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free-for-all-fics · 2 years ago

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Phantom of the Opera and Beauty and the Beast Crossover AU Prompt! This was going to be a much, much, much shorter prompt, but then inspiration hit me very hard and it got very long, but it still doesn’t feel quite right for me to call this a full fic or oneshot. If you’re inspired by any ideas presented here, pls tag me and I’d love to read it! 🌹❤️🥀

The faerie hesitated. She knew tradition demanded that she curse the newborn prince for not being invited to the christening, but it wasn't his fault the messenger fell off his horse. She decided to get creative with the wording. Thus, instead of being cursed to die, Erik, the firstborn son to the king of France, was cursed with a deformed face. The prince would become more beautiful with every awful deed he committed, but the curse wouldn’t be broken until he found someone who could love him for his heart and marry him. He was disowned from the royal family and disinherited from the throne, decried as a “demon” or “living corpse”. He grew up with no knowledge of his true lineage and was instead raised by the servants and kept in the walls. The queen was fed lies that Erik died shortly after the christening, and she mourned for her baby boy. She never fully recovered from what she believed to be her firstborn son’s death, but later gave birth to another son, Prince Adam.

The king was known for ruling his kingdom with a cruel iron fist and raised the young prince to be selfish and arrogant, even forbidding the servants from ever questioning or objecting to his ways of raising his son. The prince used to live in the castle with his beloved mother as a sweet child until she died from an illness, which gave his cruel father the opportunity to harden his heart to become a more arrogant but effective ruler of the kingdom. He showed no concern over the loss of the queen, and led his son away from his wife's deathbed without any emotion. Erik became the court composer and exhibited a megalomaniacal personality, convinced he was a genius of music. He considered himself to be great and was never stingy with a compliment for himself. He was lugubrious and had not seemed to share the joys of the castellans and other courtesans. Erik spent much of his time isolating himself in the dark, too busy with concertos and operas of his own composition that he claimed would bring the house down.

“Bravo, bravo! Encore!”

“You approve?”

“Oh, maestro, it's magnificent!”

“Oh, come along. It's merely an opera...to bring the house down! Yes, I know...now, in the midst of my crescendo, I thought I heard merriment outside the window. Have a look see, will you?”

He had a deep hatred towards happiness or, at the very least, happy songs, as he preferred sad, depressing, mournful music. He was extremely superior, cunning, powerful, intelligent, and a bit misanthropic, as he considered humanity to be overrated. Though he was dashingly handsome with a debonair smile on the outside, he considered himself not only an Angel of Music, but a God of Deformity. Despite his face being perfect, he always wore a mask of impassivity when playing music for the public. He was surrounded by beautiful and wealthy women who vied for his attentions, but they were often incredibly shallow or boring, only looking to get into his bed for the night. He longed for more stimulating conversation, full of passion and intellect. The only way to keep himself sane while suffering through idle chat and pleasantries was to escape through his life’s work, treating his music as incomplete masterpieces he was eager to finish.

Following the king’s death, Erik learned of his lineage and the conditions of his curse, but never revealed these truths to Prince Adam. It was better for him to be a best friend and advisor to the prince, rather than a brother and prince himself. He blamed his father for his disfigurement, but he was secretly scared of his corpse and had refused to attend the funeral. As much as he hated the man, maybe his father was right when he used to say that ignorance is bliss.

In another kingdom, the prince fell ill. The widowed king dearly loved his last surviving son and heir, and doctors tried everything but he grew weaker and weaker. They told the king about a mythical rose that witches were rumored to use to cure any illness. The king searched the whole kingdom for the rose to no avail, and his campaign soon became a gruesome witch hunt. His path was lined with the witches he had slain, but the rose was nowhere to be found. Exhausted, bloody, and at his wit's end, the king came to a witch's house on the outskirts of his kingdom. He fell to his knees, begging the witch to help cure his son, and she agreed. The witch explained that the rose held tremendous power that could only very carefully be used for good, and instructed he only use a single petal. Using the whole bloom would only invite death. The prince began to recover, but discontent at the royal line had grown in the kingdom following the king’s bloody campaign. The next day, the king found his son murdered in his bed, and the last light holding his darkness at bay was snuffed out.

Heartbroken, the king turned to the bloom which had promised life, and instead saw it as an escape from his suffering. Lonely and depressed, he felt that all hope was lost after so much tragedy. He was too old to remarry and believed himself to have been cursed. He left his castle with nothing but the rose in hand, and wandered off into the icy wastes of a cruel and bitter winter, hoping to die somewhere his body could never be found and thus end the curse he believed he was put under. Instead, he came across the corpse of a woman who had frozen to death underneath a dead man hanging from a noose. In her arms, he found you, a still living baby girl who became blind due to being out in the elements. In his madness, you bore a remarkable resemblance to his late queen. He believed you to be his daughter and of his blood, so he took you in. The witch, having come to visit the king and the prince, looked at the nightmarish scene in despair. She raised a mountain on top of the king, erecting a dome of rock around the castle to imprison him and prevent him from wreaking further havoc across the land.

