many instruments, he loved to show off to you like a peacock shows off it's feathers to a potential mate, and you found yourself curious to try. No, you were more curious to be able to try to play alongside him one day; you may never reach the level of a natural talent like his but you wanted to at least try.

“You...you wish to learn an instrument?” He asked his words slow and measured.

You nodded and he let go of you so quick you felt you might get whiplash. Especially as he quickly ran from the room like his cloak was on fire. The speed with which he moved, grabbing case after case from another room and placing them all on the coffee table before you was honestly both a bit shocking and very amusing. You had a pile of them soon enough, of slightly different sizes and shapes, but you recognized them all as instrument cases; you tried not to giggle or laugh as he continued this until you had so many to choose from it was a bit silly. And finally he stood still, breathing hard and looking at you expectedly, practically bouncing on his heels with excitement and energy.

“Which would you like, songbird? Your Erik can you teach any instrument, Erik is very good at all of them, Erik is a master of them and Erik would love to be able to teach you, just please tell Erik which you want please please please?” Oh no now he was completely into third person.

You stood up and gently took his face in his hands, careful not to upset his mask since it would help him ground a bit better. “Breathe, my angel, please. I already know which instrument I want to play but if you're going to teach me then I need you to breathe and not panic so, alright?”

He whimpered, a good whimper, maybe too good of one; he shuffled on his feet and closed his eyes at your touch before nodding. You would take it and smiled before kissing him lightly upon the lips. It was hard to resist such a good boy.

“Which...which one does...do you want Er...me to teach you?” he asked, trying his hardest to pull himself together, you could see it; he bit his lip and looked at you with such expectation and love it made your heart flutter. How could one man be so precious and so adorable and so dangerous all at once?

You smiled again and pulled away from him, the whine he gave was not a happy one but he did not hold you back; you leaned down to the table and gently pulled from it one case in particular, opening it to reveal a beautifully crafted violin. His eyes widened at your choice and you did not need to ask to know why; you had heard all the stories, all the legends. Knew that Christine Daae's father was a known violinist, that Erik had once used that knowledge and that violin to try to entrance her in the graveyard after the disasters before. And thus there was a shadow that clung to it, so much so that while you knew he had it, you had never heard him play it; you supposed it held too much of a memory of his failures, of his darker side, that he had been too afraid.

You were not though. Gently, reverently, you removed the instrument from it's casing and took up the bow with one hand. It felt cold in your hands and heavier than you expected but you refused to back down now from your choice. You turned your gaze back to him, still smiling, still hopeful as you spoke, “I wish you to teach me this one, Erik.”

“I...” he seemed to be in some shock but at least he stayed in first person; he opened his mouth only to shut it again, emotions running across his face at incredible speeds.

He cleared his throat, tried to collect himself, and attempted to speak again, “Are you sure? There are better ones I can teach you.”

You both knew that was a lie. Few were as beautiful as a violin when played right; only the piano and organ were more precious and close to his soul as that violin. But memories were a terrible thing and there were things Erik still never did that you suspected were from that terrible, terrible experience.

You were resilent though and stubborn, shaking your head. “I really wish to learn the violin, please Erik? I couldn't imagine learning from anyone else, for who else could possibly be as good as you are at playing it. And I have heard such beautiful things when a violin and piano play together by those whose skill are no doubt less than your own and so surely with your instruction...” You were not playing fair with him. He could be fluttery and excitable and oh so absolutely adorable and lovable with you but you knew there was a pride there and a part of him that did wish so terribly to be able to teach you. And here you were, tantalizing him on both regards, drawing on those parts of him in hopes of getting what you wanted. You could see in his expression the fight between doing so, allowing his pride to win out or his fear.

“But,” he said in a voice no louder than a whisper, a fearful small thing and you were reminded how sensitive your phantom truly could be.

It hurt you and you lowered the instrument, approaching him. “Oh Erik, sweet angel, I truly wish to learn but I don't wish to cause you actual distress, I promise.”

He looked up at you and your eyes met; you smiled gently at him, lovingly, and he bit a ruined lip. You wanted this, you truly did and you wanted it to be the violin but if it really was so hard on him to teach you, if pushing it would only hurt him more, you supposed you would need to let it be. Because it wasn't worth harming the man you loved so much.

Finally a sigh left him and he shook his head. “No, my wonderful songbird, I...I will teach you. Your Erik will do anything my songbird wishes of me.”

A smile formed on his face and you felt your heart swell with how cute it made him. Any expression of happiness was always a good one to you and you nodded, kissing his cheek. “Thank you, mon ange.”

Erik's heart fluttered at the kiss and his smile grew before he cleared his throat again. “Now let's see about your stance.”

You did not expect so much touching yet one he took a deep breath to compose himself his hands moved along your body, adjusting it, moving your arm, your head, the instrument so that it was cradled just right, that your fingers were in the right positions. Your skin heated up as he placed his hands on your waist and commanded, not asked, you to play. “A few notes, just to start.”

You did as instructed and only got in a few before he clicked his tongue and stopped you, readjusting you slightly. “No no no, relax, let the music fill you like when you sing. But instead you make the violin sing for you; caress it, feel it, the bow is an extension of your body, not simply a tool. Now again.”

