#2004 poto

[operas-phantom]

We’re.. multiplying..

[mademoiselle-artist]

Erik with blind reader headcanons

-When he met you the meeting was interesting to say the least.

I have two ideas on how he met you.

You either slipped and fell into the entrance to his lair

Or you bumped into him.

Either way Erik is intrigued. You had no fear.

When you tell him you're blind he realizes you cant see his deformity.

Will hold your hand and guide you

Doesn't like when people stare at you.

Truly is a sweetheart once you get to know him.

Is hesitant to let you touch his face.

When he does let you touch his face he melts

He is more than happy to describe to you how you look

he would draw many sketches of you

He would also try to make a braille translation of his songs so you can read them.

He will hide in the shadows and make sure you don't crash or trip on anything.

He likes that he can be himself around you and know you wont judge him.

That's all I have for now I just wanted to make head canons about this to see what ya'll thought.

[hannah-lou]

Please-

Send some help to me... save me 😫🫦

[n1ght0f-nyx]

Hi!! I just read your newest and omg was it amazing! Would you be interested in writing something where Erik and reader have a bit of a language barrier (maybe they’re learning French but aren’t fluent yet) so they bring a French-English dictionary with them everywhere? They like talking to Erik but once in a while they have to stop in the middle of a passionate rant to look something up. Maybe they teach him some English too? Just had this idea and thought it might be interested as someone who pretty much spent two weeks in France wishing I was fluent…

i have had this sitting in drafts for so long i feel terrible. phantom of the opera erik destler x reader

warnings/tags- minor language barrier, i dont speak french.

word count-877 words

The first time you met Erik, you had barely enough French to order a coffee without embarrassing yourself.

"Un café, s'il vous plaît," you had murmured, hands shaking, heart racing. The words felt foreign in your mouth, but you had practiced them religiously. The waiter had nodded, unfazed, and you had nearly wept in relief.

Now, standing before Erik in the dim glow of his underground home, you wished ordering coffee was the most difficult thing you'd have to say.

"You insist on carrying that thing with you everywhere?" he asked, gesturing at the thick French-English dictionary clutched in your arms. His voice was like velvet wrapped around a razor's edge, both amused and sharp.

You held the book tighter. "Oui. Yes. It helps."

He made a sound of mild disapproval, folding his arms across his chest. "You should learn naturally. You rely too much on that book."

"You are learning!" you shot back, only to hesitate. "I mean, j'apprends!"

He smirked. "Hardly."

"Oh, shut up."

His golden eyes gleamed. "Tu devrais dire 'taisez-vous,' ma chère."

You groaned and flipped open your dictionary, determined to find a better retort. He waited, amused, as you traced your finger along the pages. After a moment, you found what you were looking for.

"Vous êtes insupportable," you declared triumphantly.

He laughed, a rare and unexpected sound. "Well said."

Conversations with Erik were exhilarating, even when they felt like linguistic duels. He had a way of drawing words out of you, forcing you to rely less on your book and more on your instincts. Still, sometimes you just needed your trusty dictionary, much to his chagrin.

"You saw the most incredible thing today!" you burst into his lair one evening, flushed with excitement. "There was this—oh, how do you say—" you flipped through the pages, scanning frantically. "Ah! Un jongleur! A juggler!"

"A juggler?" he echoed, one brow arching in amusement. "And this excites you?"

"Yes! He was juggling—" you paused, flipping again. "Um. Les torches en feu?"

"Flaming torches," Erik corrected, sighing as if exhausted by your effort. "You could have simply mimed it."

"You could have," you admitted, "but where's the fun in that?"

He chuckled, shaking his head. "You are insufferable."

"Oh? Et vous êtes insupportable!"

He snorted. "Touché."

In exchange for your relentless attempts at French, you had begun teaching Erik some English. He resisted at first, declaring the language to be inelegant and crude, but curiosity eventually won out.

"Say it again," he demanded one evening, eyes narrowed in concentration.

"'The music is beautiful.'"

"Ze musique ees... beautifool."

You bit your lip, suppressing a smile. "Close! It's 'beautiful.'"

"Beautifool."

"Try 'bee-yoo-ti-ful.'"

He growled under his breath, glaring at the invisible force preventing him from mastering the pronunciation. "Bee-yoo-ti-ful."

"Yes! That was perfect!"

He looked pleased for a brief moment before scowling again. "This language is ridiculous."

"Maybe. But now you can compliment your own music in two languages."

He sighed dramatically. "A necessary skill, I suppose."

You laughed. "Exactly."

Over time, your language barrier became less of an obstacle and more of a game. You would tease him with complex English words, and he would retaliate with intricate French phrases, smirking when you fumbled them.

One evening, as you sat together in the candlelight, you flipped through your dictionary absentmindedly. "Erik, how do you say... 'I am happy here'?"

He watched you for a long moment before replying, his voice softer than usual. "Je suis heureux ici."