You grew up to be a virtuous, graceful beauty, but since you’d been blind since birth, no one had ever told you nor did you know that you were a princess. You lived in a beautiful enclosed garden within the king's castle, secluded from the world, in the care of loyal servants. The king feared you’d be targeted and killed if you were to ever learn you were the princess, so you never learned the truth until you came of age and were betrothed to marry Prince Adam of France. You were raised unaware of the circumstances surrounding the tragedies the king suffered or of his madness. You knew nothing of the witch. As far as you knew, as the daughter of the king, you never expected to inherit anything until a tragic accident caused the deaths of all your brothers and made you his sole legitimate heir. Now he expected you to act as a proper princess after being absent from your whole life.

You were a bright spot of happiness within the castle. You had a lovely singing voice and cared about everyone, living or dead, and everyone loved you in return. Your attendants would bring flowers and sing with you. Your garden was beautiful and full of a wide variety of blossoming wildflowers, except for roses. No matter what color roses were planted in your garden, they all turned out black in the end and smelled like death. Roses had become so rare that they were the most sought after flower in your kingdom, sold at high prices in black markets, under guard in national museums, etc.

You often declared your sadness, and your vague sense that you were missing something important that other people could experience. Your father insisted that you mustn’t discover your blindness and that your betrothed wasn’t to find out about this until after you were married. Your father had you and Prince Adam married by proxy before you had even met. A further ceremonial wedding and festivities followed by the ritual bedding would come later.

Your family had passed down a heirloom for generations: A hand mirror of medium size, framed in pure silver with ornate vine scrollwork. It was tradition that, upon their wedding day, each inheritor must look into the mirror at least once. It was said to be an enchanted mirror that could show you your soulmate, but your reflection never changed when it was your turn to look. However, ever since you’d looked into the mirror, you’d been haunted by a pale and faceless man that only you could see when you closed your eyes. He was there, behind your eyelids and inside your mind. The man moved in slow motion and, when you slept at night, you didn’t dream.

Your new husband, Prince Adam, arrived at the court with his best friend, Erik. The prince and Erik were warned by your loyal servants not to speak of light, colors, or anything of the sort with you. Wanting to bring you a wedding gift, the king arrived with a famed Persian physician who stated that you could be cured, but the physical cure would only work if you were psychologically prepared by being made aware of your own blindness. You appreciated the thought, but you had no will to see as others did and refused your father’s gift. You were born this way and loved yourself as you were. You believed you could see, you just saw things differently or saw so much more. The king supported your decision and refused the treatment, fearing for your happiness if the cure should fail after you’d learned what you were missing.

Erik found the entrance to your secret garden, ignoring the sign which threatened death to anyone who entered. He stumbled upon you singing without realizing who you were and instantly fell in love. Prince Adam, astounded by his friend’s behavior, was convinced you were a sorceress who had bewitched Erik. Prince Adam ordered him to leave but Erik was too entranced, so he departed with the promise he’d be back to save him.

“I am Maestro Erik, court composer and your most humble servant.”

You sang a magnificent duet together. Erik, who asked you to give him a certain flower as a keepsake, realized you were blind when you twice offered him different flowers with similar scents. You wished more than anything for a rose, but only black roses grew here and you didn’t know why. You had no concept of light, vision, or blindness. You fell in love with Erik after he explained light and color to you, believing him to be the faceless man from the mirror and your soulmate. When Prince Adam returned with your father, Erik admitted to seeing the warning sign at the garden entrance. The furious king threatened to execute Erik for revealing the truth to you, but spared him after Prince Adam realized you were his wife. He spoke for Erik, vouching for his character. The king relented, and let Erik return to France with you and your new husband.

Though Erik reciprocated your love, he felt conflicted and unworthy of you because of his curse and his deformities. He exclusively wore masks that covered his entire face. He only told you the color of his eyes, but nothing more. You loved him anyway, but you were born to privilege and with that came specific obligations. You were forced by your father to marry Prince Adam and, although you were spared the brunt of his cruelty, you still had to live year after year witnessing how monstrous your new husband was. From mistreating the castle servants to taxing the townspeople too high while doing nothing to help ease their hardships and burdens, you regretted your arranged marriage.

Despite being a princess, you were still a woman in a man’s world and could do nothing to free yourself from this loveless and miserable union. You and Prince Adam may have consummated your marriage out of duty, but you never shared his bed after that night and kept to separate rooms. If you had to keep Erik in secret and only love him in the dark, then that was enough for you. It had to be enough for you. Even if you longed for more. A life without love was no life at all, so you and Erik had no other choice. No matter how much you loved Erik, you could only love him at night and he had to depart before the lark sang. Every morning you’d have your kitchen maid procure a special tea for you to ensure you didn’t come to be with child. This was your fate and you’d accepted it, but Erik hadn’t. He’d brought up fantastical ideas of running away and eloping, but you wouldn’t hear of it.