Again you tried and felt his hands on you. They were warm, even through your dress, and your heart pounded hearing his breathing in your ear. You knew you were far from perfect, this being your first time, but it was better than you expected, because he had made sure of it. But it was strange to you; learning was something you had asked for, wanted, and you knew he could be passionate about teaching, something you always had been able to gently dissauage in him when it came to your singing. But perhaps the closeness, the actual physical contact, made this feel all the different, and you couldn't help but think as well how warm his breath was and strong his grip and how you wished to obey that smooth, alluring, commanding voice. So different than your Erik, your sweet and often self conscious angel, your excitable and loveable man, who slipped into third person at the smallest embarrassment or flustering, who smiled so geniunely and clung and loved with such intensity but not like this. His intensity was normally of desperation and love; this was passion of a different nature and it made heat build up within your heart like a fire you were not sure you wished to have extinguished. It felt both wonderous and a bit strange.

He nodded behind you, making pleased noises that only made it worse inside you. “Good good, much better. Though you still are far too tense.”

He placed a hand over yours holding the bow and closed his eyes. “You know how it feels to become one with the music, I know you do, songbird, just translate that to this.”

You certainly tried. You tried to take a deep breath, to forget he was there, that he was touching you, that he was so close. To focus on the notes, the violin, the music; get a feel for each note, what it was like, what it felt like, which was which and how they sounded together and in sequence. But Erik was a horrible distraction and you could not focus with his hands on you.

“Erik,” you muttered and this seemed to be to no avail; perhaps he was too far into his own mind, the Angel of Music he once was creeping out and overtaking.

“Focus, my songbird.” His voice was so exact, how could you possibly disobey?

“Erik,” you repeated and felt your heart ready to pound out of your chest.

“Give into the music.” His grip tightened both over your hand and at your side and you had to work very hard not to shake and play incorrectly. Even with all this you did not want to do that.

He was not listening and you were not sure you could take much more of this. But you being the smart songbird you were, knew of one thing that your angel could never resist no matter what happened, a thing that was guaranteed to break him of anything and return him to his sweet blubbering self.

It took all of your strength to pull it off, gripped as you were by his strong callused hands, but you managed by some miracle to turn enough to press your lips to his. Erik's eyes widened behind his mask and you knew that his whole face was turning red, could feel his hands lighten their grip, his body start to stiffen as it often did when you kissed him only to relax again. And move to grab your arms and pull you ever closer; Erik was a master of music but he was a slave to your love and desperate as always for every bit of it he could get. To be kissed by you was something he seemed always to want more and normally you delighted in giving it to him, everything you could. All the love you could muster for this sweet broken man. But the fire inside you was still burning and the aching that grew from the way he had spoken, the power of the Angel of Music, and there was plenty of desperation of your own as you leaned into the kiss, into him, only to have to break away for the all too human need of air. You both panted and you could see how blown out his pupils seemed to be as he looked at you.

“Songbird,” he said in a low voice.

“No fair,” you muttered in response and bit your lip, “All too unfair.” How did this man, this phantom in the dark, have such power yet seem so delicate and sensitive so much of the time? You did not know the answer to it but you knew it was unfair, that such a beautiful soul had to feel and be trapped by the past, by insecurities, by others.

“What is unfair?” he asked and there was still an edge, a trace of the angel within the man.

“Everything,” you stated and looked back at him, into those eyes that roiled with such emotion and thought, at your Erik, “But especially that you only seem able to have confidence in yourself and your place in the world when it comes to music.”

That seemed to fluster him but you took the opportunity to kiss him again, no little light thing as the flame inside continued to burn. If not for the violin and bow in your hands you would have grabbed hold of him but you did not dare drop the precious instrument, for him and for yourself, thus you could only lean into him and want more while getting only that. You heard him whine behind the kiss but Erik did not resist it and that grip he had on you loosened only so he could wrap his arms around you. How he delighted in holding you, it burned you more because here was his soft side showing again and you felt a tear hit your face. Not your own, his; the kiss broke again and he was looking at you with that sad expression he would get when things started to overwhelm the man, filling him up and demanding to be let out.

“Songbird,” he repeated with the essence of the whine woven in.

“We will have to continue the lesson later.” When you can explain better, when you can tell him gently how much it made your heart race to feel his touch, your skin burn to feel his breath against your neck, your body yearn because of the power of the Angel's voice and the love for the man. But right now you could not, need was too strong and he nodded all too quickly, sidetracked so easily by you.

He let you go long enough for you to be able to put the violin and bow safely away and close the case but not a second longer. His arms wrapped around you again, pulling you close and picked you up, burying his face in your neck. “Your Erik wishes to be loved by you, please.”

“I wish to be loved by you as well, mon ange,” you whispered to him.

That's all you needed to say. The instruments and music were left behind as he carried you off to his room, to make music with you of a different type.

#erik x reader #erik destler x reader #phantom of the opera #poto #phantom of the opera x reader #fanfiction #the phantom and his songbird

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nerdyfangirl67 · 4 years

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My Angel - Phantom of the Opera Reader Insert (Chapter 1)

Pairing: Phantom/Erik x reader

Warnings: Sad!Phantom🥺

Word count: 1783

—Chapter 1—

You wake up in the middle of the night, shivering and wondering where you were. Feeling around with your hands you could tell it wasn’t in your bed. You were on the ground, which not only was cold and hard, but also damp.

Memories of the night before came crashing back to you. You remember finding your way into the tunnels, following the call of your musical angel, and finding the master behind the notes that were never just in your head. Your heart started beating quicker at the thought that you had a real angel, albeit one dressed in entirely black but an angel nonetheless, that had created music that seemingly only you could hear. A musical angel solely for you. The thought alone had your cheeks heating up rapidly.

