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milady-pink · 6 months

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Together in Hell

Summary: Raoul has not heard from Christin in many days and enlists the help of the Persian to find her, but what they discover shakes them to their core…

Word Count: 1964 | Graphics: @firefly-graphics

Warnings: Graphic depictions of death/ corpse, another character death, post-mortem

Part 1 Part 2

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Raoul will never be able to erase the unsightly scene he had stumbled upon, deep within the bowels of the Opera Populair. Thinking back on the smells and sounds of the place made him sick enough to call the carriage driver to pull over, should he be sick. No, those gruesome sights will always be burned into the backs of his eyelids. And that chill! That deathly chill that makes him want to soak in a steamy bath and never leave his manor again.

Not after what they did to the Persian.

It had been three days and Raoul had heard not a peep from Christine. It would not have worried him so much, knowing she would be locked in her music teacher’s embrace, but she had promised to write to him. It brought a smile to his face, remembering how she had so suddenly and sadly told him that she found within herself, not love for him, but love for her teacher that she had been harboring for the past few weeks. Christine had always been so kind when she let people down, making them feel like they should be the one to apologize: and Raoul was no different. After letting her go to him he had also realized that she was right; they didn’t have much in common after all these years apart. Children can make friends with the most unlikely of people, merely because they are not experienced enough to have interests of their own.

So no, Raoul was not too upset that his once childhood sweetheart had admitted her love for another man. In fact, he was quite happy for her; she was adamant they would remain good friends, determined to salvage what remained of the children in their adulthood. After thinking about it longer he also came to the realization that his parents, mostly his older brother Philippe, would never allow him to marry someone below his class. Especially not a performer.

After going three days without any word from her at all, he began to get nervous for her wellbeing. Though Raoul had never met this infamous maestro, he knew better than to doubt Christine’s judgment when it came to musical matters, and he greatly doubted she would choose to be alone with any man who was less than a gentleman towards her or any other girl. He knew that Christine would be going back to the opera house to search for her maestro, but Raoul didn’t have a last name to go around asking for.

That was how he came upon meeting the Persian.

His name was Nadir Khan, once head of police in his homeland of Persia, working directly for the Shah himself when he came upon Erik. Everyone at the Populair called him the Persian because of how his dark skin stood out among the various olive and alabaster shades that decorated the various performers. Raoul had seen him many times when he visited Christine during rehearsals; the man knew every single person in the opera house, from stagehand to orchestra player.

As of right now Raoul the two men were trying to find their way to Erik’s underground home via his many tunnel systems; all of which had been boobytrapped one way or another. Along the way he told the young viscount how he knew ‘Erik’, and his phantom happenings around the opera, along with how his lessons with Miss Daae the new leading soprano.

“I had been meaning to pay Erik a visit,” he told Raoul as they meandered through the dusty catacombs, “he was seeming to me a little too happy. But now I fear that is no longer the case…”

Raoul was about to ask what he meant before trailing off, only to see the same sight as him. They had just stepped into an open area, consisting of stone walls and a gravel shore that fed into the infamous underground lake. What made the Persian lose his voice wasn’t the freezing air, but the wide open door leading into the house on the water. Both men looked at each other before looking back at the door. Raoul had started to move towards the door, only for his arm to be pulled back by his companion.

“We must enter with caution,” the dark skinned man warned the viscount, “we’ve no idea what lies inside there.”

Raoul answered the grave man’s face with his own reply of, “Of course we know what's in there, Christine and her teacher; two people just like you and me.”

The Persian tried to tell the viscount about Erik’s many habits of safekeeping his privacy, including the various traps they nearly avoided on the way down here, and that leaving his front door wide open was more than just odd; it could mean a dangerous intruder had entered and might still remain. Unfortunately Raoul didn’t pay attention to a word of it, too focused was he on the bizarre noises he thought was coming from inside the home.

With great trepidation, the Persian entered the lavishly decorated home, Raoul following close behind. Neither man had a weapon on them, but with a little creativity they both figured a coat rack or candlestick could be easily remedied. Thankfully they didn’t need to use either.

Unfortunately, they would have been no use against what was waiting for them.

The once beautifully decorated Louis-Philippe room, with its extravagant decorations and priceless artifacts collected from years of traveling the deserted world alone, lay in complete ruins. The Persian, no stranger to Erik’s anger nor the proceeding mess it usually leaves behind, tried to put together what may have happened and assess the danger of an imminent threat. Raoul merely looked on in awe of the destruction and chaos the once luxurious room was left in, and if his dear friend had been caught in the crossfires. He was struck from his reverie at the sound of the Persian’s accented voice.

“We should search the rest of the home for any signs of life—“

He never finished the thought, for a low groaning sound coming from the adjoining hallway had interrupted any speech. They looked at each other with the same question swimming in their eyes,

‘What was that?’

All too soon they found the answer.

Slowly, as if dragging the weight of a thousand men, walked in Erik. In no healthy condition was he; his suit was torn and frayed at the ends of his sleeves and pants, his hair sticking up in every direction like he was just awakened from a very long sleep. And his face. Gray skin with blemishes and bruises galore, taking on the appearance of a gargoyle came to life, the most colour on his person was around his mouth; a dark red, blood perhaps, long since dried. His stance was somewhat lopsided, his extreme height forcing his body to fold in on itself with the weight of his torso and lack of muscle in his back. The stench! That awful smell of rotted meat and mildew that only misted the air now assaulted their noses in full force, they both had to raise their hands to cover their senses. Raoul had somewhat prepared himself for seeing the strange phantom without his mask, but he doubted any man would have looked inviting given he too plagued the same sickness that the secret teacher possessed.

The being once known as Erik surprised both Raoul and the Persian by not dragging himself after them, but instead letting out another low groan, a bit different in pitch. Not wanting to alert the creature to their presence too much, Raoul tilted his head towards his companion and asked in a hushed whisper only he would hear.

“Where is Christine?”

But the question would be asked in vain, for on came shuffling into the sitting room was a woman, most likely after being called out by her beloved. Raoul could not believe his eyes, nor the few tears that sprung to them. His childhood friend, once thought future wife, was now nothing more than a husk of a being, dead and yet still alive. He knew from his talks on the journey down here that the former police chief was feeling similar emotions looking at his former friend. A large bite fit nastily into her delicate shoulder, accented with dried blood that once upon a time dripped onto her dress, the sleeves slipping off. The colour of her skin matched the light bluish-greens of the outside body of water, angry veins protruding from her body and face. There was no resemblance, no similarities to the people they once knew and cared deeply for before them; merely empty promises of who they knew, never again to smile or laugh the same way they used to. Those two people were lost to time, and Raoul prayed deep within his soul that they were able to find each other beyond the grave.

The standstill between the unusual quartet was broken the moment the Persian dared to speak out. “We must make our departure as quick as possible.”

The happy, and surely hungry, couple trotted towards them with Erik, being the strongest, in the lead. Tripping over her dress Christine was slower but both were incredibly inarticulate with their movements, hell bent on one thing; food. Acting quickly, the Persian grabbed Raoul by the shoulders and pushed him towards the door, their doom rising as the corpses started to gain momentum.

“I will not be long,” he told Raoul, “I always knew Erik would lead to my demise and I fear this is it. You must, for the better hood of this world, barricade the front door and never let another person walk through. Burn the house if you must, but do not let these things escape.”

“You’re not planning on staying here, do you? They’ll eat you alive!”

“My young man,” continued the dark skinned man, “you have a much longer life ahead of you filled with love and children. I will not allow one such as yourself to sacrifice for an old man like myself. All I ask, in addition to destroying this home, is that you remember the name ‘Nadir Kahn’.” They reached the door, the Persian pushing Raoul through the door, turning back to face the monsters in their home. Before he committed his last act of bravery, he looked back at the viscount to say, “I wish you good health.”

At full speed, hoping to knock them down and give the young man more time to escape, the Persian ran towards the couple, arms wide open. He greeted them halfway, wrapping his arms around each of their necks, effectively molding them to his sturdy body. Unfortunately, his muscular size was the perfect remedy for the couple’s yearning hunger. Unable to look away, Raoul watched in horror as both the maestro and student took bites out of the man, chunks of flesh flying out of their mouths, blood dribbling down their necks. The Persin, Nadir, screamed out in great agony, Raoul’s ears were left ringing from the sound.

Finally coming to his senses after feeding his deep morbid curiosity, Raoul slammed the door and began to barricade it from the outside with the biggest rocks the gravel beach had to offer. After twenty or so minutes, he felt confident that they wouldn’t be able to escape. Still fear stricken and shaking, he stepped into the boat left there by Christine and began to carry himself out of the opera bowels, finding it ended near the Rue Scribe entrance, and quickly called himself a cab to get home.

Never again would he sleep alone, always those yellow eyes and bloody mouths would greet him at night, just like they did Nadir Khan.

#phantom of the opera #christine daae #raoul de chagny #erik destler #musical fanfic #halloween #erik x christine #inktober #andrew lloyd webber #zombies #the persian #nadir khan #death

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milady-pink · 6 months

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Bride of the Living Corpse

Summary: Christine reflects and finally admits to herself the feelings she has been harboring for her teacher, but is it too late to tell him? As they say, true love never dies.

Word Count: 4482 | Graphics: @firefly-graphics

Warnings: Graphic depictions of death/ corpse, another character death, post-mortem, necrophelia if you squint

Part 1 Part 3

Nothing could compare to the agony that Christine currently felt.

For the past two and a half hours she has been sitting on an elegant chaise lounge in the DeChagny’s parlor room. As much as she wanted to listen to whatever Raoul was droning on about, she found the swirls of the floral pattern on the chaise far more interesting. Unfortunately Christine has wanted to leave the decadent manor the second she left the comfort of her carriage and stepped foot into the grand foyer.

When she first got up in the morning all she could think of was getting to reconnect with her dear childhood friend. Christine couldn’t stop talking her dresser’s ear off about how much fun the two of them used to have on the beaches of Perros-Guirec, about the joy they had during his violin lessons with her late father, hearing tales of the dark north, Little Lottie, and the goblins that lived in the grassy hills. The poor carriage driver could barely hear her joyous ranting about how she thought reuniting with her old friend seemed like a sign that their souls were meant to cross from the whistling of the chilling October wind.

All of the happiness left Christine when the dashing young Viscount started to talk. Slowly, like a dying oil lamp losing its light, Christine started to grow increasingly bored with the topic of conversation. It wouldn’t be fair to say she wanted to leave immediately he parted his mustache from his bottom lip, but it certainly struck Christine within the first hour that the carriage was most likely no longer waiting for her to make an escape. After the formalities of greetings and friendly, yet chaste, hugs, the river of conversation seemed to have suffered a drought. They sat awkwardly by, Christine on her chaise lounge and Raoul on a loveseat opposite her, staring anywhere but at the other person and trying to find something to talk about.