“My father forbids me to end my marriage to the prince, Erik. Doing so, especially for a man like you, an untitled bachelor without family who hides his face behind a mask and accrues his wealth from dubious means, would ruin me. It’d cause a scandal so great I could never recover from it. I had to marry a man of substance, father said. A certain wealthy prince. In the eyes of the royal court, you won’t amount to anything but, in my eyes, you’re worth the whole lot of them put together. I fear I would’ve killed myself by now, were it not for the unbearable thought of leaving you behind. My heart can’t bear to inflict such cruelty onto you. You don’t deserve that. But I can’t run away with you, no matter how much I may want to. The wants and desires of a woman, even a princess, are irrelevant.”

As much as he hated it, he understood and reluctantly respected your decision. You and Erik were so in love. You saved him from his solitude, you were the light in the darkness of his existence, but you seemed to be kept apart by forces beyond your control. Still, the maestro gave you, his Angel of Music, a bundle of red roses with a fake one nestled inside, and told you that you'd be with him until the last one withered.

One winter’s night, an old beggar woman came to the castle and offered a single rose in return for shelter from the bitter cold. You, the mistress of the castle, showed kindness to the old woman as she let you feel the petals. They were so soft, softer than any flower you held before, and it smelled sweet, far sweeter than any other rose. You simply asked what color the rose was since you couldn’t see. When she told you it was red, you were amazed. Erik had told you about red when he gave you your first bouquet of roses, how it symbolized love and passion. He described it as the color of the sun or fire, bringing warmth to the hearts of men. Your kingdom had been cursed to only grow black roses that reeked of death, so to have a rose of such a vibrant color in full bloom, especially in the depths of this freezing winter, seemed like magic. You were about to let her inside and have a servant show her to a spare bedroom for the night so she could warm up and settle in, but your husband stopped you, cruelly snatching the rose from your hand and pulling you away from the old woman.

Repulsed by her haggard appearance, the prince sneered at the gift and turned the old woman away. But she warned him not to be deceived by appearances, for beauty is found within. And when he dismissed her again, the old woman's ugliness melted away to reveal a beautiful enchantress. The prince tried to apologize, but it was too late, for she had seen that there was no love in his heart, and as punishment, she transformed him into a hideous beast and placed a powerful spell on the castle, and all who lived there - even you, the princess who showed her compassion. She spared you as much as she could, not wanting your kindness to go unrewarded, but the prince and everyone else in the castle had to learn a lesson. She let you keep your human form, but erased your and Prince Adam’s memories of each other after your marriage so that you’d both have the chance to find true love in the future. However, by doing this, she inadvertently erased your memories of Erik since you only met and started your love affair after you and the prince were married. The enchantress had good intentions and thought she was doing you a great kindness, but her gift was a curse.

After the enchantress placed her curse upon the castle, turning Prince Adam into a beast and everyone else into household objects, he thought that you'd learn to love him since you were still blind and couldn’t see him. He thought you were disgusted with him because of his beastly appearance. In turn, you called him out on this, saying the real reason had to do with his arrogance and cruelty. You still despised him anyway because he was cruel, selfish, and unkind, with no love in his heart. Ever since then, the Beast showed nothing but shame for his actions and hated his cruel father for raising him to be a tyrant, even tearing up a portrait of himself out of anger. Even the servants themselves were in full regret of their reluctance to speak out against the king, implying that they truly despised him for his cruel nature. To you and Beast, you had never married and were only betrothed. Your fathers were both dead by this point, so you didn’t see any reason to go through with the wedding. You left him, claiming that people don't hate him because of his appearance, but because of how he acts, and that he's not some terrifying beast or powerful prince, but a pathetic human named Adam.

After you left, enchantment was the only good thing that happened to Erik. He was turned into a pipe organ and could use music to move nearby objects, but couldn’t move himself, as his new form was far too large and bolted to the wall. But he found himself more useful to his master as a composer and was willing to do everything in his power to stay in that new form. He developed powerful abilities, which he could release through his own music, and became obsessed with it. He wanted more. To possess this forbidden magic, Erik had to sacrifice a memory of equal value. His thoughts about you might’ve given him pause in the past, but you were gone and it didn’t seem like you were ever coming back. He no longer cared about losing his memories for a spell. Falling in love with you while you were married to his brother was painful enough, but his nights with you offered him some respite. He took solace in knowing neither you nor Adam were aware of this family secret, though this comfort was cold and tainted with bitterness. Your miserable marriage to his brother combined with your memory erasure and leaving was too much for Erik to bear, so he erased all his memories of you in exchange for these dark powers. His father was right after all! Ignorance was bliss.