You cringe at the stiffness in your joints from sleeping on the ground as you pull yourself up, bringing your apron with you. Something is urging you to look into the cavern and you do.

A tight feeling seizes in your chest as you see the figure you have dubbed your angel asleep on the four poster bed, half covered in shadows as many of the candles have been diminished. He was lying flat on his back, his arms strewn out at strange angles, but the only part of him that looks relaxed, even in sleep. Lying in a pile of broken glass and wood fragments, half hidden in the shadows is the mask. Even though he isn’t wearing it, you are too far away to make out any features of his face, which disappoints you, but also intrigues you further. His cape is hanging from one of the posts at the end of the bed, like a satin covered ghost.

After another long, lingering look at the man, you turn and try to find your way back to the well-lit chambers of the Opera Populaire. You don’t struggle as you find you remember the trip through the tunnels quite clearly. As you come to the small, weathered door separating your reality from your angelic dreams, you heave out a soft sigh. You wonder if it would be possible to stay here in this place where your music lives, and where you aren’t alone. You deeply wish you could shut that door, keeping your days of lonely darkness locked away. Alas, you could not, and with your trouble keeping track of time, you must return to reality, for tardiness could mean the loss of your job, however much you disliked it.

You pull the rickety door open slowly, not wanting to reveal this secret passage to anyone who may be on the other side. After reentering the opera house you see that the door is virtually undetectable from the other side, causing you to wonder if you stumbling upon it was merely the accident it seemed.

Nonetheless, you hurried back to your room, which was now much easier to find as the early gray light of the morning was seeping in through the skylights of backstage. You enter your room, revealing one of your still sleeping roommates, which means you were on time, as she was always a bit slow at waking in the morning, regardless of possible unemployment. You grab your only other apron, casting aside your dirty, damp one from the day prior before hustling to check-in with your work overseer.

The day drags by slowly as your mind is consumed with the music of your angel. You feel the music within you, dancing along your bones, twinkling along your nerves, mingling with your soul. The music holds so much more meaning to you now that you know someone was creating it just for you.

You’d been caught daydreaming multiple times by the time you were finished for the day. Your overseer wasn’t happy and had told you quite plainly to get your head out of the clouds and come with a clear mind for work the next day.

Being a weekend evening, the opera house was currently packed as droves of people, dressed in their finest clothes came to see the beloved soprano, performing not only one or two, but three solos in the performance. The crowd was buzzing with anticipation and created the perfect distraction for you to sneak back into the tunnels.

You had been vibrating with excitement the entire day, knowing that that evening you’d be returning to a concert performed just for you. And as you maneuvered through the tunnels, you could barely keep yourself from running in unrestrained exhilaration.

You finally reached the small cave that you dubbed the ‘balcony’, as you felt like a socialite in your private viewing balcony as you watched your angel perform.

The music was different today even though the core of the composition remained the same. There was a jarring contrast between the rhythms and the key in which it was being played. Instead of being consumed by feelings of joy, comfort, and warmth, the song now left you cold, melancholy, and lonely.

A hand to your cheek had you realizing that tears were streaming down your cheeks. Seeing the hunched over form on the organ, much different than the confident, almost frightening figure that had sat there the day before.

It was as if everything inside you was calling you to his side, to take him in your arms and say sweet nothings in his ear. To let him rest his head in your lap as you sing to him. To take away the sorrow that was infecting him in such a way, it was bleeding through to his music. You didn’t stay long as the tone of his music effectively doused your excitement and it physically hurt you to see him so dejected, so you had left after only an hour.

That night you lay in bed, silent tears falling as the pain, both physical and emotional, kept you awake.

——

You didn’t return to the tunnels for days after that. You couldn’t bring yourself to see the pain your angel was in and not do something about it. And you knew, if you went from hiding in the shadows to revealing yourself to him, you would lose him.

When you finally decide to return, you bring an old journal you had received from your parents before they passed, as well as your favorite fountain pen. You also bring your cloak, as both times you were in your ‘balcony’ room, you were quite chilled in your dress alone.

It doesn’t take you long to get settled, and once you are, you watch your angel as he plays. This composition is new. The melody is dark and full of hate, entwined with a rhythm reminiscent of the sorrow filled notes you had last heard him play. His apparent pain has your heart aching and before you know it, your feelings are flowing out of you and onto the paper.

My angel,

Your pain is my pain. The darkness and melancholy you are emanating through your music, I can feel deep into my soul. I feel like I have suffered the agony and insults that you have.

I may never have met you but I feel that I know you. Your soul is connected to mine, through some magical force. I’m drawn to you because I have seen that you could be, nay, you are my future. All I want is for you to see me in your future as well.

I feel that your music is my driving force. All I have heard since I have arrived at the opera house is your music. It lingers in my mind and I can hear you in everything I do. Your music is there when I clean the soprano’s chambers. It is there when I trudge through the long dark tunnels to you. It is there when I slowly make my way back to my room at night. I realize that I am never alone because you are there, inside my mind.

You may never know I exist, but I feel you. You have become a part of me.

Forever and always

You fold the letter up and place it gently in one of the envelopes you brought along. You return your attention to the music, listening and memorizing each individual note. It is not long before the music lulls you asleep.

----

Hours later you wake, warmer than you had ever felt in the tunnels before. You slowly rise up, analyzing your surroundings as you do. You can tell it is later in the night because the lighting from the cavern is a dim soft glow. You notice nothing different in the room you are in, but when you strain your hearing, you hear it. The music, which is noticeably quieter than before, is something you recognize. Your angel is playing the composition that he had been the first time you travelled through the tunnels.