They had tried the weather, how the night was so cold and if sleep was able to come for easily; which fizzled out quickly when both parties stated the cold was indeed frightful, but a warm bed is the best remedy. Christine asked about his sisters, leading to Raoul stating that they were married and living their lives happily with their families. Raoul tried asking about Christine’s father, which ended quickly when she revealed he had passed away. By that point there was little to no hope in saving the afternoon, at least until a servant brought out a tray of tea and finger foods for the pair. Somehow, invigorated by the cucumber sandwiches and sugary black tea, Raoul started on about the Games of the VI Olympiad that had started in April and its 22 nations, 2,008 participants, 110 events, and countless other numbers and facts that Christine tried desperately to block out.

If she was to be honest should he ask, which he never did, Christine would have to say she didn’t even know there was an international sports competition happening as they spoke in England. Although she loved ballet and getting her heart rate up, Christinefound no interest in talking about other people participating in a sport you don’t even know how to play.

So here they sat, Raoul going on about France’s two gold medals in fencing and how Eugène Grisot is to be one of the best archers in history, all while Christine picked dead skin from her fingers in desperate search for something entertaining. While her partner kept yapping on about technique and sports drama, it gave Christine the proper amount of time to regard the two men in her life.

First there was Raoul, sweet, dependable, boring Raoul. When they were young all time spent together was fun and glee; even on the gloomiest of days, Raoul’s head of blonde hair acted as a halo of what the day was to bring. He had always been her sunshine, even when they moved apart, Christine would think back on those days spent on the beach playing with the boy who had rescued her red scarf from the frozen ocean. Now, however, Christine thought she was going to go insane from boredom if she had to listen to his ramblings about France winning a gold medal in “water motorsports” despite only being added to the games since 1900. It seems like that adventurous young boy from childhood has grown up into the sport enthusiast sitting before her.

This made Christine think even more, about her future to be specific; if she could barely stand thirty minutes without losing her mind with Raoul, how was she supposed to spend the rest of her life with him? Although a young woman, Christine knows the position she was given in today’s society having grown up struggling for money with her father. It was a common wish for many of the ballet rats and chorus girls, including herself, to dream of a rich sweetheart to take them away from the city and marry into a life of luxury, regardless if they loved their partner or not. At least for Christine, the idea of marrying a man whom she did not love was a terribly hard thing to wrap her head around; lucky for her she was awarded a visit from two opposing suitors. One was the blonde headed boy previously mentioned, someone Christine certainly saw herself happy to marry even if it meant marrying a friend rather than the love of her life. Now, she didn’t even think she could enjoy a life of luxury with her dear friend Raoul given how little they enjoy the same things.

Which brings us to suitor number two: Erik.

Oh sweet, tempered, and beautifully talented Erik. Their first meeting and subsequent deception was less than admirable, but once Christine was given a chance to think about his actions and his apology for lying to the heartbroken girl, she found herself drawn even more to him. No longer the mysterious angel heaven sent to her by a deceased father, rather a disturbingly thin man in a dark suit who wore half a mask to hide his facial deformity. She wanted to know more about him, how he came to be living underneath the opera house, and especially how he learned to write and play such beautiful music. It felt like he truly was an angel despite not having the facial features of one. Ah, yes, his face. Now that Christine has seen it numerous times, even suggesting during lessons that he remove it for comfort's sake, Erik is still ashamed of his biggest sin and insecurity but at the time she ripped his mask from his face, she saw the real monster encompassed within him. A red hot anger, one so terrible she feared for her very life that night, arose through his tall frame and sprung from his mouth spewing insults and threats at her all the while stomping around his home like a child.

Looking back, knowing what she knows about his life, Christine would have reacted the same way. She really was lucky that the Persian, Nadir, had stopped by to surprise his friend and stumbled upon the scene; without him she wouldn’t have been able to escape from the house and row herself across the underground lake. It took weeks before Christine was able to look Erik in the eye again, after what he had called her. Even after that their lessons never were the same, not until she asked him to take off the mask, assuring him she was not frightened of his face; that it was his anger she feared. To this day she remembers the way his amber eyes, bright and shining from the candle light, softened when he realized the true reason for her distance. He apologized profusely, but Christine maintained she would only accept his apology if he took his mask off; which he did, with great trepidation. To his great surprise, however, Christine merely smiled at him and dared to bring a hand up to his ruing cheek, gently stroking her thumb across. So overcome with emotion was he that the poor suffering man dropped to his knees in front of her and grabbed at her skirts, bringing them to his deformed face and crying, wailing about how perfect she was and that he didn’t deserve her.

She thought she had killed him when she kissed his forehead.

Their lessons were never the same after that, having grown so much closer than ever thought possible. These thoughts of her maestro and how special he made her feel, his music that he wrote and played just for her, the feelings he evoked in her, made her grow sad knowing their last words had been those of anger and quite, possibly jealousy.

After spending great time lost in thought about the men in her life, Christine knew; she could never spend the rest of her life with Raoul, they had grown too far apart. He would always have a special place in her heart, but as of right now, she couldn’t envision a very happy future together if they couldn’t enjoy ten minutes alone together. Yet with Erik, she could spend everyday for the rest of her life with that curious man, not a word exchanged, their home only filled with music and the sounds of the crackling fire. They talked of everything from music to architecture, philosophy and different cultures and religions. Christine truly has been enlightened that the feelings he made her feel were those of love and longing.

And that is exactly what she told Raoul.

Running from the carriage to the Rue Scribe entrance, Christine had to pick up her skirts so as not to trip over them. She was a woman on a mission; to express all of the love she has found within herself for Erik to the man himself. For not another moment could she bear to think of him wallowing away down in the depths thinking she did not return the affections he showered her in every day.

Poor Erik, who never felt such a basic human kindness as a kiss to the forehead, the mere thought of his beloved student rejecting his love would surely kill him.

Making her way across the underground lake, Christine was so caught up in her thoughts and feelings for her true heart's desire, it didn’t come to her attention that she wasn’t breaking out in her usual sweat around her collar from the musty air that usually permeated under the earth. So caught up for fear that her favored maestro would be so distraught he wouldn’t even spare a glance towards her direction, Christine also failed to notice the chill that greeted her, or the bits of frost that decorated the crust of the lake.

Finally having reached the shoreline, Christine didn’t even take the time to ensure the boat would stay put, carding little is the two of them were stuck together in the little house, forced to spend every day in each others company and every night cuddled up beside the fire in the Louis-Phillippe sitting room. Upon entering the house however, Christine had the sinking feeling that those nights spent beside a fire would be a distant memory.

For starters, the door had been left wide open, very bizarre since Christine’s dearest maestro hates any and all possibilities for the outside world to make contact with his own. The next thing Christine noticed was the complete and utter disarray of his most beloved possessions; staff paper ripped to shreds and thrown about haphazard, ink spilled and soaked into the authentic Persian rug, having watched the woman who’d woven it for the Shah, or the broken plaster and canvas paintings that he himself had made in all of his artistic talent. Ruined. Everything was ruined, rendered completely useless.

But that wasn’t the worst of it.

Sitting in the center of the mess, in all of its disfigured glory, was his most cherished possession; the organ. Wood, splintered and rubbed raw of its lacquer, lay all over the mess of papers and broken plaster. The plush velvet bench that Christine dreamed countless times of sitting next to her teacher, resting her head against his bony shoulder, ripped down the middle with its feathered guts strewn across the sitting room; so much so that a few feathers had stuck and dried to the once wet ink splattered on the floral wallpaper. Stepping over the larger pieces of wreckage, Christine looked around at what destruction her seemingly gentle and soft-spoken love was capable of. Under her boot, a piece of paper caught her eye, having found the needle in the haystack considering the surrounding area. Reaching down to pick up the paper, Christine realized what it was the second it came into view. Written in spindly and intricate red lettering were the words;

Don Juan Triumphant

All of those sleepless nights, hours spent writing blindlessly by candlelight, years of working on the one thing he hoped to be remembered by, destroyed. Carrying the page close to her chest, Christine made her way once more through the destruction, stopping just before the ripped bench and shattered organ. Staring down at the gash, feathers peering out in a great contrast of white against blood red, Christine’s eyes started to well up. For reasons she cannot name, looking at this scene of complete chaos from hours passed, she felt an immense sadness towards her teacher. No matter how hard he tried to make himself, and Christine, believe that he was more than mortal, claiming he needed less sleep and food than the average man, that was all he really was. A man. A man who craved nothing more from life and God than to be welcomed into a space where others could appreciate his talent and personality for what it was, not asking to change anything. To love a woman and take her out for walks in public without anyone batting an eye. But because he was denied and denounced so much from so many people for so many years, an anger took solace within him, planting itself when he was a child, growing as he did into the fury that lives there now, feeding off of his deep fear of resentment and loneliness that encompassed his frail body.

Christine, far wiser beyond her years than anyone would give her credit for, knew that he was but a scared, scarred man who wanted nothing but to feel secure in knowing not everyone was out to harm him, physically or emotionally. Overcome with the sadness she felt for the man who so desperately wanted to be an angel, she wept softly into the destruction a broken whisper.

“Oh, Erik”

Uncomfortable and unnerved by the silence, Christine reached a shaking hand, the chill of the room finally setting in, and pressed her delicate index finger on a key, yearning to hear the music that happily haunts her on the surface and in her dreams. The note, remarkably still working but sadly far from in tune, rang out loudly into the house’s cold void.

Just as she was ready to leave the poor man to his peace, not wanting to hurt him more than she has, a low noise could be heard. Recalling the sound, Christine had good reason to think it came from the hallway that led to the two bedrooms and grande bathroom. Deciding to investigate, she followed the sounds to the dark hall, wrapping her arms around her torso to find some sort of warmth in this frozen land. The darkness made Christine fear she might have simply imagined the sound, so she decided to call out, hoping for a reply.

“Erik?”

Nothing.

But then.

“Mmmm…”

Surprise swept across Christine’s face, knowing for certain that her mind did not lie to her about the first noise. It was muffled and mumbled, but it was a sign and she had no idea for what. Again not wanting to over step her welcome in such a private man’s home, she called out yet again, seeking something more to urge her into the depths of his domain.

“Erik…are you alright?”

Again the muffled voice subtly hummed, but for Christine it was as loud as sirens. She urgently feared that he had gotten sick or caught a cold from the chill that drifted through, and his lack of response was his way of asking, begging her to nurse him back to health. With hurried steps she made her way down the lightless hall, ghosting her hand against the wall to ensure she was going in the right direction, making her way to his private bedroom. Christine’s hand hesitated to grasp the door handle, fearful thoughts handicapping her movements.