You repeated it carefully. "Je suis heureux ici."

His expression was unreadable, but something in his eyes shifted. "Good. You are improving."

You smiled. "Merci."

He hesitated, then murmured, "Thank you."

Surprised, you looked up. His English pronunciation was impeccable this time, though his voice carried an unfamiliar vulnerability.

Maybe, just maybe, you were learning more than just words.

Time passed, and soon enough, the dictionary spent more time closed than open. Your French was far from perfect, and Erik still struggled with certain English words, but your conversations flowed easier now.

One evening, after a particularly animated discussion about poetry, you sighed and leaned back in your chair. "You never told me your favorite poem."

Erik regarded you for a moment before replying, "Demain, dès l'aube."

You blinked, unfamiliar with the title. Reaching for your dictionary, you hesitated. "Can you... recite it?"

He nodded, then began, his voice like silk wrapping around the verses.

"Demain, dès l'aube, à l'heure où blanchit la campagne, Je partirai. Vois-tu, je sais que tu m'attends."

You listened, entranced, the words foreign yet melodic. You caught pieces of it—"tomorrow, at dawn," "I will leave," "I know you wait for me"—but you wanted to understand more.

"Wait," you murmured, flipping through the dictionary. He reached out and stopped you, his hand warm over yours.

"No book. Just listen."

So you did.

As he continued, you found yourself catching meaning not just through words, but through the emotions in his voice, the way his tone softened and deepened. Maybe language wasn't just about translations and definitions. Maybe it was about connection, about understanding without needing perfection.

When he finished, there was silence between you, comfortable and profound.

"That was beautiful," you said finally.

He tilted his head. "That was... bee-yoo-ti-ful?"

You grinned. "Perfect."

[vladimirsangel]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber, Phantom of the Opera (2004), The Phantom of the Opera (TV 1990), The Phantom of the Opera (1925), Phantom - Susan Kay Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Erik | Phantom of the Opera, Nadir Khan, The Persian (Phantom of the Opera) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Multiple Eriks, Humor, Hobby Store AU, There's nothing that annoys Erik like another Erik, Fights Summary:

Months go by and still nobody has given you an explanation for the higher-than-average number of customers seemingly dressed for the cabaret. It’s almost becoming a hobby in itself for you, watching the comings and goings of the five masked men.

@purrlockswatson is to blame for this

@blackforrestpunk you're not blameless either

[megthegiry]

I know, Raoul isn't the reason why the Phantom pulled Christine into his dark world.

It's me.

[kitthefoxkin]

Three moodboards

First moodboard

A German shepherd therian moodboard with themes of six flags New Orleans ,quotes about stray dogs and water

Second moodboard

A carouselkin moodboard with themes of night lights , carnival games and fairs

Third moodboard

A moodboard of Meg girly from the 2004 phantom of the Opera film with themes of French bakeries,the palais garnier and creme brulee

Have a nice day

1) German Shepherd moodboard with themes of six flags New Orleans, quotes about stray dogs, and water

2) carouselkin moodboard with themes of night lights, carnival games, and fairs

3) Meg Giry (phantom of the opera) moodboard with themes of French bakeries, Le Palais Garnier, and creme brûlée

[nerissalmao]

mhm so uh yeah

Everybody knows I love Arcane. Everybody knows I love Phantom of the Opera. But what if they were more similar than we think?

Okay. Erik. While this isn’t very known, I’ve never seen anyone say anything about it, he does hear voices like Jinx does. In the 2004 movie he thinks he hears Christine and Raoul singing to each other as they leave, and it can’t be them, it must be his mind, for they’re on their way out and Christine even looks back at Erik. She’s not singing. Erik only thinks he hears their promises of romance echo in his head, like he does at the rooftop scene where again the words echo— causing him to, like Jinx, suffer a breakdown, tear up the rose, and scream out to the sky. Like Jinx, he becomes a symbol— the Phantom, and not a man; she’s the Savior of Zaun, and not a real, breathing person. Like how the Phantom’s mask is symbolic and feared, Jinx’s blue hair is distinctive and inspires Zaunites. They both were once traumatized young kids, saved.. but not really saved. Erik was taken to the opera house by Madame Giry as an older teen, and young Powder taken in by Silco. They both kill people due to thinking them similar to those who traumatized them— Jinx kills a Firelight who looks like Vi, and the man who exploited young Erik as the “Devil’s Child” looks an awful lot like Joseph Buquet, who Erik kills.

And come on.. they both have the thing with those creepy monkey cymbal toy things! For Erik, he keeps the monkey toy as a reminder of his childhood, as it was something he made, while Jinx also made a monkey bomb as a kid, and used the monkey as her symbol or calling card.

Jinx is rescued from her suicide attempt from Ekko. Christine saves Erik from going off the deep end just by showing him compassion.. the same compassion Ekko gives to Jinx which talks her down from killing herself.

