"Share the first line of ten of your most recent fanfics and then tag ten people. Don't have ten? Not to worry, just share what you have."
Thanks for the tag @shinyfire-0 !
He had not shared her bed again after that first night. - To Sleep, Perchance to Dream
When Christine Daaé had picked July 19th as the date she would move into her new apartment on the Rue Scribe, she had clearly not foreseen that it would be the hottest day of the year. - Four String Serenade
The annual New Year’s ball at the Opéra Garnier is not an event Erik would ever willingly attend, even if he had a perfectly normal face that would allow him to move among the many guests unnoticed. - Lesson Learned
It truly was the strangest thing how quickly time could pass when one was utterly, perfectly happy, Erik thought as he stared out of the library window, watching his wife walk up the snow-covered garden path. - Christmas Strawberries
This had been a horrible mistake. - Be My Guest
She had excused herself and retreated to her room as soon as she deemed acceptable, claiming to be tired after such a long, emotional day. - Surrender
Erik can never quite bring himself to leave immediately after one of Christine’s lessons. - Close Your Eyes
He dragged her along the dark and damp corridors beneath the opera house at a frantic pace, his grip on her arm harsh and unrelenting, not even sparing her a backward glance as she stumbled over her own feet trying to keep up with him. - Down Once More
They had only been intimate a handful of times since their wedding, but Christine was addicted already. - Healing Scars
On the few occasions in his life when he had looked into a mirror, he had seen nothing but the devil staring back at him. - I'll Be Good
Since I'm late to the party and I'm assuming just about everyone has been tagged already, consider this your invitation to participate if you haven't yet!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom - Susan Kay
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Christine Daaé/Erik | Phantom of the Opera
Characters: Christine Daaé, Erik | Phantom of the Opera, Gustave Daaé
Additional Tags: Fluff, Modern AU, poto fluff week 2022, mentions of past character death, Moving Out, Summer
Summary:
When Christine moves into her new apartment on the Rue Scribe, she does not expect it to come with free concerts by her mysterious upstairs neighbour. Written for the Poto Fluff Week 2022 prompt 'concert'.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
I wrote a little sequel to Once Upon A Wedding Night. Also available on FFN.
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom - Susan Kay
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Christine Daaé/Erik | Phantom of the Opera
Characters: Erik | Phantom of the Opera, Christine Daaé
Additional Tags: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Dreams and Nightmares, conflicted feelings, Sleep Deprivation
Series: Part 2 of Once Upon A Wedding Night
Summary:
Having Christine living with him as his wife brings with it a number of challenges Erik did not anticipate.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Christine Daaé/Erik | Phantom of the Opera
Characters: Christine Daaé, Erik | Phantom of the Opera
Additional Tags: Explicit Sexual Content, Bondage, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Established Relationship, Jealousy, Oral Sex
Summary:
When Christine seems to be a little too free with her affections towards the vicomte, Erik decides she needs to be reminded of who it is she truly belongs to.
That's a difficult one to start with, because I don't usually browse the tags on ao3. I mostly read stuff by authors that are already on my list of favourites, or that are recommended by others. That being said, I am a sucker for a good arranged marriage/marriage of convenience fic, so that's a tag that would draw my attention.
19. Share a snippet from a wip without giving any context for it.
Okay so I only have one WIP at the moment and this is literally all I have written for it so far.
The loose stones on the path dug painfully into the soles of my bare feet as I ran. I did not recall when or how I had lost my shoes, or perhaps I had not been wearing them to begin with. I had been so preoccupied with getting out of that place as fast as I could, it was no wonder I had had no room on my mind for such trivial practicalities as shoes.
How could I have been so stupid, I asked myself, the cold wind cutting into my skin. How could I have been so naïve? From the very first moment I had set foot within those walls, my every instinct had been screaming at me to turn back and never return, that something was not quite right with that place and its people. And yet I had trusted him blindly. I had dismissed that feeling of foreboding as a result of too many ghost stories, and followed wherever he led without a second thought. And look where it had brought me.