What if he believes her to be Monsieur Khan and demands she leave his home the second his eyes land on her? What if he is sick and would rather suffer than face her again? What if he never wants to see her again? With all of these thoughts, and many more, swimming around her head Christine had to find the strength within her to alleviate these worries. If she entered his most private domain and told her to leave, she would harden her nerves and help the man regardless if he wanted it or not. She would nurse and warm him up, all the while saying that he can refuse her company for the rest of his life after he was better; no matter how much that would pain her. So, with nerves steeled and shoulders squared, Christine grasped the handle tightly, turned, and pushed open the door.

The room was darker than the hallway, darker than the back of Christine’s eyelids, what little light seeped into the room illuminated a small path that stopped at the box in the center of the room. The coffin. That dreaded wooden contraption that her dear unfortunate maestro insisted he sleep in instead of a warm, soft bed so he could live the life appropriate for a living corpse. As she searched for a candle to light, Christine promised herself that she would make him change his ways and live a life for a proper man with all of the indulgences that he deserves.

After a few moments of searching, Christine found a single candle that was melted to an old end table, one of the few items of furniture in the makeshift catacomb. Finding a match beside the candle, she grasped it with nimble fingers and struck it against the table, evidently giving the room the much needed light it longed for to scare away the monsters from the dark corners. With some illumination, Christine made her way over to the coffin and began the arduous task of lifting the lid. The heavy wood made the job hard, but not impossible, for a young woman of Christine’s size and strength. Why her masked love chose to encapsulate himself entirely from the outside world, she would have to ask later.

Finally shoving the wooden lid off of the box, a loud thud rang out as it slammed onto the floor. Before getting to reunite with her beloved teacher, the most rancid smell, like that of rotted meat, hit her harshly and caused her to stumble backwards with her hands covering her nose. Taking a minute to clear her lungs and coffin of the dreadful air, she was left wondering for the umpteenth time why such an intelligent man would disparage himself and force his body to sleep in a wooden box made for the dead. The sounds of pained groans caught her attention, looking back at the box itself. Unfortunately for Christine, so caught up in her pitying thought for Erik she failed to notice the scratch marks left on the inside of the coffin’s lid.

Turning her attention to her maestro, Christine knew she had guessed correctly after seeing him for the first time since the bone chilling night. The poor man had indeed caught an illness, and a terrible one at that. His usually thin and grayish skin had become a ghoulish blue-green colour, spreading from his forehead to his collarbone before being covered up by his suit. The skin on his hands, the same sickening colour as his face, had developed sores of dark purple, almost black. And his face, though hard to see through the tears the offensive smell caused, was worse than what the stagehands described to scared chorus girls. His usual sunken eyes and thin lips had exaggerated through the night, the gaping hole that served as a nose had dark red substance around the nostrils, presumably to be dried blood. His lack of hydration has caused prominent lines and wrinkles to form all over his now leathery skin; Christine could almost count every muscle and ligament.

“Oh, Erik! You poor thing, we must get you some food and drink. Maybe a fire to warm you too.”

The sweet young thing told all of this to the being that used to be Erik, now nothing more than what most people feared he was; a living corpse.

Too disillusioned was she to believe that the dead could rise again, Christine reached her hand towards his forehead to try and determine if he had a fever and if so how far along it was. As she searched for any warmth, made harder with Erik’s persistence of his hands trying to push her away, all she could feel was the same icy chill that reminded Christine of cold marble.

“Erik please, we must get you to a fire.” She tried to explain, but was soon dismayed when his skeletal hands came to her shoulders, grasping at her, trying to bring her closer. The only thought Christine could make out was that he was no longer mad at her; indeed, he must have come to the same conclusion she had and wishes to make up for lost time. Flustered, with her cheeks burning and heart racing, Christine wanted nothing more than to close the gap between their lips and seal their love for good, to ease the hunger she saw growing in her dearest’s eyes. The only problem was the nagging feeling that she should wait, get him healthy again, or at least out of the blasted coffin first. But emotions ruled the kingdom of both male and female bodies, especially when it came to matters of the heart. Christine braced herself, gasping from arousal, before ending the distance and melding her lips to his. For months she had imagined what they would feel like against her own; thin yet soft and palatable for her own. The reality was a bit different, but not unwanted to her daydreams; although it was in haste, he certainly had a life inside of him that surfaced, moving his lips every which way across her own, seemingly wanting to taste every inch of her he could reach.

Too enthralled by the soaring kiss that she was receiving from her uniquely gifted maestro, Christine chose to ignore some of the more disturbing aspects of the kiss. For example, the unearthly taste that came when he opened his mouth poking out his gummy tongue in search of her own. The metallic taste and muddy texture would be enough for any young woman to start running the other way; but the lack of experience for the soprano caused her to believe this was the normal reaction. What she could not ignore, however, was the sharp sting that came from her lover, tugging and pulling on her bottom lip in a determined effort of making her his.

Christine was starting to get startlingly excited over the idea that her teacher might continue things further, with his hands grasping her shoulders and waist with such intensity that she feared he might rip the dress right off of her. The only sound she could hear, and was positive he did too, was the rushing of blood in her ears and the constant pounding of her heart, not to mention the thumping pulse between her legs. Not the various groans of pleasure coming from the ruined mouth of the thing holding her. So caught up in the rush of the moment, Christine pulled her head back so as to gasp in a breath of fresh air that was lacking from their kiss. As she gasped in breast after breath, her inamorato continued his path of love bites and careless kisses across her neck, décolletage, and stopped to affectionately nibble on her shoulder; which his greedy hands exposed. Stirring within Christine was a hunger she knew only his expertise could extinguish, having been the one to ignite the rivinous flame, she could still taste his dribble that had made its way into her mouth; mixed with the bits of blood that seeped out from his bite. All of his ministrations, combined with the emotions running rampant through Christine’s virginal veins, caused tears to well up in her eyes; the sheer amount of love she felt for this man and his desires for her was too much to handle.

All too suddenly however, the seemingly loving bites he was leaving on her shoulder soon started to hurt more than she thought they should have. Whenever she would converse with the older girls, more experienced than the young chorus girls like herself, they told stories of lovers soothing bites with laps of their tongue on the offended skin. Erik, it seems, is a rather aggressive lover leaving no room for Christine to escape his onslaught of nibbles. Which soon changed as, having found himself in need of the supple flesh under him, the blunt force of his teeth broke through the unblemished skin and tore away a piece to chew on as if it was merely a piece of undercooked mutton. The scream that emitted from her lips sounded and echoed into the air, so loud and so pained, it was to be the last note the soprano ever made. Blood immediately started to run down Christine’s shoulder and onto her dress, staining it a deep crimson almost reaching her knees with the steady flow.

The pain was so great that she started to sway on her feet, having lost an entire crater of skin that only left exposed arteries, muscle, and some tendons free for viewing. As Christine started to realize her mistake her pupils dilated, her vision overcome with a warm light and the most beautiful music she had ever heard reached her ears, reminding her of her father’s violin, music that she only ever heard when she was in the company of the living corpse. Her last thoughts were how she would finally be with her love, her dear maestro and true angel, Erik.

Eternally.

#phantom of the opera #christine daae #raoul de chagny #erik destler #musical fanfic #erik x christine #andrew lloyd webber #halloween #fictober23 #fanfic #zombies

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milady-pink · 6 months

Text

A Love Undying

Summary: For many months Erik has been trying to find the courage to tell Christine exactly how he feels for her, choosing the night of her premier as the new starring soprano. But when everything goes wrong, death itself cannot keep them apart.

Word Count: 5,145 | Graphics: @firefly-graphics

Warnings: major character death, unrequited love, anger issues

Part 2 Part 3

Nothing could compare to the agony Erik was suffering from currently. Although his many years of wandering the earth with a face like his, lacking in a nose with yellow tinged skin like a sheet of crepe paper stretched over protruding cheekbones and sparse bits of hair on the crown of his head, nothing was as awful as the pain he felt now. Not when his mother renounced him as her son and therefore sold him to the cruel circus master Javert, nor when was made to perform massless for the masses as the singing corpse, due to his less than ideal appearance. No, even as his amber eyes watered from years of being submitted to whippings and being withheld food did he ever suffer as he did today.

It was just after Christine’s performance, her first October as the Opera Populaire’s leading lady. Her time had finally come, the stars themselves aligning just for her to pursue the dreams her father helped nourish with his sweet violin playing whilst she sang. What with Carlotta’s leaving, new managers who were eager for a large crowd, and new patrons giving the theater their money for new talent, costumes, and sets. For Christine the universe was finally rewarding her hard work. But, for Erik, the hard work was what gave her the right chance. Scaring Carlotta with her life so that she fled the opera once and for all, leaving for Spain to ruin some other theater with her off-pitch soprano, easy as pie. Convincing the new managers to not only pay him his due allowance but also hold them under his reign just enough to play them like the puppets they are, a bit of a challenge seeing as the tubbier one had a hard time believing in ghosts. Finding the right patrons who both cared for the arts and music but didn't care enough to investigate should they hear about the Opera Ghost and ask for a refund, hard but not impossible. But Erik did say he would move heaven and earth just to make Christine happy, and as far as he was concerned, stars were included.

So, what went wrong?

Alas it started by asking the fatal mistake of inviting the DeChagny family to a dress rehearsal of Faust, the company’s fall show. With a new Prima Donna found in the quiet ballet rat of Christine Daaé, seats for the show was sure to be filled, but the managers wanted (and where promptly told to via a poorly written letter) to raise the budget for sets and costumes to really dazzle the audience; insuring they tell their friends and keep them coming back for more. So when a certain phantom hand delivered an invite on behalf of the opera itself to come watch the actors and dancers before the big night, promising the Count that what he witnesses will be ten-times better on opening night.

All of this sounds like the genius makings of a very profitable season for the opera house, but one small change made the whole plan fly out the window. That stupid Count! He couldn’t have just sent a personal aide or a wealthy friend in his place, but no! Phillipe DeChagny had to send his younger brother; the Viscount DeChagny, the fop.

That afternoon was the first time Erik had ever felt such a rage that he nearly jumped from his designated box seat and ripped his dear Christine away from him. It was like watching an opera; the beautiful and loved leading actress being swooned by a goblin in disguise as a handsome young man, one with a large bank account to boot. He could still see the horrifying moment play out, and he suspects he will for all of eternity trapped in torment. Early on in the opera, as Faust was making a deal with the devil himself, when Erik noticed that the Count looked rather good despite being the oldest of three sisters and a brother. The brother! At the time Erik could not have guessed why the Count sent his younger sibling to an exclusive event he himself was supposed to attend, but it turns out the Count took less of an interest in the opera and music than he did to the head ballet dancer. Truthfully, when the Count saw he was asked to attend the dress rehearsal for Faust, he dreaded the thought of watching the show, considering the matter and all like it a bore. So, Phillipe asked his brother if he wanted to attend in his stead.