The Beast considered him much more valuable as an advisor and confidant, and found his depressing arrangements of notable classical music somehow made him feel better. It was said that music soothes the savage beast, and they couldn't be more correct. Erik kept the Beast isolated from everyone else in the castle, and close to himself in order to prevent the spell from breaking, which had remained for 10 long years. Erik was a good talker, as he was able to captivate the spirits, to insinuate his hypnotic music, to convince everybody with honeyed words and a soft voice. He appeared to the Beast as his "best friend", but he was actually manipulating him because he wanted to remain as a pipe organ forever and sought some attention. However, this attitude was only displayed because he was quite afraid to fade in the background, afraid that he’d be forgotten. He wasn’t appreciated by anyone as the inhabitants of the castle seemed to ignore him at the least, except for the Beast. The Beast came to him often to hear his soothing music, which would ease his tormented soul.

“Your music is the only thing that helps me forget.”

“Don't worry, old friend. I'm here for you, just as I have been, just as I always will be.”

The more magic Erik used, the more he deviated from being human, not just in body but in mind as well. Moreover, the type of magic he used influenced the changes that occurred within him. He slowly became corrupted by his own desperate desire to be loved. Without you by his side, Erik became arrogant, evil, sarcastic, manipulative, acrimonious, obstreperous, and somewhat paranoid. Under the curse, he composed tirelessly his next opera, “Don Juan Triumphant”, whose sole purpose was to make the castle collapse.

“Erik! Stop the noise!”

“Noise? Noise?! This is my masterpiece.”

You’d lived in castles and palaces among the richest people of any age. But never, never had you stood in greater luxury than when you moved into this quaint little town and lived the life of a simple peasant, surrounded by townspeople who didn’t know who you once were. You loved the hustle and bustle of running errands and doing daily chores, you loved being part of a community and helping others, you loved wearing much simpler dresses, you loved getting dirty and feeling tired in a good way from a hard day’s work. You befriended a lovely woman named Belle, who was about your age, and her father, Maurice. Though they both seemed to be the talk of the town and considered “odd”, you came to love them like family.

Maurice was a musician who was traveling to a music festival to perform. But since the curse, the world had lost its music and melody. All composers in town became superstitious, believing in a “Curse of the 9th Symphony”, its origins unknown. Maurice was a skeptic and, having premiered his 8th symphony last night on stage, a mysterious hooded figure handed him a letter after the performance. “After your 9th,” it said, “I will return. He has a job for you.” Maurice then went missing while on his way home, shortly after his 9th symphony. Philippe returned alone. When Belle went in search of her missing father, you insisted on going with her, not wanting her to get lost in the woods like Maurice might’ve. These woods were dangerous, especially at night when the wolves came out. When you came up to the tall iron gates and Belle found Maurice’s hat, you cursed to yourself. Of course you’d be brought back here. Escape was an illusion, it seemed. Oh, cruel fate, would this nightmare ever end?

While in the castle, Maurice had come across a silver music box. The music box was empty, the cords cut yet, somehow, a song started playing when he opened it. How was this accomplished? He fiddled with the music box and wound it up, making the princess figurine spin in a dance. Unbeknownst to him, it was something never seen in at least a decade. It had been a wedding present for you but, after the curse was cast, the Beast’s heart stayed dark from that moment on. Its melody brought back the Beast’s bad memories; all his mistakes, all his regrets, and all his pain. For the master of the castle, it was a Pandora’s Box that contained many horrors. Each note of that lovely melody seemed to deepen the Beast’s anguish. He couldn't bear to hear it. When Maurice opened it, the Beast could hear it from the West Wing and flew into a rage. He picked up Maurice, carried him out of the room and slammed the door, plunging the den into darkness. For daring to trespass and open your music box, Maurice was Beast’s prisoner, sentenced to rot in the dungeons forever.

When Belle took her father’s place as the Beast’s prisoner, you insisted on staying with her and the Beast let you, giving you your old room back. While the Beast had destroyed his own room, yours remained untouched and was just as you left it 10 years ago. You didn’t tell Belle about the curse nor your complicated history with the Beast because, as much as you may not have seen eye to eye in your past turbulent relationship, you still believed he could change. He deserved that chance to love and be loved in return. You worried that Beast's psychological state would become increasingly feral the longer he was under the curse, such that he would eventually lose his last vestiges of humanity and become completely wild if the spell couldn’t be broken. You wanted the spell to be broken, if not for his sake, then for everyone else in the castle. Everyone, even you, played against Erik, trying to provoke love between Belle and the Beast to break the spell. But Erik wouldn’t be deterred so easily, and continued plotting and scheming in the shadows of the West Wing.