22. What is it about watching the same two idiots falling in love over and over again?
For me personally, it's escapism. The world can be a dark place sometimes, life can be tiring, and settling down after a long day of work to read about the same two idiots falling in love for the 100th time is a great way to get away from the real world for a little while.
It does not take his eyes long to get accustomed to the dark. He has lived belowground long enough that he can see perfectly well in the absence of light. Christine on the other hand does not seem too pleased by the sudden darkness pervading her dressing room.
Written for Potober day 7, with the prompts “helplessness” and “blindness”.
AO3
FFN
Erik can never quite bring himself to leave immediately after one of Christine’s lessons. These moments spent in her company are so precious to him, and he’ll do anything he can to prolong their time together. Luckily for him, Christine doesn’t seem to notice how he tends to purposely draw out her lessons, or if she does, she must not mind very much, because she doesn’t try to put a stop to it. Indeed, most of the time, it is Christine herself who initiates conversation after the lesson has ended. For the life of him, Erik cannot understand why she would prefer to talk to him rather than to go out and have fun with her friends from the corps the ballet, but he is not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.
Often he finds it so hard to leave her that he stays behind the mirror long after he has bid her goodbye, watching her in silence as she performs little mundane tasks, like picking up her costume and putting it aside for the wardrobe mistress, or cleaning up her dressing room, or brushing her hair. Afterwards he will berate himself for spying on her like that, but in the moment, he simply cannot force his gaze away from her.
Sometimes she will hum or sing to herself when she thinks he is not there, and he relishes every opportunity to hear her sweet voice. He could never grow tired of that sound, not even after a million singing lessons.
Today they have been working on one of Elissa’s songs from the upcoming production of Hannibal. Christine has not been cast in this role – that honour has gone, completely undeservedly, to that Giudicelli woman – yet Erik is determined to see to it that Christine gets to perform the part. She is ready. He has made sure of that.
Never mind how he will make it happen. It cannot be all that difficult to stage some kind of accident to befall Carlotta. Christine need never know he was behind it. All that matters is that she will be on stage, showing the people of Paris what she is capable of. What he has taught her.
She is animatedly recounting some funny story one of her ballet friends has told her when suddenly there is a strange buzzing sound coming from the brand new electric light fixtures and immediately after, her dressing room is shrouded in darkness. Christine lets out a sound somewhere between a squeal and a whimper. After that, silence as well as darkness fills the room.
Those so-called managers who run his theatre are such fools. They have had electric lighting installed only two days ago, and already there seems to be a technical problem. Obviously neither one of them has the slightest knowledge of the electric lighting system, so who knows how long it will take them to get it fixed.
It does not take his eyes long to get accustomed to the dark. He has lived belowground long enough that he can see perfectly well in the absence of light. Christine on the other hand does not seem too pleased by the sudden darkness pervading her dressing room.
“Angel?” she whispers, a slight tremor in her voice betraying her unease, “are you still there?”
“Yes, Christine, I am,” he replies. He throws his voice across the room, as he often does, making it difficult for her to locate the source of the sound to prevent her from finding out his hiding spot behind the mirror.
“I am afraid, Angel,” she admits quietly.
“There’s no need, my dear. It is only an issue with the new lighting system. I am certain the managers will solve the problem.” Eventually, he adds silently.
“But how long will that take?” she whines. “I cannot stand this darkness. It frightens me.” She lets out another whimper and suddenly Erik feels the overwhelming urge to go to her and hold her in his arms, to reassure and calm her like a normal man, a lover, would. Yet even if he had the courage to touch her like that, he could not do it. She still believes him to be an angel, sent from heaven by her father to watch over her, and he cannot shatter that illusion now. She cannot ever know his true identity. If she were ever to find out that he is merely a man, she would certainly never speak to him again.