As the opera continued the younger and more bright-eyed DeChagny was quite enjoying the rehearsal, and should be considering how out of the two male heirs he loved the arts far more than his brother. The catalyst of horror occurred when Marguerite, played by his angelic Christine, walked on stage for her first aria of the opera; the iconic jewel song. The look of sheer joy and excitement that crossed the young Viscount’s face was thought to only be one of pure admiration, as was the one that settled across Erik’s face whenever he heard her performance of the song. But, when the short intermission came after the first act, Erik looked back across the empty theater seats and found the Viscount to be missing. Even worse, as Erik scanned the large room with his pooling amber eyes, he spotted the young chap talking with his beloved in the wings.

Furious, Erik kept from his seat and, using his secret passageways, made haste to move towards the couple chatting away happily. Finally when he got to his perch just above the backstage, Erik almost fell due to the intense nausea that came over him. Not only did Christine eagerly talk to the boy, she hugged him!

The whole of Erik’s world was crumbling beneath him, nothing to do but watch and grip the metal bar on the stage lighting’s walkway with white knuckles, imagining the fop with his boyish good looks and blonde mustache between his skeleton fingers.

As it later will be revealed to Erik once he and Christine have their daily music lesson, the Viscount, Raoul, are old friends who used to play together when she and her papa lived in Perros-Guirec, many years ago. The angel in his presence continued to talk about how the two of them got along so well despite their social standings, all of the memories they shared from the beach to the little fishing village they used to frequent. She even went into great detail of how the two of them met. And much like how the chances of her red scarf taking flight and gliding into the ocean led to the encounter of Raoul and Christine, Erik felt that the chances of one brother going to a dress rehearsal instead of the other have changed his life for the worse.

Erik would be the first one to admit that he pushed his pupil rather hard, pushing her voice to its limits in pitch and volume along with using a harsher voice, but he needed some sort of reminder that she was still under his guidance. For Christine, whatever the Angel of Music said was law, so it wouldn’t be such a stretch for him to tell her to remember her reputation as a young woman when conversing with the opposite sex.

In any other universe than this one, Erik would have to dig deep inside of himself and deal with the emotions that his anger was masquerading for. But for now, he could pretend and love Christine from afar with her none the wiser.

The true climax of this sorrowful tale did not come until the following weeks. It was opening week for Faust and the Populaire was buzzing with excitement. New managers, a new female lead, new patrons, everyone was on edge and ready for the first performance.

After a whole day of preparations like lighting and last minute set and costuming repairs, finally the time came for Christine’s debut. The audience loved her, from the second she made an appearance to the last floating notes of the aria, the people of Paris were entranced by Miss Daaé. Thanks to her background in dancing all of her movements matched her voice, delicate and light as air with an innocence that was hard to dislike; and that was just the first song! His angelic Christine maintained that air of delicacy and talent throughout the opera, even Mephistopheles was said to have shed a tear or two behind the scenes.

Christine herself could not believe the night she had. Many times she had to place a hand over her heart to make sure she was still alive and breathing from how glorious it felt to be on stage and sing with the voice her dear Maestro crafted her with. Erik himself was in awe; gone was the young waif he found one night crying from the death of her dear papa and fabricating the Angel of Music to comfort and dry her tears. Before him sang a woman with confidence radiating from her, creating a beautiful halo of joy shining from within her. What really brought a tear to his eye was knowing that her talented voice only elevated tonight because her heart was laced in every word she sang. As he watched her bow on the stage to then presumably leave for her dressing room, Erik knew he had to tell her.

Tonight.

Heaven was real, and it was the stage, Christine was sure of it. Nothing, absolutely nothing could compare to the emotions and joy she felt tonight under the stage lights with every audience member on the edge of their seats watching, listening to her.

Especially him.

Her dear Maestro, her Erik, no more of a ghost than she and yet continued to scare and tease the managers and her fellow cast mates. The mere thought caused her to laugh at his antics. How such a refined older man like himself could partake in the childish pranks that he did always brought a smile to appear on her lips.

“What is it that makes you smile like that, Christine? Good things I hope.”

Shaken from her thoughts of her teacher, Christine looks up as she nears her dressing room to find Raoul standing outside with a bouquet in hand.

“The best of things, Raoul. Who are those for? A very happy soprano perhaps?” She teased him.

He couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh, the sound almost lost to the void from the commotion of all the workers and cast celebrating a successful opening night. Taking notice of their surroundings, the Viscount moved closer to his friend and spoke at a low volume for only her to hear.

“Mayhaps we should talk somewhere more private to better understand each other.”

At his suggestion Christine smiled and moved to open her dressing room door, only to be stopped with a gloved hand to her elbow. She looks back to Raoul who sports a questioning glance at her and the people around them.

“Is that most appropriate? I’d hate for anyone to view you as something you’re not, Christine.”

The soprano couldn’t help but smile at his sincere tone and merely replied, “It’s only you Raoul, and besides everyone knows the real dirty stuff happens in the orchestra pit,” giving him a sly smile, wiggling her eyebrows as insinuation. Her answer only made his face get redder from embarrassment, but he followed her into the room regardless.

Having sensed that her Maestro would be seeking her out soon after such a performance, she hoped that this meeting with Raoul would only last a few minutes. So when he made to take his outer coat off, Christine insisted that Madame Giry and the costumer would be seeing her soon to remove the opera’s garments, so he instead kept the heavy wool on.

“If you don’t wish to continue your career as a performer, I think the police force could use someone like you, what with your detective work of deducing that these are in fact your flowers.” Her old friend told her with an outstretched arm, offering her the mixed bouquet. Christine giggled happily and took the flowers to place in water.

“It wasn’t very hard, I was going to take them from your hands even if I had to rip them away from you.” She laughed while filling the vase with fresh water from her basin.

“Believe me Christine, you need never take anything from me with force. For you, simply ask and it is yours.” He disclosed to her truthfully.

Turning her attention away from the flowers soaking up the water, Christine sought out the playful look in Raoul’s eyes or the tilting edge in his life at those words. But none could be found.

“Christine,” he said taking long steps towards her, “woul—would you do me the honor o—of joining me tomorrow for an afternoon tea?”

She could tell from both his voice and traits, furrowed eyebrows and shakes hands, not to mention how he shifted his weight to and from when he would normally stand tall and confident that the Viscount DeChagny was anxiously awaiting her answer.

So, giving him her brightest smile to ease any nerves he has, Christine speaks with a soothing voice to further calm her friend that she indeed would like to join him for tea.

“Of course Raoul! I would love to, it would be the perfect time to catch up with my oldest friend.”

To Christine he could not have been more happy about her answer, but anyone else could plainly see that the Viscount was less than pleased with how she described him.

A friend

Although he was able to stand up tall again his brows remained furrowed at the choice of Christine’s wording. Regardless, he bid her adieu with the promise of sending a carriage to pick her up tomorrow at 11:45.

“I’ll make sure the driver knows what you look like to wait for you. Uh— until then, Christine. Remarkable performance again. Bonsoir.” With that Raoul left the leading lady’s dressing room with his head clouded by confusion, thinking his romantic advances had not caught on.

On the carriage ride back to the manor, he promised himself that midday tomorrow he will put every effort to make his affections known to his childhood sweetheart.

Without a care in the world and still on cloud nine after her performance, Christine undressed herself from the garment and re-racked it for the seamstress to retrieve later. After pulling on a dressing gown over her underthings, she sat down at her vanity to brush out her hair after being manipulated into a theatrical updo for the final act. As she hummed a simple tune whilst brushing out strand after strand, Christine Daaé had no clue that one of the wealthiest bachelors in Paris sought out her attention.

But where she was blind, Erik was not.

Having arrived early to give his star pupil an arrangement of flowers that barely compared to her own beauty, Erik immediately realized that she had not entered her dressing room alone. She had brought that boy with her, and worse, had happily accepted his bouquet with great enthusiasm. What was worse, the blunderbuss had asked to accompany him for tea tomorrow. And she accepted! Erik was glad his anger kept him immobile or else there would have been a great massacre in poor Christine’s dressing room from the sheer amount of rage boiling over in his rail thin body. Every bone was about to burst from the fire coiling its way through his veins, so angry was he that the hidden passage behind the mirror where he now stood grew too hot and bothersome to stand in. Blinded by his fury Erik did not notice that the object of his ire had slumped out of the room with disappointment , defeated by being shut out of Christine’s affections.

Now that she was alone, Erik intended to show Christine that she was more than just a student to him, how he was prepared to take her as his wife and give her a life full of joy and music, ready to bend at her every whim.

The opening of the mirror caught Christine's attention from the corner of her eye. Turning, she smiled as she watched her maestro step into the room wearing his usual black suit, minus the cape seeing as how he had been in the theater to watch her tonight. Even if his towering form should have been frightening, Christine found it comforting to always have someone easily envelope her. She recalls how fast she could hear his heart beat when she caught him by surprise and hugged him for the first time; her head barely grazing his chin but he rested hit on her crown for a few precious moments Christine swore she could live in his arms forever.

Although, she’ll have to do something about his weight. Standing at such a tall height the poor man would have to eat five times as much to even reach a healthy weight at the pace he is going now. And with his bad habit of frequently skipping meals to focus on his music, Christine is sure she could pull him away from his organ for a few minutes to eat a simple dish of her making.

Leaving her vanity to meet her maestro halfway, Christine noticed that in his hand, that remains by his side, held a bouquet of blood red roses. Abandoning any and all cheekiness that she would normally use with Raoul, she became more nervous than the young ballet rats.

“Erik, I hope you enjoyed the performance tonight. I know it's only the first of the season but I felt I did rather well.” She could not look him in the eye,so instead she focused on his recently polished shoes.

Simply like that, the meek words from the angel before him and all of the anger and fury that resided in Erik’s bones perished. How could it not? When his dear Christine looked how she did with her curls cascading down her swan-like neck, the colour of her dressing gown perfectly matching that of her eyes, not to mention how she worried her dolls hands about what he might say. And, dare he hope, the faintest warmth emitting from her cheeks? Yes, anyone with a soul as corrupted as his could rid of their anger the second they took in the scene before them.

Stirring him from his thoughts was the questioning tilt in her delicate voice. “Who are those for, might I ask?”

Realizing that she was pointing to the flowers by his side, the gears in Erik’s body and mind finally started to move again after being stopped momentarily by a foul angry rust. “My apologies my dear,” he said before stretching his hand out for the bouquet to reach inches from her, “these beauties are for only the most beautiful rose in the opera house, nay, the world.”

Taking the roses from his gloved hand, Christine brought them to her nose and inhaled the most potent and floral scent she has ever had the pleasure of smelling.

“They’re absolutely magical, Erik, thank you.” She told him with great sincerity.

Feeling a wave of confidence radiate from her words, he responded, “Only the best for the most talented young woman in France. You were radiant tonight, Christine, truly.”

Shifting her gaze from the flowers in her hand to her maestro’s eyes, Christine got lost for a few seconds in the pools of swirling amber that made her feel safe and warm.

