#volee phanfic

[rose-margaritas]

Part 5: Volée

Volée is my absolute favorite fic in the phandom, period. The author, @veroniqueclaire, describes it best: “Think of this as Down Once More: the extended, modern-day, jet set remix.” It’s easy to see why this fic is one of the most popular and celebrated modern AUs in the phandom. The writing style, the emotional depth, the slow-burn tension between Erik and Christine— I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve read it in one sitting.

Veroniqueclaire flawlessly translates the characters we know and love into a modern setting without stripping away what makes them them. This Erik is knowledgeable and outwardly composed, almost wise, yet every so often you glimpse the rough edges of his past and his quiet disconnect from the world around him. This Christine is grieving and lost, but her inner strength simmers just beneath the surface, revealing itself in the moments when she stands her ground against Erik. Watching both of them grow— together and individually— is utterly magnetic, and the ending feels deeply earned and fulfilling every single time.

This story has had a profound personal impact on me, and it still does. It helped me discover my passion and clarify my career path. It gave me the courage to study abroad. It pushed me to grow not just creatively, but as a person. This fic means an incredible amount to me, and I know it has had similarly lasting effects on so many others in the phandom.

As for the Polaroid designs, I put a lot of thought into their signatures. I imagined Volée!Erik signing his name in a sharp, angular style, with a firm dot at the end—reflecting that he is, at his core, just Erik. Christine’s signature, on the other hand, would have a natural flow to it— soft, expressive, and faintly flourished, in a way that’s hard to define but unmistakably hers. If you’re wondering about the name on Christine’s boarding pass, it’s a random alias I chose since they’re traveling in disguise. I also wanted it to be a small nod to one of my favorite parts of the fic: their travels together. And yes, I couldn’t resist redrawing the beach scene. It’s wild to think it’s been over two years since I last drew it. So much has changed since then, yet this fic still means just as much to me.

I hope anyone who reads Volée has the same unforgettable experience that I did.

Frames:

[veroniqueclaire]

… when I came across this, my first thought was, “What is even happening? Is this real life?”

https://www.degruyterbrill.com/document/doi/10.1515/ang-2025-0011/html?srsltid=AfmBOoroIYIy7EOmFaeXxsunmLP36Qj9xg39r4x2u7UwUF6cWqbhCm8O

Friends: two post doctoral researchers of the English language and sociology wrote a paper about Volée and another fanfiction, got an EU grant (from a fund named for Marie freaking Curie!) to do so, and published it in Anglia — which is, as far as I know, as someone who is so far from this world — the oldest peer reviewed journal of the English language.

(What is even happening!)

To the authors: part of me wonders if I know you already under pen names here, but whether we’ve talked before or never before, please send me a message, I would love to send you my thanks, and to get coffee if we are ever in the same city.

I’m honored, I am grateful, and this was one of the nicest things to happen this year.

[rose-margaritas]

There was a pause, a tiny gasp as his breath caught, and she could only imagine his heart was beating as quickly as hers now; she squeezed his shin, beneath her left hand, and leaned closer to nuzzle against his neck, breathing in the scent of his cologne. He exhaled, all the contentment in the world, and slowly, tentatively, leaned the unmasked side of his face against the crown of her head, braced to see if she would pull away. Christine slipped her right arm around his waist, and the walls of his nervousness seemed to melt, his posture softening, the rigid tension of his muscles relaxing, the weight of the strong arm around her back suddenly present, steady and wonderful. She let out a sigh of pleasure, of peace.

"…the death of me," he murmured tenderly, and she couldn't help but smile. (x)

🏝️

I don’t think I’ll ever be able to convey how much I love the fic Volée by @veroniqueclaire , as I am not as articulate as the other fic commenters (which is also why I don’t really comment 😓). Like the summary provided by our lovely author, it truly is the quiet moments where the most magnificent things happen between our two beloved characters.

Personally, my favorite scene has always been the beach scene, a particularly calm occasion after what happened in the previous chapter… 😬 It was a rare moment where both Erik and Christine’s guards are down, where the two of them could actually speak their minds without much argument. In addition, VeroniqueClaire has such great talent when it comes to painting a full picture of what she hopes to project to the readers. The image in my mind was so tender that I simply had to capture it. I hope I do it justice!

[veroniqueclaire]

I came across these digital renderings of a loft designed for a ballerina by elenaen, and realized in an instant that it would be perfect for Meg and Christine’s apartment in Williambsurg. The heavy ballet influence reflects the fact that it was Meg’s apartment first, and she let Christine move in with her after her dad passed away. (Nevermind that I’ve described the two of them as perpetually broke, and this would be a ~$3.5M condo if it were real.) 

[veroniqueclaire]

“Summer wavered like hot air over a car hood and eased into fall, and Raoul’s brother was marrying his long-time and long-denied paramour in a refined wedding at the University Club. Pundits and gossipers whispered that it was a PR move; that it was to quash rumors that Philippe had a kept woman among the Met’s ballerinas by outright marrying her, or that Senator De Chagny was gearing up for a presidential run and needed the optics of an adoring wife. But it was hard to examine Philippe’s motives too closely when Meg relayed news of Sorelli’s happiness... The ceremony and reception were a sugar-colored swirl amidst the stately mahogany-paneled ballroom... Swanning about the room in a cloud of tulle, Sorelli was radiant; posing for photos with her old friends from the ballet, picking up the toddler flower girls and spinning with them on the dance floor, delighting in every wedding superstition and looking at Philippe with so much adoration that Christine’s heart ached at the memory of loving someone so much.”