Still his yearning to go into the room with her, to make her feel safe again, is stronger than ever, almost impossible to resist, and if ever the time were right to give in to it, it would be now. The blackness of the room forms a perfect cover. Her eyes unadjusted to the lack of light, she is completely blind at the moment. He could go and stand right in front of her and still she would not know he was there. But if he has somehow underestimated the managers’ capabilities – that would be a first – and they manage to have the lighting restored while he is still in the room, his deception would immediately be revealed and all would be lost. It is a risk he cannot take. Unless…
“Christine, do you trust me?” he asks.
She replies without hesitation. “Of course, Angel. I trust you with my life.”
The sincerity of her words simultaneously elates and pains him, but he chooses to examine those feelings at a later time.
“Good. Then close your eyes.”
Even without light, he can see her brow furrow in confusion at his command.
“Close my eyes?” she repeats. “But what difference does that make? Whether I close my eyes or not, I cannot see either way.”
“Do as I say, Christine”. He infuses as much power as he dares into his voice, without making it sound too frightening, and this time Christine obeys, covering her eyes with her hands.
Erik waits a few seconds longer, making sure that she won’t try to peek through her fingers, before sliding open the mirror and stepping into the room. He has been here before, although only when he was absolutely certain that Christine was not around and would not enter unexpectedly. He has never been in the same room, has never been so close to her before without the barrier of the mirror between them, and he finds this new experience makes him rather nervous – an unusual occurrence for the Opera Ghost.
His steps do not make a sound. He moves noiselessly around the room – his years living in the cellars beneath the opera house have trained him for that, too – and takes his time to study Christine as he walks over to where she is sitting at her dressing table. Once again he is struck by her exceptional beauty. She is radiant, even in the dark.
He stops right behind her, close enough to make out the sweet fragrance of her perfume, and the urge to touch her has never been so strong. He yearns to reach out and trail his fingers down the pale skin of her neck, to run his hands through her hair. Her curls look so soft and inviting, he wishes he could bury his face in them. He has to force himself to take a few steps back and refrain from such utterly foolish actions. Even in the entirely unlikely event that she would welcome such attentions, he knows all too well that he cannot touch her without revealing he is only a man of flesh and blood.
He realizes he has been silent for too long when she hesitantly calls out for him. “Angel? Where are you?”
“Do not be afraid, Christine, I am here,” he whispers, throwing his voice straight into her ear. She gasps at the unexpected proximity of his voice, and he can almost feel her desire to look up, to try to see if he is truly there, despite the darkness, despite the fact that he is supposed to be a bodiless, celestial being, but true to her word, she keeps her eyes closed.
He knows he cannot stay in this room with her forever. He will need to retreat to his hiding spot again sooner rather than later, but he does not want to go without leaving something for her, a small token of reassurance, some physical evidence that he was indeed here. Moving silently to the other side of the room, he pulls open the drawer of a little cabinet where he knows Christine used to keep her candles and matches. Smart girl that she is, she had decided to keep them there for emergencies just like this one.
He retrieves a candle, lights it and places it on the corner of her dressing table. He takes one last long look at her, revelling in the feeling of sharing a space with her for just a few more seconds, before leaving the room and sliding the mirror back in place.
“You can open your eyes now,” he instructs. The memory of the look of delight on her face when she spots the candle, knowing it was left there for her by her Angel to dispel the darkness she finds so frightening, is enough to keep him warm for the next few cold and dreary nights in his lonely house below.
This story was written for the Potober prompts “Down Once More” and “And Now, How You Betray Me”, particularly with the words “taken hostage” and “betrayal” in mind. It resulted in an alternative version of the final lair. Fair warning: this one does not have a happy ending.