“I suspect our lessons don’t have to be as grueling as they were before tonight. Maybe we could start again tomorrow? I hope that is not too soon.”

“I would love to, Erik. Although, it might have to wait until after I return. I’m to join Raoul tomorrow for tea at midday.”

Her simple words should have made a normal man respond in the positive, saying something along the lines of how they can schedule an early evening lesson where the hours get lost to them both, forcing Christine to stay for dinner that he could make for her before retiring to the living room and sharing more music before the warming fire.

But Erik was not a normal man.

He himself was a monster, but within him housed a greater evil that took the lives of many men, and women, before him and will continue to do so until the sun burns out.

Jealousy, that green scaled thing that sinks its teeth into the soul telling mankind everything that could be taken away from you in an instant.

Having been quiet a minute too long, Christine started to become concerned for her beloved teacher. Hoping to stir him from his unraveling thoughts, she placed a small hand on his forearm, bringing him back to the present moment.

“Erik, are you alright?”

No. No, for not even the sweet way she said his name and asked about his well being was enough to draw him back from the brink of pure rage that he currently stood on.

“The boy?” He asked in a deathly low voice, sending shivers down Christine’s back that she willed to stop.

“Raoul? Yes, we hope to rekindle our friendship after so long apart—“

“You would rather spend time with that fop than sing with me?!” He practically bellowed for it not for the partying cast members hanging around the dressing rooms causing a racket.

Amidst his anger the ferocity of his words hit Christine like a bolt of lightning, causing her to cower back from him in fear.

“What? No, Erik, you’re misunderstandi—“

“You tell me that I do not understand what that boy wants to do with you?! That he doesn’t want to take you in his arms, surrounded by his lavish manor, and claim you as his own! He will destroy you, Christine! Take you away from your music, our music!” He continued to scream like a mad man, only making things worse as he flailed his arms around to further accentuate his anger. Those emotions that he tried to keep bottled up earlier are now rearing their ugly head and making both of their lives a living hell.

“N—no he wouldn’t, he doesn’t even feel that way about me Erik.” She tried to reason with him even through her unshed tears, but there was no calming him down now that he had flung himself off the point of no return.

“Oh no? Tell me dumb girl, do you know what I see in his eyes? There’s a lust that resides there, Christine, a wanting that most any man would feel for a beauty such as yourself. He wants to lock you away, make you a wife, a mother, force child after child from you only to find his pleasure elsewhere in a young maid! Not I Christine, no not Erik! Where he would toss you the second you start to spoil, Erik would keep you happy with his music and love! Yes, love Christine, Erik loves you, the fowl creature that he is, he would love you for all of eternity! Ugly and alone, undeserving of any kindness at all, but you gave me a taste of that, Christine, and I have fallen for your charms and niceties. How poetic, the damned ugly monster in love with the angel that graced him!”

Somewhere along his rant and walking around the small quarters, Erik chanced a look at Christine, and what he saw tore him to pieces. A small, shivering figure,with a wetness covering her face, looking scared for her life that he might direct his anger towards her with his strength.

What scared him more was that he could not reassure her that she was safe from his harm.

Needing to leave before things got worse, as if they could, Erik quickly got back into the mirror and began to shut the door, refusing to look back at her fear shaken eyes so he was not tempted to try comforting her, lest he further scare the poor girl.

Before shutting the two-way mirror for what he hoped would be the last time, he looked down at the pile of roses that he bought for her and told her, “You need not hurry back tomorrow, I should think our teachings are done. But know this, Christine; I will love you for all of eternity,” his hoarse voice carried over through the chillingly silent room.

All the way down his catacombs and passageways Erik fought with himself that she did not need him to come back and make things right, that both of them needed space to clear his head and not harm her more than he already has.

Thankfully he reached the lake, longer than usual, but rowed across the waters and to his house. After opening the door he was welcomed with the usual silence that permeated the air, dank from how deep his house was and its proximity to the lake.

Stripping himself of his coat, Erik meangerd over to his organ and plopped down onto the velvet bench. Everything had gone so terribly, horribly wrong. All of the plans he had made to show Christine how much he cares and appreciates her, out the window. Well, at least he had told her he loved her. Yes, but only after comparing himself to that idiot boy who thinks his romantic affections went unnoticed, saying how he would take all music away from the poor girl's life. And while he didn’t believe that the fool would be stupid enough to cheat on Christine with some poorly house maid, he did believe that her life would have been obsolete of any public singing besides the odd house party. What really frightened the ghost was the very real possibility that the Viscount would take exponential care of his childhood sweetheart, catering for her every need, giving up things he loved just to make her happy in her gilded cage. If she married him and was the happiest she could ever be, what hope was there for Erik to steal her back to the opera house where she belongs.

That scaled green monster was once again nudging Erik to push his emotions to their limits, coming with vile scenes of the young couple and their happy marriage. For not the first time this evening, Erik saw red. Only this time, in his own devilish domain, he could create or destroy whatever he saw fit when the matter arose. Unfortunately for the world, there will be no telling of the scores and music that the Opera Ghost would have been composer of, for every image that his mind imagined of his angel giving her soul away to that damned boy he ruined his life’s most worked on projects.

As Christine walked down the aisle in her pristine, white gown to meet her beloved at the altar; Erik spilled ink and tore up his compositions, effectively rendering them useless. When they shared a happy first kiss after the minister pronounced them husband and wife; Erik smashed his organ with the velvet-tufted bench, bits and pieces flying everywhere. The party they threw to welcome the happy couple’s first child; Erik ripped and burned the various paintings and sculptures he made for his opera and Christine herself. But, as he watched a painting of his dearest, that he found too shoddy to gift her with, something changed in Erik.

He was yet again reminded of how he had scared and threatened her so, terrifying her to the point of tears running down her face, tears which he doubted she knew were freely falling.

It was with that horrifying image that Erik once again went from a raging, destroying mad man ruining everything he touched, into a sobbing mess. He cried out for Christine, begging for her forgiveness, hoping beyond all doubt that she would hear him and bring her light with her. He stumbled from his massacre of destruction, evidently throwing his mask behind, as he made his way to his room.

The room, which shouldn’t even be allowed to have such a name, consisted of only dark stone, a few candelabras, an old worn out Persian rug, and atop it, his coffin. The very same coffin that Christine demanded he get rid of once he disclosed to her that he sleeps there, feeling he deserves the feeling of the cold wood and no comfort, nothing else suited the world’s living corpse. Now, after all that he has done, all the harm he has caused and irrevocable damage done to his relationship, the purest to ever exist, he truly does deserve to succumb to the ghastly bed.

Taking the heavy lid, Erik slid it over just enough to crawl inside, and shut out all light from his eyes; undeserving of the heat and warmth they provide. Where he would usually count the lines in the wood grain, tonight he merely wallowed in pity for what could have been between his decrepit form, and the angel that he dared to love.

Unfortunately for Erik, tonight of all nights would have been the one for him to stay up all night, sitting at his organ and playing his music to ease the pain of a broken heart. But because he chose the comfort of a coffin, fit for the only purpose of serving as someone’s final resting place, his macabre lifestyle has finally caught up to him.

As many scientists would speak of years later, this night had reached record low for the city of Paris. Evidently if the Opera Ghost had stayed up late into the night he would have noticed the deathly chill had caused a light sheet of ice to form over his beloved lake. The temperature even caused candles that resided five cellars beneath the Opera Populaire, to harden so much that lighting them seemed futile. His warm fire that blazed while he was raging, simmered out whilst the poor ghoul slept, until that too ceased.

His grizzly end was described by some to be justified, a corpse deserves to live and die in a coffin found deep underground. Others, far more sympathetic, would continue to believe and tell their children of the Opera Ghost and his story of how he considered himself a monster due to his looks, how he fell in love with the only angel to grace the stage, and met his untimely end when she rejected him.

Regardless if you believe he died of a broken heart or hypothermia one thing remains true and will stand the test of time; the man died alone.

#phantom of the opera #christine daae #raoul de chagny #erik destler #musical fanfic #halloween #erik x christine #inktober #fanfic #fictober23 #andrew lloyd webber #death mention tw

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milady-pink · 7 months

Text

Rosewood Manor: Complete Series

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

#phantom of the opera #christine daae #raoul de chagny #erik destler #andrew lloyd webber #murder mystery

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milady-pink · 7 months

Text

Waitress AU

Warnings: Food/baking, domestic abuse, unplanned pregnancy, cheating

Summary: Working at a dead end job, waitress Christine soon finds herself with a new problem: an unplanned pregnancy. Life is all about trying to find the sweet spots and luckily this pie genius has a new (and pretty adorkably sexy) OBGYN, who isn’t too happy at home either.

TL;DR Quirky cute and sexy Erik as a doctor, lab coat and all.

Word Count: 1291 || Graphics: @firefly-graphics

"Opening Up (Finale) "

Recipe Book

AO3

“How are you two doing?”

Christine was so caught up in the beauty of her baby boy, Gus, that she must have missed the sound of someone entering the room.

“Have you ever seen a baby this beautiful?” She asked the doctor.

“Out of the 762 that I’ve delivered, I have to say— he is definitely at the top.” Then, turning his attention to the attending nurse asked, “Could you go get Ms. DeChagny her complimentary burp cloth?”

The nurse simply nodded in response before leaving the two adults alone. Doctor Destler closed the door for some privacy before making his way over to Christine’s bedside. There is a quiet moment that the two of them share as the new mother places her baby boy into the hospital bassinet next to her.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he started to say, but after catching Christine’s gaze he back peddled. “That was a lie, I don’t know. What are you thinking?” He questions her with soft eyes and a questioning voice.

Furrowing her brows in concentration, Christine takes a few breaths before speaking, wanting to say the right words for him. “I’m thinkin’…. I could never thank you enough for what you’ve done for me,” she tells him with a warm smile. Communication must not have been clear, for he tried to lean over and kiss her but was stopped by a delicate hand on his chest. “I’m also thinkin’ that your wife is around and you probably shouldn’t kiss me.” Ever the gentleman, he took her words and stepped back a bit to continue the conversation. “The way she looks at you, with so much trust… We could have a dramatic and long drawn out couple of years, and end up making everyone involved miserable… or, we can end it right here and now. No body counts.” She added as a last minute jest to lighten the mood a smidge.

Erik’s eyes shine a bit with some sadness, for his wife or their relationship ending, Christine didn’t want to speculate. So trying to hide his disappointment he keeps his eyes focused on the hospital’s linoleum floor as he speaks. “So this is goodbye,” a statement, no question about it.

Reaching out to take his hand in her own, Christine gives it a squeeze to get his attention. “I will never forget you, or what you’ve done for me. It goes far beyond words.”

“Another lifetime,” he tells her, with full understanding in his eyes mirroring the way he felt for her and what she has done for him.