It is the composition that dances intimately around in your head each and every day. It is not the remade, dark toned version that you had heard the day after, the version that had kept you away for days.

After observing your angel play the composition you have begun to call your own, you reach towards your feet, looking for the letter you had written prior to you drowsing off for a short time. The more you search, with no luck, the more frantic you become. You rip off your cloak in an futile attempt to see if the letter was sticking to you as a result of static.

Coming up empty handed yet again, you huff out a heavy sigh. You begin to wonder if you had even written the letter, or if it was all a dream. You still haven’t found it after five minutes of looking and are starting to feel the lack of a good night’s rest. You reluctantly give up on finding the letter before heading back through the tunnels in hopes of catching another hour of sleep before work.

----

The cloaked figure bent down to pick up the slightly damp envelope that was precariously perched on the steps up from the underground river. The handwritten title is smeared beyond recognition and after a careful moment of consideration, the phantom of a man delicately opens the envelope. He unfolds the piece of parchment from the envelope, and slowly reads the words. Reading these words causes the biting rage of doubt to consume him as he does not believe that there is someone who would write these words as anything but a joke. He does not know though, that these words, this letter, will forever change his life.

#phantom of the opera #the phantom reader insert #phantom of the opera reader insert #phantom of the opera fanfiction #POTO #phantom x reader #phantom x you #erik destler reader insert #erik destler x reader #follower celebration #phantom 2004 imagine #phantom of the opera imagine #multi-chapter poto fic

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missdutch21md · 4 years

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Music of the Night | 3

A/N: Hello Lovelies!! Here is part 3!!! Some background and general angst?? Not sure how you guys will like it honestly;; Anyways as rough as this chapter can be, I hope you still enjoy this look in Taehyung’s mind.. bc. holy cow, i went there. I was listening to sappy music and got into writing and this was born!! Sorry for being late with this chapter, I know I promised it last night but after Be got released I literally couldn’t function. My apologies and please forgive me and accept this chapter as a token of my love. 💖💖

Summary: The time is 1856. Location: Paris, France at the Opera Populaire. Taehyung is living his life when who should stumble into his life than the most beautiful singer he has ever heard? She was the missing instrument to his orchestra. She would complete the score for his… Music of the Night.

Pairing: Opera Ghost! Taehyung x Singer! Ballet Dancer! MC

Genre: Angst 🥺

Rating: Mature 🔞

Length: 1.2k

Characters: rich! Seokjin, rich! Yoongi, dance instructor! hoseok, officer! Jimin, stagehand! Jungkook, chorus girl! BlackPink

⚠️Warnings⚠️: mentions of religion, stalking, abuse, (would you guys consider PotO as disabled--idk how to write this really in a pc way), body image issues, self deprecation, fear of abandonment, slight yandere themes

Please keep in mind this is a work of FICTION this in no way reflects on any BTS members or Taehyung as a person. This is simply a story for the imagination.

Go b a c k | Turn p a g e | M.L i s t

Taehyung found that while the Opera was busy bustling with excitement, he could not match their jovial feelings. He had gone about his usual morning routine of ensuring his pupil had awakened at a decent hour. He always blushed and told himself, he only did this to help her, it was surely not to catch sight of her in nothing but a thin shift. He would never.

The ensemble had gone through countless rehearsals already, and the quizzical man found himself losing interest, even with the way his little pupil huffed, and flushed from the vigor of her dancing. He was intrigued again when she scampered off to see the costumers, and was content to watch her from the holes in the walls as she worked diligently. She seemed to fit in everywhere she went. Easily sliding into conversation with poise and always being so well mannered.

He often thought of their deep conversations and smiled ruefully at his memories of just the night before when she was so tired and yet still adamant to meet him for her lessons.

Taehyung didn’t think himself a particularly cruel man, but still, he expected a certain amount of dedication from the young woman. She was meant to complete his music after all, though she wasn’t exactly privy to his intentions, yet.

He blinked when he realized that the young woman had scampered off without his noticing, the older women spoke of luncheon, and he hastily made his way to the mess hall, sure that he would find her there. And find her he did, flushed and beautiful as ever while her friends teased her.

“Finish quickly so you can come back to us!” the girl with long, dark tresses urged his pupil.

“Besides I think Hoseok misses you,” the younger girl laughed in a liting tone.

Taehyung had noticed that the male dancer had become somewhat of a mentor to her, taking her under his wing. It was clear on one occasion that his little pupil wasn’t completely immune to the older man’s charm and appeal. He watched as she shook her head but the light blush dusting her features deepened at their persistence. The girls continued their teasing for a bit longer and the blonde, (Taehyung never cared to learn their names. They were not his pupil, so why should he really care, was his logic. though he remembered she was the youngest girl of the group) even acted out a scene where she, as his pupil, would swoon in the brunette’s arms as though they were Hoseok’s waiting arms. At this, the dancer he was so keen on had turned so unapologetically red, one of the other girls began to speak. But Taehyung could stomach no more, with one final glance at the petite dancer, his pupil, and he was positive she would faint. His stomach tightened, and his mind was racing, so he did the only thing he could think to do while tears stung the backs of his eyes and a few even rolled hotly down his cheeks.

He left.

He would not hear how Jennie playfully called him the true desire of his pupil. He probably never would guess in a million years, even if he had stayed. All he could hear was a loud ringing in his ears, and the voices of all those who had scorned him. Devil Child, Evil, Hell’s Spawn.