AO3
FFN
He dragged her along the dark and damp corridors beneath the opera house at a frantic pace, his grip on her arm harsh and unrelenting, not even sparing her a backward glance as she stumbled over her own feet trying to keep up with him. Her head was still reeling from the events leading up to this moment. It had all happened so fast, yet here and now, time seemed to lose all meaning. Every separate moment seemed to fade into the next one, forming one big hazy blur. It might have been several hours or merely a few minutes before they reached the shore of the underground lake and Erik was steering the little boat across the water towards his house.
Once inside, he pushed her into the bedroom which she had come to think of as hers, and roughly thrust the wedding dress he had so painstakingly crafted for her into her arms. He did not leave the room, did not even turn around to give her the smallest bit of privacy as he forced her to change into it. He immediately started yanking at the fastenings of the dress she was wearing, undressing her with great urgency, letting the garment pool around her feet, and for a moment she feared that he had gone completely mad and would try to violate her. But he only barked out an order for her to put on the wedding gown as he began to agitatedly pace the floor, only occasionally glancing in her direction while she got dressed again.
When she was finished, Erik retrieved a veil – she did not see where from, he might as well have pulled it out of thin air – and forcefully pushed it onto her head. Under any other circumstances, she might have been able to appreciate how delicate and beautiful it was, with its wreath of white and pale pink flowers that contrasted so nicely against her dark brown hair. It hardly weighed anything, but to Christine it felt incredibly heavy, carrying with it the full weight of Erik’s expectations.
Now that her wedding attire was complete, Erik finally stood still long enough to fully look at her. She wondered if he was happy with what he saw. He must have imagined her in that very dress so many times. Was he satisfied now that he had what he wanted, even knowing that it was against her will? Was it all really worth it?
Before she got the chance to ask him, he turned his back on her and walked away without saying a word. She followed him into the sitting room, where a fire was burning brightly in the hearth, its warm glow a striking contrast to the icy atmosphere in the room.
“So what now?” Christine asked, breaking the tense silence between them. “Are you planning to keep me hostage here, hoping I will suddenly change my mind and agree to marry you after all? Or will you just drag me in front of a priest and threaten me until I say ‘I do’?”
“This is not exactly how I had imagined it to go either, Christine,” he snapped as he stood by the fire with his back turned towards her. “I had a plan, and it would have worked if your precious little Vicomte didn’t have to ruin it all.”
“Raoul was only trying to protect me.”
“And look where his protection got you,” Erik sneered, turning to face her with a grotesque grin on his bare face as he gestured around the room, “in the Phantom’s lair, captured by the madman!”
“I never believed you to be mad, Erik,” she replied, “but I have come to understand how dangerous you can be.”
Christine’s heart twisted painfully as she recalled the early days of their acquaintance, when she still believed he was the Angel of Music. How kind he had always been to her, how gently he had treated her. But that had changed drastically when she learned of his deception and discovered his true identity. He had continued to act as her tutor, coaxing her voice to unknown heights, and although he was never harsh or violent towards her, he had grown defensive and suspicious, always on his guard around her, as if he could not believe that she could still feel any genuine kindness towards him now that she had seen his face.
“Well yes, I suppose I am like a wild animal in that regard. When feeling threatened, I can be extremely dangerous indeed,” Erik agreed. He took a few steps towards her, closing the distance between them, his tall frame towering over her. He seemed to be challenging her, daring her to look at the face of the monster.
“Should I be afraid then?” she asked, rising to the challenge and looking straight into his strange yellow eyes.
At first he merely seemed surprised, maybe even impressed, by her bravery as she stood her ground and faced him without flinching, but by the way his face fell only a moment later, she could tell when the meaning of her words hit him. He turned away as he spoke.
“Of course not. I never meant for you to be scared of me. I never intended you any harm.” He took a few steps back, as if to prove his point, as if he hoped to seem less threatening if he stood a little further away from her.
“Kidnapping me is a strange way of showing it,” Christine huffed.
His posture stiffened at the accusation. “You didn’t exactly leave me much choice, did you?” he said through clenched teeth. “You betrayed me!”