The two ex-lovers let go of their hands, only for Christine to reach over to the table next to Gus. She had asked Carlotta to get the less than decadent dessert when she and Meg had stopped by for a visit earlier. Megan’s Nadir’s sweet words that she and the baby could stay with them for a while are still ringing in her ears. Everything is going to be okay.

“You deserve homemade for a proper goodbye, but try telling that to a vending machine.” She hands him a cellophane wrapped cake that was probably drier than the Sahara. “But, here you go: Thank You For Taking Me To The Moonpie.”

He takes it with one of his famous snort-laughs, causing the corners of his exposed eye to crinkle in the most handsome way. “Thank you,” he tells her before leaving the room, looking back at his favorite patient for the last time.

Christine felt a wetness of a few tears that she hadn’t realized escaped. Letting out a shaky breath, she looks over at her son who is sleeping very soundly all swaddled up in a baby blue blanket and hat.

“You give me courage that I didn’t even know existed, little man. I can’t promise to be the best mama, but I promise I’ll always be yours.” She whispered into the empty room for his ears alone.

With what little time she has alone before a nurse will come bombarding in to check her vitals, Christine takes the letter from Joe out to read.

“To my only friend, start fresh

I’m leaving you the pie shop

Name a pie after me when I’m gone

Old Joe”

This time the tears falling down her face are more than accidental; not only did that sweet old man leave her the deed to the shop, but he left her the code to the manager’s safe. Christine sends a quiet ‘thank you’ while looking up to the ceiling, knowing that her and her boy were going to be well taken care of by a grumpy old spirit.

Everything was certainly going to be okay.

The old air conditioner in the back pantry was pitifully spewing out its last few cold breaths.

I’ll have to add that to the expenses this month.

Popping today’s pie into the oven, Christine walks over to the sink and rinses off the flour and butter from her hands. As she lather’s them in soap she can hear Piangi talking to Gus in the front room.

“Okay Gus-Gus, we’ve got an order for 16 Gummy Gus Pies, 8 Polka Dot Peach and 4 Cocoa Cream,— how many is that in all?”

“A lot!” The young voice of her boy came. The two laugh, unbeknownst to them Christine also joins in quietly from the back. Drying her hands on a fresh towel she leaves the pie to cook as she saunters into the front.

Gus looks over at the swinging door and immediately bolts towards her. “Hi Mama!” He greets her cheerfully.

She picks up the five-year-old and places him on her hip replying, “Hi baby,” before giving him a big smooch on his head. From where they stand Christine can get a good look at the entire shop; different customers enjoying diner food and pie are sitting in almost every booth and table, and at the front bar dozens of pies and other treats are waiting to be picked up by their respective owners. Life was surely looking up since Gus was born years ago. Christine is finally happy, more than just enough.

“What’s the special pie for today, Christine?” Questioned Carlotta, looking very happy in her waitress uniform.

“Ooohhhh, I hope its got chocolate… or fruit… or—“

“Meg, I think you’re just having some cravings honey bear.” Came the happy voice of her husband, Nadir, who was helping out with some orders for the diner. At his words, Meg showed a surprised face while absentmindedly rubbing her baby bump; a joyful end of first trimester and first born for the happy couple.

“That makes sense, I was gonna say peanut butter and pickles next, ha!”

“Well maybe I’ll make you a special Pregnant PB Pickle Pie, just for you and your baby girl.” Christine told her friend, everyone sharing a sincere laugh. “But for today let’s stick to Old Joe’s Slice Of Heaven Pie, with a tomata’ on the side—“

“On its own plate!” Chimed in the girls.

Christine smiles at her friends before heading back to the kitchen to check on said pie, bringing her boy with her. The sound of the jukebox can still be heard through the walls so the content mama dances around a bit with her son, utter love shining in her eyes. Nothing was the same as it was years ago, but things change for a reason. And thank god for that!

Recently Christine has been teaching Gus how to bake at home and he’s taken to it like a duck to water; he was definitely her son, regardless of who his father was supposed to be. He was her’s, through and through.

“You remember what I taught you?”

“Sugar, butter, flour!”

The End

#phantom of the opera #christine daae #raoul de chagny #erik destler #musical fanfic #erik x christine #pies #sara bareilles

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milady-pink · 7 months

Text

Waitress AU

Warnings: Food/baking, domestic abuse, unplanned pregnancy, cheating

TL;DR Quirky cute and sexy Erik as a doctor, lab coat and all.

Word Count: 1993 || Graphics: @firefly-graphics

"Everything Changes "

Recipe Book

AO3

Pain.

Unimaginable pain, something she has never experienced before, shooting through her lower back. It almost felt like period cramps only set to level ten, except…

Christine hasn’t had a period in months.

Could this be a—

“Ahh!” Another surge shot through her, this time around her stomach. It felt almost like a tight squeeze.

Contraction

Wracking through her brain Christine tried to remember what she had read about this crucial moment. ‘Have the spouse or a loved one comfort the mother’. Yeah, that’s not happening. ‘Breathe through the pain’.

So that’s what she did; breathing in through her nose, out through her mouth. Hopefully she can manage the pain until Raoul goes to bed, then she can take the car and—

A warm, fluid sensation is felt going down her leg. With great trepidation, Christine looks down and sees a small pool of clear liquid.

“Shit”, she breathed. There was no time to wait, this baby was coming whether she was ready or not. And judging by the fact that her husband was counting all the money she saved up to get away from him, Christine was most definitely not ready.

With what little time she had before another contraction came on, Christine painfully waddled over to the home phone and called 911 for an ambulance.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“I’m nine months pregnant and having cotract—Aahh!!”

She doesn’t remember much about the ride to the hospital, only that Raoul wouldn’t shut up the entire time about god-knows-what. So instead of listening to him whine, Christine closed her eyes and focused all of her expending energy on her breathing.

Out,

Out…

After a while it almost felt soothing, like her breathing and steady heartbeat was the only thing that existed in an empty void. Before she knew it they arrived at the hospital and was being rushed to the maternity ward, leaving an upset Raoul batching in the background.

The pain got worse.

So much worse.

Thankfully the hospital bed had seen many mothers-to-be in pain, and Christine was about to be just another one. Although the pain had gotten worse, she wasn’t fully displayed yet so there wasn’t much to do yet but wait for the baby to make anapperence.

“Everything is going to be okay Christine,” came the velvety voice of her doctor.

“Make it all go away, please” she begged through gritted teeth, tears were starting to prick her eyes from the hurt.

His sympathetic look only hurt her more. “I know, try to focus on your breathing. I’ll be right here,” he promised as he patted her forehead with a cool towel from the perspiration.

“Wheel me in.” A gravelly voice could be heard from outside Christine’s room. She couldn’t really make out who the voice belonged to, the contractions causing her to squeeze her eyes shut.

Turning his attention away from his patient to the unexpected visitor, Dr. Destler questions him, asking, “Excuse me but do you belong in here?”

“Yes, I’m her kin.” The voice answered.

As the pain in her stomach subsided Christine mustered up enough energy to open her eyes and saw one of the last people she thought would be in the delivery room with her.

“He sure is! Joe, what are you doin’ here?” She spoke before remembering what he had told her not a day earlier. “Is your surgery today?”

“Later this afternoon, Carlotta told me you were in here,” he replied as he wheeled over to her bedside. “I bought ya a card from the gift shop downstairs. Almost got diabetes from the flowers and sweetness.” He said with a scowl which only made Christine smile wider.

“Thank you, Joe. You’re always there,whether I want you or not.” She told him, accepting the card from his outstretched hand. But before she could open it she was interrupted by her favorite patron.

“Don’t look at it right now; wait till later when all of the fuss is over with.” He was talking about the baby but Christine had a feeling he meant something else. Regardless, she smiled lovingly at the old man and placed the card onto the bedside table for later.

Unfortunately the room was disrupted from the sentimental moment the second Raoul walked into the room finishing off a bag of potato chips, declaring, “It’s halftime in the lounge, Colts are up 10. So, what’s the ETA in here, huh?” Then, noticing Joe’s presence, introduces himself, “Raoul - father to be”, with a stupidly smug smile.

Staring at the rugged idiot before him, Joe gave him a once over with disgust before giving him a piece of his mind. “How could I ever forget you? Don’t say nothin’ smart, you dumb ass.” Then, speaking to his nurse, “Wheel me out.”

As the old man left the room for surgery prep, the room was dead silent after his parting words. The silence doesn’t last long however, as Christine uses the chance to introduce her Doctor to her husband; all the while pretending they haven’t been having very frequent ‘physicals’.

“Uh…Doctor Destler, this is my husband, Raoul.”

Despite her unease of the meeting, Raoul didn’t catch a whiff of it, choosing to instead pull out the camcorder from the bag he reluctantly packed a few weeks ago when Christine told him the due date was approaching. The old thing somehow managed to record, so Raoul took up the position of director for the upcoming film, ‘My Wife Pushes My Kid Out Of Her Cooter’.

Trying to fit both himself and his contracting wife in the frame, he calls out, “Hey Doc, ya mind gettin’ outta the way so I can get a shot of me and the wife on the big day.” Doing so, even though Erik was checking on her vitals to make sure Christine was doing okay, Raoul swooped in to her side and shoved the camera in her face. “C’mon give me a kiss baby.”

Instead, Christine wails from pain as another torturous contraction rips through her body. “Whoa…a little dramatic there, Chrissy…..Careful! You’re spittin’ on the lens,” Raoul continued, trying to film this supposed ‘magical moment’ walked to the other side of the room to wipe it off.

Back at her side to check on heartbeat and blood oxygen levels, Doctor Destler is in the middle of writing down the numbers when Christine pulls him by the lapels. “Doctor Destler?”

“Yes, Christine?” A bit of lust in his eyes due to their closeness, forgetting that her husband was feet away.

“I just want to make sure we agree on one thing.”

Licking his lips while looking at her own with hooded eyes he questions, “What’s that Christine?”

Taking a stuttering breath, she answers him. “Drugs. I want a massive amount of drugs. In fact, I want the maximum legal limit of drugs.”

Understanding that the woman before him was, in fact, about to give birth to another human being, any and all sexual tension that he thought existed evaporated. “Noted, one hundred percent noted,” he said while frantically nodding his head and walking away to write down her wishes.

As if things couldn’t get worse a group of hospital residents had walked into the room, one of them even coming beside Christine to hold her hand during such a physically difficult time. “Try and steady your breathing hon, there you go, you’re doing great.” Her soothing voice and gestures were making this an almost calming experience for Christine. “Hi, I’m Sorelli Destler, Erik has told me so much about you!”

Oh.

Great…

“Uh, did I tell you my wife was a resident here?” Questioned the very doctor who was being talked about, equally as uncomfortable as Christine was; minus the contractions.

“I think you mighta mentioned that, rings a bell.” Christine squeezed out through another wave of pain.