You name it, he was branded it at one time or another.

Taehyung anguished as he descended back into the belly of the Opera House, his past traumas endured kept coming in wave after wave. He could never be the desire of his beloved; of that he was certainly sure. How could he be? He didn’t even have the courage to stand before her. It took so much out of him to even speak to her. That had left him shaken for a week before he roused the courage to speak to her again. His face was another thing entirely, while the left side of his face looked like that of an angel, chiseled to form the finest, most shockingly beautiful face. The right side of his face was marred, he knew that at one look at his entire face, the dancer he so longed for would reject him. The revelation, though it was hardly a revelation at all, was constantly at the forefront of his mind. He was painstakingly aware of his ‘deformity’ as others would call it. He knew he could not compare to the charm of Jung Hoseok. Not only was the man his older, but he was also a force to be reckoned with. Minnie spoke of him constantly to Taehyung.

Down, down, down he descended back into the darkness. Back to his solace, once he arrived to his dwelling, he couldn’t stop the sobs that wracked his body. He mourned for the life he yearned for. He was a man with great mind, and superior skills than the average man but he was doomed to be forever alone. His thoughts took another turn at that word. Alone.

He growled out and lashed at a project he was working on. He through the pages of his manuscript over the floor. He tore off the beautiful fabrics that he dressed himself in. He knelt down and wept, collapsing in on himself, the pain he felt becoming too great knowing that one day, his little pupil would one day leave him too. His mother left him with her death, his only friend he had known, Minnie, had left too.

The little ballerina girl who had saved him all those years ago, how tragic was it that Minnie had to leave. He had mourned her, yes, certainly. She was his friend. He told her to not accept the advances of the drifting stage hands that seemed to rotate with every production. But she had said it was true love, how sorely mistaken she had been. She only cried to Taehyung one month ago. And here he was now, without his companion and without anyone to lean on. It was only inevitable that the beautiful singer he so doted on now would one day meet the same road to lead her out of his life.

Taehyung did not stir the rest of the day, until well into the night. After the music had died down, and it was hours after when Taehyung was sure that the Opera house was asleep. The evening was bleeding into the next morning as he silently made his way up to the chapel. He hadn’t bothered to dress properly after his fit of rage and hurt. His shift was barely covering his toned chest and hanging onto his shoulders and barely tucked into his trousers anymore.

In the chapel, he gasped at the sight that greeted him. His eyes snapped to catch the velvet ribbon he had bestowed upon his pupil, he had rid her of the ghastly and tattered maroon fabric, and the luxurious fabric sat tied into a beautiful bow around a parchment near the window where he would watch her from during their nights of tutelage. Was her natural talent enough to recognize where his voice was really coming from?

He opened the letter with shaky fingers and felt his heart shatter in an entirely different way. Her writing was shaky, still unpracticed and unsure, he thought back on the night before and how he was urging her to try writing. Possibly, she was nervous? In her scrawling script, he saw that she tried desperately to imitate his long and precise strokes. He hungrily devoured the words and poured over the details over and over for there were only a few words.

I apologize fore displeezing you, Master

X ______

Taehyung sighed as he held the paper close to his heart. He didn’t care that it was 4 AM. He had to go and see her. And so, he did. She was sleeping, though not peacefully, he lamented. How he longed to press a tender kiss to her furrowed brow. He didn’t it was likely one of the other girls would wake, and he couldn’t have that. He settled for scrawling a note back to her and leaving it by her vanity to find once she woke with the velvet ribbon resting back in its rightful place.

Go b a c k | Turn p a g e

#Kim taehyung #taehyungxreader #btsxreader #Kimtaehyung x reader #music of the night #motn #btsxmc #taehyungxmc

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x-avantgarde-x · 5 years

Text

You can have as many as you want.

(Because my Tumblr is a bad bitch it:

1. Sent the answer before I had finished writing it.

2. Deleted the ask.

Tumblr, why do you hate me so much?? Any way. I'mma post this, and I give 0 fucks if you do or do not want me to.)

aAaAaAAAAHHHH. Thank you v much, gosh you are so sweet!

Touch starved Erik is the best Erik! Prompts used where "I don't deserve you." And "Don't leave me." From some list I had saved. This turned out a little angsty at some point, but our Erik is just a complex boy who needs his time to work things out, so the fluff is still in there. Hope you enjoy it!

Couple: Erik (The Phantom of the Opera) x reader. Mainly Lerik and Kerik ksks.

Summary: Erik it's just too edgy to admit to himself that he's longing for for being touched gently and when the reader does so for the first time things go kinda wild.

————————————————————

You sat at the couch at Erik's house, you still weren't so sure if his underground den in the middle of a lake fitted the concept of a (common) house, but the longer you spent down there the less you cared. By now it all had already acquired a sense of familiarity and homely feeling.

You had met Erik a year ago. A few days after what happened with Christine Dae you heard the sceneshifters talking about how they believed to have heard someone wondering down the basements of the Opera the same night The Dae had been abducted and that the whole Opera went crazy. Usually you were a really quiet person, and prefered to stay out of trouble but that day curiosity took the best of you. And by the sunset you were already under the fifth basement of the Opera Populaire.

You got lost many times, and many others you almost got killed by a trap, but at some point you came across an underground lake with a jetty where a small boat was tied. Without much thinking you got inside the boat and started rowing, not really knowing where you planned to get to. To your surprises after what seemed like a few hours of rowing aimlessly you could get a glimpse of some faint lights in the middle of a cave. Suddenly your strength came back to your already numb arms and you got to land in less that ten minutes.