“Trust me. Humanity is entirely overrated. Before the enchantment, there was no need for my particular brand of genius. But now, the master needs my melodies to feed his tormented soul. I am his confidant and his best friend...and I won't let some peasant girl ruin it for me! I will see to it that this blossoming love withers on the vine.”

Neither you nor Erik could remember each other, but you both had this indescribable feeling that wouldn’t go away. You weren’t sure what it was exactly. Even before you officially met again, it almost felt like a pull, a thought trying to break out from the back of your minds, or a strange sense of Deja Vu. Erik hated it with a passion and played his music loudly to drown it out, while you were just confused. While exploring the castle and reacquainting yourself with everything, You could’ve sworn you heard a man’s voice hypnotizing you, seducing you, urging you to enter the West Wing. The Beast’s room. But you couldn’t possibly! It was forbidden! The Beast had warned both you and Belle! And yet…

“Yes, my dear. Come to me.”

You felt like you’d been in this room before. A strange sense of familiarity washed over you as you felt around the walls to guide yourself, but for some indiscernible reason, you hated this room and everything in it. Avoiding broken furniture and other obstacles in your way, you felt fresh air coming from an open window and approached the balcony. You felt around a small table until your hand brushed against something cold and made of glass. A bell jar. When you touched it, you felt warmth and light emanating from underneath it. Next to it, you picked up something cold and heavy. You felt the engravings and markings decorating the frame and handle, and your fingers tapped against the glass of its face. Your handheld mirror that your father once gave you. But it was glowing just like the bell jar and you could hear strange crackling noises coming from it, almost like lightning. What had the enchantress done to it?

You were about to inspect it further, but you could hear music coming from an adjacent room. The door was left ajar and, when Erik noticed you were looking at him, he immediately doused his candles and fell silent. Wandering over to the organ, you spotted a half-finished set of sheet music set aside, complete with inkwell and quill. Curious, you sat down at the organ and began reading it.

“Don’t touch that!” Erik’s voice snapped, seemingly coming from nowhere and scaring you half to death as you were chased away from the organ. You looked around frantically and reached out your hands, confused when you felt no one around you. You thought maybe it was a ghost or ventriloquism, until you realized it was the pipe organ itself that was talking to you, towering over you with a scrutinizing glare that you couldn’t see but could feel. Right. Enchanted castle. You’d never gotten used to it back then, and you still wouldn’t. Not now, not ever. But you felt a strange sense of longing when you heard his voice. He scoffed in disgust whenever you mentioned love or breaking the spell.

“A daring woman, cursed with such beauty but never able to see it, a pity even. A beauty such as yourself, meets beasts in dark hallways and forbidden rooms? An act of love or lust, so you say? Beasts know nothing of the sort. Empty your heart, cast it aside, I say. Dreadful beasts we are, no less? Beauty may fool a blind man, but no beast!”

Months passed. The enchanted rose continued to wilt. Christmas was coming. The Beast, wanting to get a present for Belle, ordered Erik to compose a song for her, much to Erik’s disgust. The girl was evil. She held the master from Erik’s grasp. She filled his head with dreams of love and hope! Yech!

“I want you to compose a song. It's a present…for Belle. And make it happy!”

“Oh, but happiness is so depressing! What's next? Love songs?! Wedding marches?! It's all that girl's fault.”

He had fabricated another curse, a false one to orchestrate distrust within the nearby villages so that the townspeople would either ban music and/or turn on each other. If he instilled fear and superstition so there was no competition, then he’d definitely be the best musician in the world! His plot to get Maurice killed had failed, but he could still go after his daughter. She was a threat to his plans. He twisted Belle’s words and emotionally manipulated her so she’d want to get a Christmas tree in the Black Forest beyond a frozen lake. He lured her away from the castle, and did everything in his power so she’d never come back. While she was away, Erik told the Beast that Belle had abandoned him, thus stoking Beast's anger. He then tried to goad the Beast into destroying the enchanted rose, the symbol of the curse, but the Beast ultimately decided not to when a rose petal landed on the storybook from Belle, thus allowing him to regain his senses. Erik’s plan to drive Belle and the Beast apart almost worked, but was ultimately foiled by the Beast.

“So, Beast gets girl, and it's a happy ending for everyone. Enchantment lifted...and Erik fades into the background. No longer important...no longer needed…I THINK NOT!”

Enraged at the failure of his plan to break up Belle and the Beast's relationship, Erik lost what was left of his sanity and gave into his destructive and suicidal thoughts that had plagued his mind for years. He had no regard for his own life as he was willing to take everyone's lives in the castle along with his own to ensure that the spell remained intact. With the Beast having broken free of his hypnotic control, Erik believed he had nothing else to live for and attempted to bring the castle down with his loud music, playing “Don Juan Triumphant” more intensely to rupture the walls and shatter the windows. He shook the walls to pieces, debris fell, the floors began to separate and created perilous chasms.