“Don’t worry you are in great hands with my husband, he’s one of the best aro—“

“Is she gonna be here the whole time? I mean, are all the residents gonna be here the whole time?” Christine asked, trying her darndest to not sound as pissed as she was feeling.

“No, they were just here to observe the first stage of labor. Everyone out please!” He said, taking charge and directing the group out of the room, besides for the two waitresses who barged their way in.

“Christine, we're here! Everything is gonna be okay!” Reassured Meg.

“Oh my lord— the pie’s comin’ out of the oven!”

Through all of the pain and aching, Christine tried to focus on anything but the pain and how much it was tearing her apart. Squeezing her eyes shut tight and gripping the bed’s metal frames for dear life, she feels herself yelling out into the black void as she succumbs to the drug induced fog.

“I don’t want no baby Raoul!” Rings out into the hospital room, before a moment of stunned silence.

And then… the soft cries of a new voice.

Darkness still encompassed her, but Christine could make out some voices as she started to come out of it.

“It’s a boy!”

“A boy?”

“Would you like to hold your baby, Mrs. DeChagny? Mrs. DeChagny? Are you alright? Mrs. DeChagny?”

The blinding hospital light made it too harsh to see but once Christine’s vision cleared up the first thing she saw was a small head of brown hair peeking out from a swaddle of a light blue blanket.

“Give him to me,” she told the nurse without taking her eyes off of her son.

Here, with him in her arms after months, it finally felt real. Even if he was growing inside of her all those months,it felt like they were just meeting for the first time. Everything, every morning of being sick, every time she had to run to the bathroom to pee, every time her back ached so badly she thought it was gonna break in half,was worth it.

Everything had changed for Christine, in an instance.

“Now remember what I said — you can’t go lovin’ that baby more than me.” Came Raoul’s voice, perched at the end of her hospital bed.

“I don’t love you anymore Raoul, I haven’t for a very long time. I want a divorce.” The words came out of her so easily it made Christine wonder if it was the baby or the epidural that finally gave her the courage.

“Now, that’s not funny, Christine.”

“No one’s laughin’, Raoul. I want you to get the hell outta my life.”

“You serious?!” As his voice started to rise, the hospital security caught wind of the man who was currently yelling at the woman who just gave birth to his child, and had to forcefully drag him away. He continued to yell at her about what a big mistake it was, how she was never gonna leave him, and how much she was gonna pay when she got home.

Christine had no worries whatsoever, knowing she had enough people on her side that a restraining order would fall into her ex-husband’s lap swiftly. She also knew those same people will be more than willing to give her a place to crash for a while, until she got back onto her feet again. But regardless, everything was different now.

Christine was a new woman, free from any and all restraints that existed in her previous life, happy to take on the new role of being a single mother.

Thinking back, she realizes that she still misses the girl she was; in the same way things change for the worse, some things change for the better. That girl is gone, but she was replaced with a woman who can handle a new life and new challenges. She won’t remain the woman she is now, but she will learn new lessons in preparation for the woman she will become next.

The fire inside of her has reignited, and it burns brighter than before.

#phantom of the opera #christine daae #raoul de chagny #erik destler #musical fanfic #erik x christine #pies #sara bareilles

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milady-pink · 7 months

Text

Thx friend!!

I guess I know what I’m gonna be doing these upcoming weeks lol

Fuck it, Legally Blonde AU with Phantom characters LETS GOOO

Elle: Christine

Emmet: Erik

Paulette: Madame Giry (I can’t think of anyone better)

Warner: Raoul

Professor Callahan: Phillipe De Chagny

Vivienne: Carlotta

Brooke Wyndham: La Sorelli

Margot: Meg

Serena: Jammes

Delta Nu Sorority Sisters: Ballet Rats

#should Christine be blonde or brunette?#might have to poll tbh

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milady-pink · 7 months

Text

Should I do It??

Fuck it, Legally Blonde AU with Phantom characters LETS GOOO

Elle: Christine

Emmet: Erik

Paulette: Madame Giry (I can’t think of anyone better)

Warner: Raoul

Professor Callahan: Phillipe De Chagny

Vivienne: Carlotta

Brooke Wyndham: La Sorelli

Margot: Meg

Serena: Jammes

Delta Nu Sorority Sisters: Ballet Rats

#poto #phantom of the opera #Erik/Christine #legally blonde #I have WAY too many fit ideas on back order but idc

31 notes · View notes

milady-pink · 7 months

Text

Waitress AU

Warnings: Food/baking, domestic abuse, unplanned pregnancy, cheating

TL;DR Quirky cute and sexy Erik as a doctor, lab coat and all.

Word Count: 1572 || Graphics: @firefly-graphics

"Dear Baby & She Used To Be Mine "

Recipe Book

AO3

“You must think I’m really stupid.”

They had just gotten home from Meg and Nadir’s wedding, silent the entire car ride home, and this was the first thing he said to her after shutting the front door. Any and all access to the outside world was cut off from Christine. She hated that the ring on her left hand symbolized the same thing even when outside of the home.

“No I don’t, Raoul…” she softly defied him.

He pointed a finger towards the couch with a shaker hand, rage barely contained in his body. “Unzip the cushion, Chrissy.”

Shit.

Shit shit shit!

Somehow her worst fears have come true and he found out she’s been hiding money from him. Maybe he only knows about this spot, maybe he didn’t find the others…

“I don’t wanna, Raoul—“

“Open the cushion Christine!” His anger finally started to bubble over. Frozen from fright Christine remains stuck in place as she watches her husband angrily rip apart the fabric from the foam. He shoved his hand inside and slammed a number of bills down onto the untouched seat. “What is that, huh? What the fuck is that Christine!?”

Thinking if she answered him maybe he’ll take it easy on her, she whimpers out, “Money.”

“Money. Money that I found all over the fuckin’ house! In drawers, cabinets, the sofa! Money hidden all over my house!”

Shit.

She’s really screwed now.

Trying to save her sorry ass and scared of what he might do next Christine lets out a quiet, “I’m sorry”.

Raoul lets out an angry breath, running a hand through his hair simultaneously. “After everything I ever did for you, and here you are hidin’ money from me? Who was the only one there for you when your mama died and your old man got piss drunk every night, huh? ME! Did you forget that?! You think I need this right now?!” His voice got steadily louder and more angered as he continued to speak.

Enraged by her betrayal, Raoul stomps over to where his guitar lies against the couch, grabs it by the neck, and hoists it above his head similar to an ax.

“Raoul stop it, you love that guitar!” Christine tried to plead with him, but his mind was made up. Her hands went straight up to cover her mouth in shock.

With both hands on the neck of his prized possession, Raoul brings the guitar crashing down onto the coffee table; not once, but multiple times trying to let out some of his energy. By the time he was done the instrument had no use left in it, only usable now as a toothpick.

The whole time he was destroying the guitar Christine watched from the sidelines, horror shone in her eyes. There was a silence of fear that filled the air of the little home, tension so thick it was easy to get lost in.

Eyes still on the mess of broken wood and strings, Raoul broke the silence. “You were the only thing I’ve ever loved.” His gaze, swirling with anger and sadness, moved to Christine’s. “The only person to ever belong to me. You’re my wife, my whole damn life… You keeping secrets from me tears me apart.” He takes a deep breath before speaking again. “Why were you hidin’ money all over the house?”

The venom that weaved its way into his question kept Christine on guard. “I—“

“Tell me you were gonna surprise me— that you were gonna buy me somethin’”

“Raoul—“

“If I ever thought that you weren’t happy with me, that you were deceiving me, well I…I’d just kill myself.” His eyes staring straight into her soul, “I would, I’d just wanna die. Hold me.” Suddenly dropping to his knees in front of her, his head at the same height of Christine’s stomach.

Startled by his sudden action, Christine kept her arms lifted mid height, not quite sure if she wanted to comfort her husband after the explosion that just occurred. She thought for a long while, trying desperately to find the right words that will make him happy, or at least content.

“The truth is, Raoul…the truth is… I was savin’ that money…for the baby. To buy some nice things. A crib..t-toys…all for the baby.” She stuttered out, looking everywhere but down at her pathetic husband for an answer, a way out of this mess. She shut her eyes, hoping and praying that her words would be enough for him.

“For the baby?” He questioned, looking up at her.

“Yes, Raoul. A crib.” She said, her voice as watery as her eyes have become.

Startling her once again, Raoul stood back up to find his wife evading his eyes. Quietly, he padded over to where the money lay on the couch cushion and picked it up, folding it before placing it into his back pocket. He started to leave to the back of the house, only to shoot Christine, who hasn’t moved a muscle, a look from over his shoulder.

“I don’t know why you gotta make it so hard Chrissy. I just want us to be happy.” And with that, he left Christine to her thoughts.

After life had slowly returned to her body, Christine moved to sit down on the cushion that Raoul didn’t tear apart. Her heart was racing, and she had a feeling she wasn’t the only one. Before she knew it, she was whispering out loud to calm her baby’s racing heart.

“Dear baby,

If you ever wanna learn the story of how we bought your crib, I’ll tell you. Your crib was bought with the money I was gonna use to buy us a new life. The Springfield Pie Contest starts next week…and you and I won’t be there.”

Sitting there on the lumpy sofa cushion, Christine started to think. And once she started, the faucet of her emotions could not be contained anymore.

After coming home everyday from a thankless job, getting paid the bare minimum to survive, that stupid diner owns more of her than she would like to admit. Remembering the very first day she started there, freshly out of high school, choosing to work instead of go to college because they didn’t have the money. She wasn’t miss popular, or miss beautiful, but she was happy…happier than she was now. That’s the thing she misses most, the girl she used to be…

She was a lonely, messy, broken liar but for the small amount of time that she existed, she was loved dearly. Even the best pies still have their burnt edges, and the sour lemons are there to bring out the sweetness of the fruit.

Just like mama used to say…

That’s another thing she missed. She hates how life had to screw her over and take away her mama before her dad, the person who made growing up a living hell. She cried for days, weeks even when her mama died, but the tears just never came when death took her father. Her mama loved being a parent, using every opportunity to teach and grow along with her, never belittling her lack of experience. Christine thought she deserved to get married to Raoul, repeating the same mistake her mama made. Only she is far from happy to be giving birth.

A baby was the last thing she needed, or even wanted. Why would she want yet another child to go through the pain and suffering of a piss drunk dad and beaten up mom. If she could, Christine would start from the very beginning and do everything over again. She would make the right choices, the big ones that matter, and not end up here, pregnant and alone. Instead, she would be her again: that girl that she so desperately misses, the girl she wants to see just one more time before everything goes so wrong. That girl would never have allowed herself to marry a man who loves with his fists, who manipulates her into a relationship. No, she wouldn’t, because when life would knock her down, she would stand back up and brush off the dust.

She was ten times stronger than Chistine, who knows how disappointed she would be if she could see what happened to her.