You glanced around curiously. A voice inside your head was wondering what were so many candles doing down there, and most importantly, how they had gotten there but another voice onside you, the curious one who seemed to had just awakened today, told you to follow the path they seemed to mark.

As if in a dream you started walking, not really aware of what your body was doing. You felt like floating. It seemed as if you were in between a dream and reality,and that the glimmering candles told your body to follow them to wherever they lead to.

Eventually you got to what seemed to be a door and opening it, still not being completely responsible of your actions, you walked into what seemed to be a living room. You snapped out of your slumber because of the state of the room. Furniture had been flipped and pushed to the ground, the floor had vanished under a layer of what seemed to be shattered scores and glasses. Every room you walked into looked exactly the same.

Your heart almost escaped your chest when you found what seemed to be a room with a coffin laying at the floor. With fearful steps you finally made it to the casket where a beautiful cat laued inside. You kneeled in front of it and tried to pet it, but the animal simply held your glance for a few seconds before storming out of the room. Fearing for it to get hurt you chased it to one of the rooms that you hadn't already looked at. The first thing that you noticed was that next to the doorframe there was a switch, and you cursed yourself for not looking for them sooner. When the light turned on you couldn't believe your eyes.

There was what seemed to be a corpse laying at the floor. By how it looked you would have given it for dead, if it wasn't because the closer you got the more noticeable it became that the "corpse" was breathing, with some difficulty, but breathing.

It all hit you in a second. The Corpse Like Man that everyone had believed to be the Opera ghost, the spectrum that had hunted the Opera Garnier for years. It was alive, even if it did look dead. It was a living man who lived under the Opera and who had played with you all this whole time. A man who coughed violently and seemed to be bleeding out of a wound at his body, who wouldn't make it much farther if you didn't help him out at that moment.

When you finally came out of your thoughts you went to assist him. Despite the seriousness of his injuries and the apprehension that you felt about touching him the first times eventually you got him patched up. You also carried him to the bed you had found in one of the rooms without much of a trouble once you figured out that whatever it was the reason behind his looks, it wasn't contagious.

It took you some weeks to get him to be fully conscious and for him to have enough strengths to stand up for himself. The moment that happened he was furious with you. He shouted and yelled, cursing you for saving his life and making you leave the lake house, threatening you with your death if you ever came down to find him again.

But that didn't stop you. And eventually you didn't just come to make sure that he was okay and that he hadn't killed himself but because you enjoyed his company. At the same time the man, who responded to the name Erik had began to open up to you, allowing you two to become closer.

It all felt so far away in time now. As if it had taken place years ago. Erik and you became friends eventually and you felt like the two of you had developed some kind of unspoken relationship. But you never dared to speak with him about it, not after knowing what had happened with Christine. You didn't want to bring back any painful memories to Erik, and he had many.

Talking about Erik, you hadn't heard him nor seen him in the whole evening. You thought as you started to pack your things in your bag. You wished you had been able to spend more time together today, but he must have been busy to ignore your presence so abruptly.

As you got ready to leave you heard one of the many doors behind you opening up and turned around to see the man you had been thinking about walking out of a room, who was priming the sleeves of his suit. Erik looked up to you and his face seemed to have lightened up under the mask that he stubbornly kept wearing around you, even after you had told him several times that his face didn't disgust you any longer.

-My beloved- he spoke, opening his arms in a welcoming expression -what brings you down here at this lovely evening? Have you come to visit your poor Erik?

You shook your head when you heard how he addressed himself, it pained you at your heart. Holding your bag in your hands you swung slightly on your tiptoes in a playful way before answering him.

-Truth is I've been here the whole evening. But you seemed to be busy and I didn't want to disturb you. Actually, I was getting ready to make my way out.

The smile on Erik's lips faded away and a pout took it place. Erik did not let his disappointment go unnoticed and looked straight at your eyes before speaking in the saddest voice he could find -Oh, but why must you go? Don't leave me this early, my dear.

You chuckled at his manners, even when upset he was extremely theatrical. It may be the same with every men that advocated their life to their Opera's and music, you thought. The theatrical manners were a part of them.

-I'm coming back tomorrow, and you know it. No need to throw a tantrum over my departure.

You joked. Erik played along and placing a hand to his chest, as if he had been incredibly offended he went on.

-You insult me, miss. A man like me, throwing a tantrum as a mer infant?

-It wouldn't be the first time, would it darling?- you pointed out with a giggle.

-Touché- the masked man answered, accepting his defeatment with composure and dignity.

Your cheeks turned a soft red because of the playful flirting, which took place whenever you spoke to eachother. You placed one of your locks behind your ear nervously. The butterflies inside your stomach making you feel once more as if you were back to being that young teen who would snick out with all the other ballerinas to watch the handsome actors getting changed for the shows.

Without thinking twice you walked closer to Erik, who's look of surprise you didn't seem to catch, and placed a soft peck at the corner of his lips leaning on his shoulders to get to his face. You left Erik startled by your actions and it wasn't till you were back in front of him, looking straight at his eyes, that you realized what you had done.

-Oh! Erik I- you tried to excuse yourself, but the damage was already done, and you felt his anger rising and increasing as seconds passed by.

-Damn you!- he screamed- DAMN YOU, YOU LITTLE VIPER! Oh how funny of you. Haven't I've been hurt enough for you to play such tricks on me!?!- he said, pacing around you like a hunger lion over his prey.