“Maestro, stop! What do you think you're doing?”

“Don't you see? They can't fall in love if they're DEAD! You could've joined me, but I see my triumph is a solo act! We can remain as we are, FOREVER AND EVER!”

“ERIK! ENOUGH!”

Erik was finally defeated when the Beast ripped out his keyboard from him, which ceased his contact with his pipes. In a blind rage, Erik tore himself free of the wall and began to collapse, effectively killing himself as he crashed to the ground, destroyed. Despite Erik’s true colors being exposed and his diabolical plans foiled, the Beast mourned Erik’s demise, as he still considered him to be his closest friend.

After the curse was broken, everyone was turned back into humans, and yours and Prince Adam’s memories were restored. You both remembered that you were technically still married and thus had extramarital affairs - you before the curse, and he during the curse. But this realization wasn’t awkward. What was there to forgive? You and Adam were forced into marriage by your fathers and each fell in love with another, it happens. You just considered yourselves even. It took lots of paperwork, but with his signature here, and your signature there, you and Prince Adam officially dissolved your marriage, much to both yours and his relief. You let bygones be bygones after your divorce and considered yourselves friends, no hard feelings. The prince assured you that you’d always be welcome here in his castle, and it was your choice whether you wanted to stay, return to your kingdom, or go elsewhere.

While everyone was downstairs celebrating in the ballroom, you went back to the West Wing, to the prince’s room where Erik was. You remembered him. Oh, your poor darling! Your dear Erik had suffered so much sadness and so much pain, surrounded by people yet completely alone in the castle for all those years. He was human again but he laid deathly still, face down on the floor. You took out the music box and it played that familiar melody, your song. The enchantress appeared one last time and used her magic to resurrect Erik. She couldn’t condone his abuse of forbidden and evil magic, but she’d seen for herself he’d been punished enough. She asked for your forgiveness. She only ever wanted to give you a chance to find true love and happiness, but she didn’t realize you already had it. Consider this parting gift from her her repentance for inadvertently cursing you. She wouldn’t bend or break the laws of life and death for just anyone, but true love was the most magical gift of all, so she did it once for Belle and Adam, and again for you and Erik. She would no longer interfere with either yours and Erik’s or Belle and Adam’s happy endings. You needn’t do anything to repay her, just go on and live happily ever after.

When Erik woke up, his memories of you were restored. You were discovered by the prince, and he was so relieved and ecstatic to see his best friend alive. Erik finally pledged his love for you in front of the prince, not caring that you were blind and married, unaware you had already ended your marriage contract moments before. The prince gave you to Erik with his blessing, not that you ever needed it, but you and Erik appreciated it. Erik moved into your bedchamber where he would often awaken to the sun streaming through the curtains and the lark singing, just like he had always dreamed. No more hiding under the cloak of night, no more sneaking through secret passageways. He relished in finally sharing your bed, but he had a difficult time adjusting to being human again. He still experienced trauma from the curse, and was plagued by nightmares at night. He confided in you his guilt and regrets, his fears and anxieties, and all his insecurities while you gently rubbed his back, drew patterns on his chest, or held his hand. He felt like he maybe didn’t deserve to be this happy after all he had done.

“It's just...it was different when we were all cursed objects. When we could move around freely and act however we wanted to. When I could just play my music. When I knew exactly how to get the master to smile and relax with my music. Even if it meant we'd be cursed forever, I was happier as a pipe organ."

“And it’s going to take time, my love, but we can learn to be happy again, as humans. As husband and wife, if you’ll still have me. I’m sorry for all that I’ve put you through. I’m sorry for making you wait so long.”

“Now that I finally have you in my arms again, ten years didn’t feel long at all. I would wait a thousand years more and still take you to be my bride.”

The four of you eventually held a double wedding in the castle. As soon as the rings were exchanged and Erik kissed his bride, the curse placed upon him at birth was finally broken. But when the bright light encompassing him had dissipated, instead of a handsome man, his face was still that of a living corpse. His eyes were so deep that one could hardly see the fixed pupils, just two big black holes, as in a dead man's skull. His skin, which was stretched across his bones like a drumhead, wasn’t white, but a nasty yellow. His nose was so little worth talking about that one couldn’t see it side-face; and the absence of that nose was a horrible thing to look at. All the hair he had was three or four long dark locks on his forehead and behind his ears. But you saw nothing ugly in your husband at all, he was absolutely perfect. He was beauty itself, and you didn’t need your eyesight to see that.

“My love, are you okay?”

“Well, yes. But I don’t understand. I’m supposed to be beautiful.”

“Oh, Erik, but you are beautiful.”

The double wedding was a grander celebration than the one that was held after the curse was lifted. The festivities lasted an entire week, and you all sang together of the magical new world now visible to you as the court and townspeople rejoiced.