There used to be a fire in her, a willingness to fight whatever came her way, and now? Now there’s a new life brimming inside of her, one that kicked and had a heartbeat of its own, forcing Christine to fight once again. Fight for something new. It gets stronger each and everyday, and all she can do is hope that it doesn’t consume her. But it won’t… no, instead this new fire will spark and engulf her, completely burning off the woman she is and the girl she was. That fire, so familiar and friendly, will take over her until all that is seen is a flame that burns so brightly, the same fire that used to burn so bright inside of her, ingrained in her every movement.

All she wants is to be that girl again.

Fearless, strong, sweet, and the happiest she will never be again. She was here for a few blissful moments, and trailed a blaze. Now, she lay in the ashes, a burnt ember of who she was before it was stolen from her. She no longer exists.

But, she used to be mine.

#phantom of the opera #christine daae #raoul de chagny #erik destler #musical fanfic #waitress musical #she used to be mine #sara bareilles #pies

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milady-pink · 7 months

Text

Waitress AU

Warnings: Food/baking, domestic abuse, unplanned pregnancy, cheating

TL;DR Quirky cute and sexy Erik as a doctor, lab coat and all.

Word Count: 1979 || Graphics: @firefly-graphics

"I Love You Like A Table & Take It From An Old Man "

Recipe Book

AO3

“Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here today in celebration of the union between one Nadir Farhad Khan and Megan Anne Giry—“

“Wait! I’ve got some wedding poetry happenin’ right now!”

They were an odd couple, to say the least. But after seven months of being together, many of those moments spent doing the horizontal tango, Nadir proposed. After a successful meeting of his mother over dinner he knew that she was the one he wanted to spend the rest of his Revolutionary War reenactments with. So one night he snuck into her apartment early and arranged a very romantic candle lit dinner for the two of them where he popped the question. Meg of course said ‘yes’ and showed her fiancé just how much she loved him by riding him faster than Paul Revere could ever dream. They started planning for their wedding right away, Meg already knew she wanted to hold the reception at the diner which took some convincing on Piangi’s part since he didn’t want to lose revenue for a whole day when the ceremony would only take a few hours at most. So they agreed to hold the small wedding between the lunch rush and dinner.

The happy couple also knew they wanted to decorate sparsely, and approached Christine to make a wedding pie instead of cake, since the two love her baking so much. A few weeks later and here they stood, under a white- lace covered arch, friends and family surrounding them, and the delicious smell of pie swirling around them. For her part, Christine went above and beyond when they asked her to make a wedding pie; she made not one, but five pies, increasing in size to mimic a cake sitting on a custom made platter from Piangi. He told them that using the diner and the pie platter are his gifts from him.

They may have moved faster than others, but the newlyweds knew they wouldn’t want to be with anybody else.

“Your white dress

sparks words spontaneous,

I’ll sing from mountain tops

I am in love and I don’t care who knows it!”

“That’s beautiful, Nadir!” Meg complimented her husband, whose dress resembled that of the Civil War era. Bonnet and all.

“Oh, I’m not done.” He told her, much to the disappointment of the awaiting, and hungry, guests.

“Lucky me that I was ordi-nary,

But your love has made me see

That I am a po…poem writer.

I will express this is I am able,

Meg, I love you like a table!”

The bizarre statement caused many guests to look at one another in confusion for his simile. Nadir must have caught wind of the sideways glances because he quickly recanted and explained why he felt what he said.

“N-no no, ya see, my legs were carved for only you; I’m the wood,you are the glue! You can cover me in… stuff, an-and I’ll hold it for you, for however long you need it.” He added flailing arms to help visualize for everyone what he meant as he continued his strange sonnet. “Meg, you make strong and stable, so I love you like a table.” He ended by taking both of her hands within his own.

Even if the sentiment was lost on most people sitting in the folding chairs, it was not lost on Meg,the only woman who could make sense of Nadir’s poetry.

“I love you too. In fact, I tried my own hand at writing vows but I couldn’t find the right words like you.” Then, turning to the audience, “It’s art! You people wouldn’t get it!” Returning her attention to the tuxedo clad man in front of her she continued. “Nadir, I wrote 29 drafts for vows but not one of them rhymed! I don’t know how you do it so… eloquently.”

With his dark eyes filled to the brim with love for the blonde woman before him, he willed himself not to cry, again, and said to her. “How about we simply promise to do the best we can? I can’t ask you for more than that.”

His sweet words cut through her heart like a hot knife through butter. “And I promise that every time I see your handsome face, I will always want to see it again. I will never get enough of you, Nadir!”

After they finished their vows the minister continued with the typical words of ceremony for this atypical couple in love.

Finally, the moment had come for Christine to bring in the beautiful creation she made just for today.

“I present to you all, the wedding pie!” Called Carlotta, who wore a sexy yet dignified black pencil skirt, cheetah print top, and a fashionable red neck scarf.

Many gasps and surprised voices came from the guests as they saw the multi-tiered chocolate wedding pie(s). One such voice came from Nadir himself who couldn’t stop exclaiming, “Oh my god!”, over and over again from his enthusiasm.

Not much one for attention, Chistine let Carlotta cut and serve out slices while she stayed behind, watching the various people fall in love with her baking for the first time. It never failed to make her smile.

“You’ve really outdone yourself, Christine. I bet you’re gonna win that contest next week.” Commented Piangi as he came sauntering over in his formal cowboy boots.

She smiled at him. “Thanks for lettin’ me go, Piangi.”

“Well, maybe I’m not such a bad guy…” he trailed off.

“Yeah, maybe…” She said, giving him a knowing look.

“And look at them, happiest day of their lives. They haven’t got a clue the ride they’re in for.” Declared the chef about the newlywed couple.

There was a thought that kept bugging Christine, and she figured she might as well ask, seeing as how he’s right here. “…Piangi, could I ask you a question?”

“Shoot it.”

She took a deep breath before speaking. “Are you happy? Wou-would you call yourself a happy man?” She asked, worrying her thumb between her teeth.

A moment of silence surrounds the pair before he answers her. “Because you’re askin’ a serious question I’ll give you an equal answer. I’m happy enough. I don’t give that much, I don’t get that much, but when somethin’ comes up I try to enjoy it. So, that’s my truth, and you can do whatch ya want with your feminine judgment. I am happy enough.”

His honest answer gave Christine a lot to think about. She doesn’t really know where the question came from, but it must have come from the fact that he was in a somewhat similar position as herself. They were both cheating on their spouse, but Christine wasn’t sure if she wanted to continue,even if it meant giving up her happiness.

Carlotta conveniently disturbed her thoughts by walking up to the awkward pair of the waitress and the chef. “May I have this dance?” She asked, sticking her hand out. Piangi let out a loud sigh before taking her hand, only to be swatted away as if he carried a disease. “Not you! The pretty pregnant lady.”

Christine smiled and took her friend's hand, letting her guide her through the makeshift dance floor of the diner. They danced slowly along with the other couples swinging in time to the music. “I had some big wig spenders yesterday.” Carlotta began, reaching into her bra for a small wad of money. “You can add this to the pot— to help fund your entrance fee—“

“Carlotta! I’m not gonna take your money, not with what you’re dealin’ with at home—“ Christine tried to interrupt, but her stubborn friend would hear none of it.

“Please, just this once! Let me feel a little philanthropic for a second. I don’t want to worryin’ about anythin’ but bakin’ yourself a better life.” Reluctantly, Christine took the money from the redhead, feeling more than blessed to have her in this life. “Hey, do ya think they’ll give you one of those giant checks that are the size of a small couch? Man, I’ve always wondered how you cash one of those..”

Her statement caused both girls to laugh. “Maybe me and you should have an affair.” Christine told her, after their laughter died off.

“Uh uh, no ma’am. I’m in this for a lifetime.” The older woman responded.

Unfortunately their dance was cut short as Old Joe Valerius came hobbling over to the two and effectively shoo’ed off Carlotta. Replacing her, Joe took over as Christine’s new dance partner.

“This reminds me of my third wedding to Anna-Marie Caputo. Now she was a screamer in bed.” His gravelly voice told her.

“I’m gonna make a pie just for you, I’ll call it ‘Old Joe’s Horney Past Pie’.” Replied Christine, shocked by his brazenness.

“I might have to wait on that one.” Christine noticed his eyes suddenly filled with a seriousness she hadn't seen before in his eyes. “My doctor says I shouldn’t be eatin’ that sweet stuff, got my liver actin’ up. They gotta remove a piece of it.”

“Oh Joe…” She sympathized.

“You gotta promise me you’re gonna bake to win, Pie-lady…why’re ya shakin’?”

“Sometimes I just feel like I just settle for a happy enough life, like my mama did. I’m scared of winnin’—but I’m terrified of losin’. Make peace with it, ya know?” She asked him, speaking her truth and in desperate need of some wisdomly words.

“Take it from an old man, there’s never enough time, when you think you have enough, you don’t. It just slips right past ya. I’ve made a lotta mistakes, regrets up the ass, but trust me when I say this; there’s somethin’ special in you. It’s like a light tryna break out, anyone with a pair of eyes can see it. Call it what ya want, a passion or talent, but it shines every time you smile or share a new idea for a pie. I reckon that soon enough, you’ll be seein’ that shining light for yourself because honey, it gets stronger everyday.”

A few tears rolled out of Christine’s eyes, which Joe wiped away in a fatherly manner, causing her to give him a watery smile in thanks. “Last thing I’ll say is this: when you feel like you lack the strength to stand on your own, you don’t have to stand alone. You’ve got a whole diner of people tryna help you, people who believe in you. Should start believein’ in yourself.”

The incredibly heartfelt talk that he gave her was everything and more that Christine needed. She reached her arms around his slightly taller neck and gave him a grateful hug, which he tried to return with one hand on his cane.

Disaster struck as Christine was torn away from the older gentleman by Raoul, who had a dangerous look in his eyes. “Excuse me but I gotta borrow my wife.” He said to Joe. Then mush softer for only her to hear, “Say your goodbyes, we’re goin’ home.”

Joe tried to intervene, but got called out by Raoul and his angry words, causing a scene for the wedding guests to watch. Piangi made his way over to him, trying to escalate the situation. “Hey man, c’mon.”

“Don’t,” Christine told him, “it’ll only make it worse.”

As she was dragged by the elbow through the diner to the car, she tried her best to tell her friends she would be okay.

“Christine, please stay—“ begged Meg.

“I’m sorry, bye sweetheart—“

“Don’t leave!” Exclaimed Carlotta.

“I love you, congratulations!” She tried to shout as she was pulled through the front doors.

Raoul was silent the entire ride home. Something really bad must have happened, but she couldn’t begin to think of what. Christine kept her hands on her stomach to remind herself that she wasn’t going to go through whatever happens alone.

#phantom of the opera #christine daae #raoul de chagny #erik destler #musical fanfic #sara bareilles #waitress musical #pies

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