-Erik, darling, I didn't mean to- you attempts of calming him down fell on deaf ears because Erik headed against you with all the rage he had locked inside.

-How cruel of you! Playing with a broken man's poor heart! You know fully well that poor unhappy Erik doesn't deserve you! But still you choose to play with my feelings. Only to end up leaving me behind, just as that Swedish girl did!

Tears had formed at your eyes as he spoke his hateful words. It was not till he stormed out of the room and locked himself that you allowed yourself to cry. Collapsing at the sofa where you had been sitting not so long ago and crying your heart out.

Hours had passed by when you heard a door opening. You did not need to open your eyes nor to stand up from the sofa to face the door in order to know that it was Erik the one who had come out of it. You heard his slowed down steps as he came closer and closer to you, like a frightened child about to confront his mother after having misbehaved. When he was finally standing in front of you, head down to the floor, he dropped to his knees, tugging at the hem of your dress while crying over your lap. You hands found their way to his head, where you started playing with the few strands of his hair in an attempt to calm him down.

When Erik had finally stopped sobbing and you two were now laying together, him on top of you, at the sofa. Erik's masked face was hidden at the croock of your neck as he clinged to your body with all his strengths, as if he was scared that you would disappear if he loosened his hold on you.

Whe Erik dared to cautiously look up at your face, in case that you were still mad at him.

-(Y/N)...- he asked, almost in a whisper. You looked back at him

-Yes?

Erik swallowed, he swallowed hard, doubting if he should go on with what he had thought.

-I- I wanted to ask you for something...

It was the first time since you had ever met that Erik was asking for something for himself. So you stood up slightly, making sure that Erik was still laying over you, wearing the softest smile you could to encourage him to keep going. Oh, you were so eager to get him whatever he asked for.

-What is it, dear?

Erik let out a shaky breath, and bitting his misshapen lip he found the courage enough to speak.

-Can you give me two kisses?- he asked a child like ring at his voice -one for now and one to save?

Tears made their way to your eyes once more. The fact that all he was asking for so fearfully was nothing more but a kiss tore your heart open.

With watery eyes you knelt on the stomach and pulled Erik up with you to later throw yourself at your poor man, taking his lips between yours without hesitation. The kiss took Erik by surprise, but even if he was a little astonished at the beginning he ended up melting down in your touch, kissing you back with the same fervour.

When you had to pull apart because of the air loss you took Erik's face between your hands, his blissful eyes looking at you in pure adoration. -You can have as many kisses as you want, my love. Now and ever. No need to ask for them.

Erik's mouth formed a big o, and his eyes looked watery behind his mask. A soft smile spread across his features before he pushed you against his chest, were you buried yourself, hugging eachother lovingly.

#poto #phantom susan kay #phandom #phantomoftheopera #the phantom #phantom of the opera #phantom of the opera imagine #the phantom of the opera x reader #leroux erik #gaston leroux #erik destler x reader #ask #request #anon ask

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dracwife · 4 years

Text

all i ask of you | adonis

its late and im soft leave me be, yes i used lyrics no i will not apologize

Ship: Gods & Monsters → Adonis/Erik

Word Count: 1632

Summary: Adonis attends the Masquerade, but it quickly goes awry and he finds himself instead alone on the balcony of the Opera Populaire.

The New Year -- a time of celebration.

Celebration of yet another passing twelve months, celebration of another successful show, celebration of another season free of the Opera Ghost's interference.

A celebration, in short, of Adonis' success.

Fireworks were set ablaze as champagne bottles were uncorked, a myriad of voices coming together in a cacophony of chatter and explosions in the distance.

Adonis stood in his dressing room, straightening his blazer, tugging gently at his collar, smoothing the wrinkles of his shirt -- he was wracked with nerves; despite his profession as a performer, these after-parties and all gatherings of the like frightened him nonetheless.

A simple mask, black as the rose he adorned as his boutonnière, was lifted gently from the vanity, and as he adorned it he glanced at himself in the mirror.

He was scarcely recognizable, his face shrouded entirely in darkness, his clothes far too formal for his own taste, and yet he wore them nonetheless, as he was obligated to attend tonight's ball after his rather successful performance.

The clock strikes ten and Adonis ponders for a moment how soon he should make an appearance.

Of course, he knows the sooner he does the sooner he can leave, but something draws him away from the party below.

A something that, in reality, was a someone, a someone that he had come to know as his distant admirer - a someone he has grown terribly fond of over the course of the past few months, perhaps even begun to care for in a strange way. He finds himself missing his Phantom now, wishing, waiting for him to appear and whisk him away from the masquerade below, but to his disappointment he does not appear neither behind him nor in the mirror before him, and alone is Adonis left in his dressing room.

He glances towards the singular rose that is left on his vanity, black like the one he himself has on his lapel, with a ribbon tied gently around the stem, a small note left under with terribly neat writing lining the paper:

"For my dearly beloved ghost."

Adonis turns towards the door, the gift left as an offering, a temptation maybe in hopes for his savior to find him before the night ends.

While he is nervous, Adonis finds himself mingling with the other guests, drinking and laughing, dancing with and befriending many of the women to approach him over the night's course. He hears the belltower distantly strike midnight, and cheers ring out as the New Year officially begins. He finds himself laughing lightly as he spins with yet another partner in dance, a waltz rapidement, her giggles infectious as they dance some strange mixture of intimacy and lighthearted fun.

He can feel the eyes burning into him from afar, and he knows that finally his darling Ghost has returned.

"Your attention elsewhere?" he hears the woman, who seems vaguely disappointed.