“I betrayed you?” she gasped in disbelief, her hands balling into fists by her sides. “Do you want to talk about betrayal, Erik? Do you want to discuss how you lied to me for years, pretending to be an angel sent by my dead father to watch over me? How you blackmailed the managers into doing your bidding, how you terrorized Carlotta and God knows how many others?”
“Don’t you understand? I did it all for you! Because I love you!” he roared.
“Don’t you dare blame this all on me! You killed two innocent people, Erik! How does that have anything to do with love?”
“Buquet was not innocent,” he snorted. “He was a vile lecher, a pervert preying on young defenceless ballerinas in the dark behind the stage. He got what was coming to him.”
The man was certainly no saint, Erik was right about that and Christine knew it, but how could he not see that that did not justify his murder? Even so, she might have been able to forgive him for it eventually, if it had not been for Piangi.
“Piangi never hurt anyone.”
“Piangi was in the way!” he exclaimed. “I did not mean to kill him, merely to incapacitate him long enough to take his place on the stage, but I ran out of time and I became careless. He was the only thing standing between us and I was not about to let him ruin my plan, no matter the cost.”
“You are delusional if you truly believe he was the only obstacle standing in your way. What did you expect to happen tonight, Erik? You would take Piangi’s place, sing with me in an opera of your own creation in front of a full theatre, and then what? I’d fall into your arms and we’d live happily ever after?” She tore the veil out of her hair in frustration, throwing it at his feet. If he thought that after all the times he had tried to force her hand, had tried to manipulate her into choosing him, she would now willingly become his bride, he was sorely mistaken.
“I cannot deny the truth of that, although it now becomes painfully clear how foolish I was to entertain such hopes.” Although his words seemed to imply that he blamed himself for having such unrealistic expectations, the glare he directed at Christine made it clear that he also faulted her for his disappointment. “I was ready to lay my heart at your feet tonight, Christine, and how did you repay me? By tearing off my mask and revealing my monstrous shame for all of Paris to see! I trusted you!”
His angry shouting turned into a sob of betrayal and despair, and for the briefest of moments, Christine’s anger was overshadowed by compassion for the man in front of her. She was well aware of how badly she must have hurt him by doing what she did, but she had no other options. If she hadn’t done something drastic that would enrage him enough to take action, the gendarmes waiting behind the stage would have closed in on him and captured him, or worse.
Raoul must have thought she was in her dressing room or somewhere else out of earshot as he gave his instructions to shoot Erik when the time came, but she had been too nervous to sit still for long, choosing instead to wander the hallways and eventually finding her way behind the stage, pacing back and forth in the dark as she waited for the inevitable tragedy of the night to unfold. She had heard every word. If she hadn’t acted when she did, Erik might have been dead by now.
“I understand that my actions hurt you too, Erik, truly, I do, but you gave me no choice. Can’t you see it was wrong to pin all your hopes and dreams on me? You’ve told me you love me, and I believe that in your own way you really do, but I cannot be held responsible for your feelings, Erik. I do not owe you anything simply because you love me.”
At the crestfallen, heartbroken look on his face, she almost went to him, almost closed the distance between them and embraced him in a futile attempt to offer him some comfort, a silent apology for having shattered his dreams in a few sentences. Almost. Whatever she had to offer him, it would not be enough now. He would always want what she could not give him.
“I know that I cannot make you love me,” Erik began after a long, heavy silence. “God knows I have tried long enough.” His voice sounded softer now, his bitter and accusatory tone completely gone. “But do you not care for me even a little bit? That could be enough for me. We could start over somewhere new, where no one knows who we are. I could still tutor you and you could still sing.” He was pleading now, with his eyes as well as his words, hoping against all odds that he could still convince her to share her future with him.
“I would expect nothing from you, Christine. I’d do anything to make you happy, I’d give you anything you want. You would only have to ask and it would be yours, and you would not have to do anything in return other than stay by my side. Dammit Christine, I am beyond pride. I’ll fall to my knees and beg if I must. Stay with me. Please.”