Volée Chapter 23 In keeping with the moneyed American political dynasty I’ve imagined for the De Chagnys, the University Club was the most buttoned-up wedding reception venue I could imagine in Manhattan. Phil is probably wearing a Brooks Brothers tuxedo, and Sorelli’s wedding gown is Oscar de la Renta, naturally. This is a gorgeous wedding dress, no doubt, but I always say that Oscar is what powerful women have to wear to convince men they’re not actually a threat. I have great respect for the designer and his legacy, but there’s no denying his styles have become a cultural shorthand for “strong but not gonna stab you; you can trust me, I’m ladylike,” ...in Congress and in boardrooms everywhere. 

The contrast between that and Leroux’ superstitious ballerina who (it must be said again) kept a dagger in her handbag is just fascinating to me. Like a wild swan trapped in a tasteful jacquard shell. 

[veroniqueclaire]

“Sorelli had always been the bad girl of the ballet rats, all smudged eyeliner and snagged fishnets at rehearsals, with tabloid escapades that were forgiven only because of her breathtaking talent, legendary for her ability to dance to perfection even when showing up at the Met sporting last night’s clubbing outfit and a crippling hangover - and she had gone sentimental and dreamy at the thought of a white ballgown and moving uptown with her husband-to-be. Christine wasn’t sure how a woman who carried nothing in her purse but pointe shoes and cigarettes would adapt to the buttoned up existence of a political wife, but if it was Philippe she wanted, then Christine was glad for her.”

So, I’ve taken some liberties with Sorelli’s character that I actually think aren’t *too* far off in a modern realm  – Leroux’ description of her was an implication that she and Philippe were known to one another, and that she was a star dancer, a little older than the others, superstitious, but brave – and he mentions without comment that she carries a dagger in her purse.  As someone who sometimes mistook self-destruction for glamour when I was younger, I have a soft spot for angsty bad girls with a hedonistic streak, and I couldn’t resist making Sorelli into one. I could write an entire chapter about her and Phil and what makes them tick; how he makes her feel like she doesn’t have to be all champange-soaked sequins and dancing on the table all the time, but sometimes she still does it because when he scolds her, she knows he cares. How the fact that someone with such a wild heart beating in her chest can look at him and see anything other than a dull bureaucrat makes him feel like getting up there and dancing with her, even though his press secretary would kill him. Someone can get away with that kind of behavior past their early 20s only if they are very, very good at their job, so of course the only possibly choice for casting would be Kate Moss. I could write an essay about everything society has projected onto that woman, but that’s neither here nor there. One delightful thing of choosing a model for your casting is that there are TONS of photos out there, and I could really build a timeline for this character in images; as a young ballerina goofing around backstage; fame and notoriety, starting to become a tabloid fixture; meeting Phil and trying to dress how how she thinks a woman dating a man like him would dress (and feeling out of place on the De Chagny family yacht,) …and finally in a suit for her new role as political wife, distinctly unhappy at the loss of self. For all the positives I’ve imagined for them, they’re very different and I’m not sure how Sorelli and Phil’s story ends, overall. But it’s happier than him at the bottom of the underground lake a la Leroux, so I was able to do that much for them. 

[veroniqueclaire]

“She boarded the train and was unsurprised, at this point, that her seat in first class had been upgraded to a private cabin large enough to have a sitting room and a bathtub, which was welcome after the long flight. The train itself was shockingly modern, as firmly poised in the future as the last train they’d ridden had been nostalgic for the past. Every surface was polished, gleaming, sleek and streamlined; muted shades of tan wood in some cars, and glossy white lacquer in others. The arch of the ceiling had squared off corners, vaguely octagonal, and moving through the cars reminded her of the corridors in spaceships in movies. The subtle sway of the train gave walking a strange, dream-like quality, like swimming upstream; it was stranger still to think about the fact that this train was hovering above the rails, levitated by magnets as it shot down the tracks, hurtling her towards the last of her hopes at hundreds of miles per hour.

At the rear of the train she found the lounge car; she pressed her room key against the reader and the door slid silently open to reveal a carriage resembling a glass pod wrapped in a carbon fiber spiderweb. Windows stretched from the floor to ceiling and arched up over the roof; there was a small bar at the back, with pristine white banquettes positioned so that guests could admire the panoramic views of the Japanese landscape as the train raced across it.”

Volée Chapter 23

This train is real! It’s the JR East cruise train in Japan, designed by Ferrari, and should be running within the next few years. 

I have a few more posts for chapter 23 but they'll have to wait until tonight -- stay tuned!

[veroniqueclaire]

“The plane was massive, humbling in scale; no matter how many times she'd flown on aircraft this large during her travels with Erik, she never got over the sense of wonder at an airplane big enough to have stairs and a second story. This one was a 747, with first class on its own level upstairs, and when Christine boarded she found that apparently she was the very first passenger to arrive; a flight attendant showed her to the staircase and her seat on the empty upper deck, another took her coat to hang in the closet, and a third came back with a questionnaire for booking in-flight spa treatments and a menu for dinner and breakfast.Thirty minutes later the captain was announcing the details of their flight and their eminent departure, and Christine was still the only person sitting on the upper level.”

Chapter 23 is up!

The top levels of 747s used to be first class lounges with proper living rooms and stand-up bars; they’re typically business class and a little more staid these days. But it’s still a tiny and surprisingly private cabin on an otherwise massive plane; there are about 360 seats downstairs and only 18 upstairs.

Also, for other things I’ve mentioned in this chapter, Tarmac Transfer Services are a real thing -- most airlines will pick VIPs flying commericial instead of private up in a luxury car and drive them between connecting flights. Also, in-flight manicures were a real thing as well on Virgin Atlantic a few years ago, and probably one of my favorite perks about flying business ever -- the aesthetician dealt remarkably with turbulence! -- but the program was shuttered after budget cuts a while back.