#phantom of the opera x reader #erik x reader #prince adam x reader #prince Adam x Belle #beast x belle #beauty and the beast #phantom of the opera #beauty and the beast AU #phantom of the opera AU #crossover au #crossover #crossover fic #arranged marriage #took inspiration from Iolanta and Bramble: The Mountain King too #also a tiny bit of inspiration from The Man Who Laughs #random fic idea #random prompt #pls tag me if you’re inspired by this #I’d love to read it

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biotic-raptorian-angel · 5 months ago

Text

The Makeover

Angela awoke to the soft, gray light of dawn filtering through the narrow window of Moira’s minimalist apartment. It was quiet enough to hear the humming of the city below. She stretched under the sheets, savoring that sweet moment between rest and waking.

Just then, Moira’s distinctive, low voice drifted from the direction of the kitchen. “Good morning, Dr. Ziegler,” she greeted, the faintest trace of playfulness in her tone.

A contented smile spread across Angela’s face as she tugged the blanket aside and padded barefoot across the polished floor. She found Moira leaning against a sleek kitchen counter, sipping tea. The scientist offered Angela a measured smile, warm in a way that only Angela truly recognized.

“Good morning,” Angela replied softly, sliding her arms around Moira’s waist in a light embrace. Moira tipped her head, pressing her lips to Angela’s temple.

Tonight was the big night: a prestigious medical awards ceremony, at which Moira would be recognized for her advancements in biotic and genetic research, and Angela for her contributions to nanite medical technology. Not only would it be a formal affair, but also the first time they’d appear publicly—together—as a couple.

By late afternoon, the two of them had cleared time in their schedules to prepare. Angela had already teased Moira about rummaging through her wardrobe; it was an inside joke that the scientist never wore anything that wasn’t pants, suits, or lab coats in a strict color palette of blacks, greys, and purples.

But Angela had a plan. She trotted out from Moira’s bedroom, rummaging through the closet until she found it: an exquisite, floor-length gown in deep emerald green. It was nestled at the far end of the closet, an artifact from some event long forgotten. Angela couldn’t hide her triumphant grin as she tugged it from the hanger.

Moira watched from the bed, an air of skepticism in her gaze. “You’re joking,” she said curtly, though a hint of amusement quirked her lips. “I haven’t worn that in ages.”

Angela hugged the gown to her chest, eyes bright. “Exactly! You haven’t worn it in ages. We’ll dust it off, and you’ll look incredible. You do realize this is an awards ceremony, right? We can show them all that Moira O’Deorain can dress to impress.”

Moira raised an eyebrow. “I do that already.”

Angela laughed, then placed the dress carefully on the bed. “You impress with your intellect, Liebe. Tonight, I want to show them another side of you.”

Moira’s hesitation was evident—she had never felt entirely at ease with lavish clothing or flashy displays. But there was something about Angela’s excitement that was contagious. With a soft sigh, she relented. “Very well. But on one condition.”

Angela cocked her head. “Name it.”

Moira drew closer, arms folding. “If I’m wearing that gown, then you’re wearing a power suit.” She smirked, clearly expecting Angela to balk.

Angela blinked, then grinned broadly. “Deal. You’re going to look phenomenal. And you know what? So am I.”

The next hour was a playful whirlwind of transformation. Angela, perched on a stool, directed Moira to sit in front of her vanity. Angela had come prepared with her own cosmetics bag, armed with all the essentials: a palette of warm, subtle eyeshadows, high-quality mascara, blush, highlighter, and a lipstick in a flattering wine-red shade.

Moira watched every brush stroke in the mirror, a mixture of curiosity and wary surrender in her gaze. “I can’t recall the last time I did my makeup,” she murmured.

Angela dipped a brush into a shimmering eyeshadow, leaning in with gentle concentration. “That’s why you’re in good hands,” she teased, applying color carefully to Moira’s eyelids. “I do have a steady surgeon’s hand, after all.”

Moira scoffed affectionately. “Don’t remind me that I’m your newest lab project.”

Angela laughed, the sound light and fluttery. She finished the eyeshadow and moved on to the blush. “I’ll have you know,” she said, “this is a labor of love, not science. You’re going to be stunning, Moira.”

The moment lingered. Beneath Angela’s playful teasing, there was a palpable sense of closeness. Moira’s sharp features, usually so stoic, softened under Angela’s attentive care. The hush of brush bristles and the faint scent of cosmetics filled the space between them.

Soon enough, it was Angela’s turn. She traded places with Moira, smoothing down the front of the crisp white shirt she’d set out to wear beneath a tailored black suit. Moira studied her with a measured eye, rummaging through a little collection of accessories—tie clips, cufflinks, sleek belts.

“Let’s see… you’ll need these,” Moira decided, choosing a set of stylish silver cufflinks. “And a matching belt. Something to accentuate your waist.”