And for a moment, Christine was truly tempted to throw caution to the wind and go with him. She did care for him, how could she not? Despite everything, he was still her Angel of Music. She could not deny he had been an integral part of her life since the first moment she met him. Erik had been her sole companion during those terrifying first few years after her father’s passing. Through music he had brought her soul back to life. The connection between them was irrefutable, and she could hardly imagine a world where she would never see him again.
Yet she knew that what he asked of her was impossible. Even if he claimed that he had no expectations from her, she knew that he would never be truly happy until she returned his affections, that he would always continue to hope, and she could not bear to disappoint him. Besides, she already had a fiancé. Raoul. Her childhood sweetheart. Sweet, protective, kind-hearted Raoul, who was probably trying desperately to find a way to save her, even if he had to risk his own life to do so, at this very moment.
Where Erik’s love for her was obsessive and at times almost frightening, being with Raoul would be as easy as breathing. He might not be able to give her a life of music, but she would be safe and cared for. She would not want for anything, and unlike Erik, Raoul was not a wanted man. Choosing a life on the run with Erik over a comfortable and uncomplicated one with Raoul might be romantic, but it would also be foolish.
“I do care for you Erik,” she finally replied, “but I cannot stay.”
He did not try to convince her after that. He merely nodded in resignation, as if he had always known this would be the final outcome.
“Go then,” he said. “You can choose a change of clothes from the wardrobe in your – in the spare room. You would draw too much unwanted attention if you returned dressed the way you are now.”
Christine wondered if that was his true reasoning, or if he simply wanted to keep the wedding dress as a memento to torment himself with.
She obeyed his instructions for the last time, selecting a simple yet elegant dark blue day dress out of the assortment of clothes Erik had kept on hand for her since the first time she had spent the night in his home.
When she re-entered the sitting room to say her final goodbyes, Erik was kneeling on the floor, desperately clutching the veil she had so carelessly discarded earlier, a look of terrible sorrow etched across his distorted face. He brought the fabric to his misshapen nose, trying to inhale the little bit of her perfume that might cling to it.
His eyes flew open and he looked up at her in surprise when he heard her footsteps. He clearly had not expected her to come back.
Erik stood up slowly, wiping invisible dust from his trousers, straightening his jacket, as if after all that had transpired, it was still of the utmost importance that he look presentable to her. Maybe his habit of dressing so nicely was an attempt to compensate for the imperfection of his face, she suddenly realized.
A tentative smile formed on his lips as he watched her, silently waiting for whatever last scrap of kindness she would offer him before stepping out of his life for good. Christine could almost feel her heart breaking as she removed the ring he had thrust on her finger earlier that night, holding it out towards him. The ring was supposed to be a promise, a physical sign that their lives would forever be entwined. It did not feel right to keep it.
Erik’s smile disappeared as he reached for the ring, holding her hand in his for a moment while he looked into her eyes, silently begging her to change her mind. She gave a minute shake of her head before letting go of the ring and withdrawing her hand, a single tear trailing down her cheek.
Christine did not say goodbye, her voice unable to get the word out. She turned around and walked away, forcing herself to set one foot in front of the other until she had reached the door. If she did not leave now, she never would, and she knew she had to.
At the door, she stopped and looked back at him over her shoulder. One last glance at the man who had taught her voice to soar. He was still watching her, and when he noticed her looking at him he nodded once, as if to say: “It’s alright. Go. I understand.”
Trying to keep her tears at bay, she stepped over the threshold and made her way to the jetty, where the boat lay waiting for her. She knew she was making the right decision by leaving. But then why did it feel as if she was leaving a part of her heart behind?
As Christine steered the boat to the other side and removed herself from his life forever, Erik’s almost inhuman scream of loss and despair echoed across the underground lake. It was a sound that would haunt her for the rest of her days.