"My apologies, you see these parties, they make me quite anxious."

"Oh! But there is no need to worry," her voice dips and her tone changes, seductive and hopeful all the same, "We can slip away, if you'd like."

"N-No, I can't --"

"Come on, doesn't the star performer deserve such a reward for sharing with us his talent?"

Ah, so his disguise wasn't so clever after all.

"Madame, with due respect, I must decline."

She rips herself away from him in a huff, "I am not good enough for you?"

"It's not that at all -"

"And to think I have wasted my time so! Were you not anything more than a stagehand just a few months ago? Why, as a patron of this theater you should be thanking me for even daring to give you an audience!"

Adonis was stunned, unsure of how to react, how to handle the situation which seemed only to spiral the more he spoke. Instead he looked at her, this apparent patron of the Populaire, then away. Leaving might be his best option, he decides.

"Don't walk away from me, you streetrat!"

Now, heads began to turn towards the (rather one-sided) argument occurring. Others continued their conversations, their dances, their drinking, but the few that turned their attention towards him made Adonis feel terribly ill. His chest feels tight, and he found himself blinking away tears as the masked woman continued to barrage him with insults. At last she stopped, took a breath, and hissed towards him "Leave me to be then, you talentless waste of time. I pity the man that finds himself in your presence. You are nothing, and you always have been."

She storms off then, leaving Adonis a speechless, shaking mess, his anxieties overtaking him as he too rushes out of the hall. He speeds through the Opera's corridors, up the stairs, further and further until he finds himself gasping for fresh air on one of the many balconies outside of the private dressing rooms.

He scarcely knows he's crying, for he's too focused on trying to catch his breath which seems so far gone from him he finds it hard to stand -- a coughing and sputtering mess, his chest feels closed and his lungs are heavy, disallowing any air in. He is panicking, tearing the mask away and crying as he tries so hard to calm himself.

At last when he can finally breathe he wipes away the tears, instead leaning over the guard of the balcony and staring down.

How he hated himself so. The things she said to him, were they true? Never had he felt adequate before, and until recently he truly believed himself to be as seemingly worthless as she had made him out to be. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps he'd be better off --

It was then he heard the creak of the door behind him.

"She is a fool. She knows nothing of your talent."

Adonis can't bear to face him yet, though he wishes for nothing more than to collapse into his arms.

"Jealousy is the harshest of our emotions, isn't it?"

He should know, it had been boiling inside of him since he saw his Darling Angel dancing without him tonight. Not that he should ever admit it, but he felt so strongly for the young actor in front of him now, he could barely stand the thought of him giving his time to those so unappreciative, and in return be left so broken. He knew too well the feeling.

He approached him slowly, a hand barely coming out to touch Adonis, but was quickly pulled away. Erik had heard his quiet sobs, and with it his heart shattered. He was unsure how to comfort him, all he could do is stand there, contemplating.

Thinking, thinking of all the times Adonis had comforted him when he was left battered and bruised by the world above, all the soft touches and lingering glances, wandering hands and fleeting few moments of silence between the two. How terribly he wishes he could brush away Adonis' tears and find him once again smiling, able to hold him and recite to him all of the reasons he --

"Perhaps the world is better off without me."

"No. No," Erik cuts himself off, torn between his feelings of affection and his horrid fear of rejection, please, he pleads to himself, know how much I adore you, my Dearest Angel.

"I'm sure you feel the same. Take no pity on me, Phantom. You may leave as the rest of them. I think soon I will find myself far from here, I don't deserve the attention I seek from you."

"Anywhere you go, let me go too," Erik finds the words falling from his tongue before he can stop them, and he reaches out again, this time turning Adonis towards him, and in a bout of inconceivable sorrow and longing, his hand comes to rest on the singer's cheek, his thumb brushing away the tear that sits there shining against his skin in the moonlight, "My Angel, that's all I ask of you."

Erik is unsure of what has come over him, but his thumb traces gently along Adonis' lips.

How terribly he longs to kiss him, to understand his sadness and share in the sorrow that they two indulge themselves in, to bind them together and cure the loneliness that seems to plague himself so. And he knows this is a selfish wish, but so many nights left him inconsolable in his solitude and strife, he felt almost too selfish to stop himself.

But it was Adonis who moved first, so suredly did he pull Erik's face to his own, kissing him with a passion neither of the two had known before, unbeknownst by Erik to have even been harbored for him by the young actor. He did not stop him, though, and instead indulged in the feeling of Adonis so close, so trusting in him to leave himself so defenseless in his time of weakness. Adonis' hands came to rest upon Erik's cheeks, his thumbs tracing his jaw, holding him still close for another kiss. In return, Erik found himself dropping the rose he had taken from Adonis' dressing room, the one which he held so tightly in his grip, and instead tilting Adonis' chin upwards, inviting him to kiss him again, and again, and as many times as he could draw from the performer, so desperate for contact, desperate for affection.

At last Adonis pulls himself away from Erik's trembling lips, and rests instead his head against the taller man's shoulder.

"I might be inclined to stay, were you by my side."

"Always and forever, so long as you need me with you, here beside you."

Say you love me --

Erik holds Adonis close, fingers tracing lightly along his back, his only hope to comfort the other.

Adonis sighs, his final attempt to steady his breathing, "Please, let me stay with you tonight."

You know I do.

"As you wish, my Darling Angel."

#dex.writes #ship.gods & monsters #selfship #self shipping #self ship community #self ship #f/o #f/o community

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