So imagine this. Phantom!Jinx and Christine!Ekko. Work with me here, okay?

“Pitiful creature of darkness.. what kind of life have you known?”

“God give me courage to show you..”

“You are not alone.”

[rosiebeetle]

Sometimes I believe my brain hates me because I was having a amazing dream about me as christine and my boyfriend as the phantom during the phantom of the opera and music of the night song and it was beautiful and loving BUT THEN AT THE CRESCENDO OF MUSIC OF THE NIGHT I WOKE UP I HATE THIS!!

I need card money so I comm somebody to draw me and my bf as them..

[operas-phantom]

What a nice chandelier you have there.

Would be a shame if someone

broke it

or knocked it over.

[gerryb23]

gerry b blanket oh yes #changedlives

[mandms-blog-of-silly]

💛🌈🌟🌈🌟🌈🌟🌈🌟🌈🌟🌈🌟🌈🌟🌈💛

⭐️ I made my sister watch a bunch of the Phantom Of The Opera Movies with me, and she doesn't like Gerard Butler's Phantom because, and I quote, "He sounds like a toe."

💛🌈🌟🌈🌟🌈🌟🌈🌟🌈🌟🌈🌟🌈🌟🌈💛

[hannah-lou]

I edited it so you can only hear his voice 🤭

He's so hypnotising 😫🫦😍

[n1ght0f-nyx]

Hi! Your writing is some of the best on here, I’m so grateful to be able to read it <3 You write Erik stunningly, thank you.

I wanted to request a fic where Erik is just overall loved and pampered by the reader. She massages his shoulders, moisturises his skin, gently combs his hair, etc. He might cry, he’ll probably feel unworthy of it all, but the reader reassures him that he’s all she ever needs and wants, and she goes “Do you believe me?” And he replies, in awe, “I…I suppose I do.” Hurt followed by tooth-rotting, fluffy comfort.

No pressure, though! A thousand thank-you’s for everything.

this is so cute and sappy i loved writing it!

The candlelight flickered, casting soft shadows along the walls of Erik’s hidden domain. The Phantom sat stiffly in his chair, hands clasped tightly in his lap, as you moved behind him, warm fingers grazing his tense shoulders. He barely flinched at your touch now—a quiet victory in itself.

“Relax,” you whispered, pressing your thumbs into the rigid knots beneath his cloak. You could feel the way his body resisted, wound tight with a lifetime of suspicion and self-loathing. But you were patient. You always were.

“This is unnecessary,” Erik muttered, though his voice lacked its usual venom. His head dipped slightly forward, betraying his exhaustion.

“Maybe,” you murmured, kneading gently, “but I want to. Just let me take care of you.”

His breath hitched as you slipped the cloak from his shoulders, baring the stark contrast of smooth and scarred skin. You traced the sharp line of his spine before picking up a small jar of moisturizer from the table. Dipping your fingers into the cool cream, you smoothed it carefully over his skin, working the moisture in with slow, deliberate strokes. Erik trembled beneath your hands.

“I—” He swallowed thickly. “No one has ever done this for me.”

You leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his unmasked temple. “Then let me be the first.”

The silence that followed was heavy, thick with unspoken emotions. You reached for the silver comb resting nearby and carefully gathered his long, dark hair, easing the fine teeth through the tangled strands. He made a strangled sound, something between a sigh and a sob, and his grip on the arms of his chair tightened until his knuckles turned white.

“You deserve this, Erik,” you said softly, still combing through his silken locks. “You deserve kindness.”

He let out a shuddering breath, closing his eyes as if afraid to look at you, afraid to believe it. You paused, shifting to kneel before him, taking his hands in yours. His fingers twitched but did not pull away.

“I don’t understand why,” he whispered hoarsely. “I don’t know how to—”

“You don’t have to understand,” you interrupted gently. “Just believe me.”

You lifted his hands, pressing kisses to his scarred knuckles, to the trembling fingertips that had known nothing but cruelty. His golden eyes, wide with disbelief, shone in the dim light. He searched your face, desperate, wary—hopeful.

“Do you believe me, Erik?” you asked, voice soft, steady.

For a long moment, he only stared at you, lips parted, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. Then, hesitantly, reverently, he murmured, “I…I suppose I do.”

Tears slipped down his cheeks, silent and unbidden, as you pulled him into your arms. And for the first time in his lonely existence, Erik did not push love away.

[mademoiselle-artist]

Updated my 'Erik with blind reader head canons' added a GIF and some more head canons to it

[megthegiry]

Whose hair is the most LONGEST hair in the opera house?

RAOUL : My hair is long and healthy.

MEG : My hair is longer than yours, Raoul! AND Christine likes that!

MY MOTHER : Girls, stop. My hair is longer than your future.

MEG : 😔

Meanwhile, he's not there, the Phantom of the Opera.