Angela beamed. “Yes, ma’am.”

“None of that,” Moira muttered, though her lips twitched in amusement.

Moira took it upon herself to fix Angela’s hair. Gathering Angela’s long blonde locks back from her face, she twisted them into a chic updo, leaving a few strands to frame her cheeks. She was meticulous, every pin placed with mathematic precision.

Next came a subtle touch of makeup that Moira applied with surprisingly steady hands, given she rarely practiced such an art. Angela closed her eyes, her heart fluttering as she felt the gentle brush glide across her lips, painting them in a soft, natural pink.

When Angela opened her eyes, she saw Moira’s reflection in the mirror—there was admiration there, a quiet pride.

“You look formidable,” Moira said, voice almost reverent.

Angela reached back and gently squeezed Moira’s hand. “So do you, my love.”

Finally, the pair stood in the apartment’s small living room, taking in the full effect of one another’s transformations.

Moira looked regal and slightly out of her element in the emerald gown, but her tall frame carried the design beautifully. The deep color set off the subtle red in her hair and made her mismatched eyes appear even more vibrant. The jewelry Angela chose—a slender silver choker and matching earrings—added just enough sparkle without overwhelming Moira’s sleek elegance.

Angela, meanwhile, radiated confidence in her tailored black suit and crisp white shirt. She’d swapped her usual heels for low, sharp pumps and wore her hair in that refined updo Moira had meticulously styled. The effect was simultaneously powerful and undeniably alluring.

They stared at each other for a moment, taking it all in.

“You clean up nicely,” Angela teased, brushing a speck of lint from Moira’s shoulder.

Moira’s lips curved. “Yes, well, I might say the same of you.” She glanced at the mirror, as though mildly surprised to see herself dressed in such finery. “I almost don’t recognize myself.”

Angela stepped forward, sliding her arms around Moira’s waist. “I do,” she whispered. “You look every bit like the brilliant, commanding woman that you are.”

For once, Moira had no witty retort; she simply inclined her head and captured Angela’s lips in a soft, fleeting kiss.

When they arrived at the awards ceremony, all heads turned. Conversation seemed to stall at the sight of them gliding through the elegantly decorated ballroom. Moira’s gown and Angela’s suit could have been ripped straight from the pages of a fashion magazine—both of them brimming with a magnetism that transcended their usual professional attire.

Whispers followed in their wake. Some recognized Moira’s signature sharp features, made softer by the flowing gown and precise makeup. Others did a double-take at Angela, who was accustomed to wearing refined dresses, not sharply tailored suits.

An old colleague of Angela’s approached her with wide eyes, a dazzled expression plastered on her face. “Dr. Ziegler, is that really you? You look… incredible!”

Angela felt her cheeks warm, though she grinned widely. “Thank you,” she managed, trying to keep composure.

The praise continued in Moira’s direction, but the scientist met it with her usual reserved, confident nods. No biting commentary, no curt dismissals—just a gentle acceptance of the compliments. Angela suspected that Moira, despite all her bravado, was actually soaking up the rare admiration for her appearance.

As the ceremony went on, the recognition for their medical achievements was sprinkled with more than one admiring glance at how impeccable they looked. Yet beyond the outward transformation, both women discovered a shift in their self-assurance. Angela felt an invigorating strength in the snug suit, an energy that made her walk taller. Moira, meanwhile, radiated a cool elegance, strides that felt smoother in the trailing gown.

When the awards were announced, the two of them received polite applause and more than a few dazzled stares. Standing side by side on stage, Moira’s emerald gown catching the light, Angela’s suit jacket accentuating her poised figure, they shared a secret, triumphant smile. In that moment, they were each other’s greatest supporters—bound not only by professional respect, but also by the magnetic pull of love that had steadily grown between them.

As the evening wound down and the crowd began to disperse, Angela slipped her hand into Moira’s. “Did you enjoy tonight?” she asked softly.

Moira gave a curt nod, though her eyes were warm. “I suppose I did.”

Angela lifted an eyebrow, smirking at Moira’s typical understatement. “Only suppose?”

Moira leaned in, her voice barely above a whisper, lips close to Angela’s ear. “I felt… powerful,” she admitted. “In a way I didn’t expect.”

A shiver of delight ran through Angela. She linked her arm with Moira’s, guiding them toward the exit. “You looked absolutely stunning. And you always have been powerful, my dear. Now everyone else sees it too.”

Moira dipped her head in a gesture of agreement—maybe even gratitude. “It’s not just the gown. It’s… everything. Us.”

Angela’s heart skipped a beat. She pressed a quick kiss to Moira’s cheek, lipstick leaving the faintest imprint. “Yes,” she replied softly. “Us.”

They stepped out into the cool night air, two luminous figures stepping away from the lavish ceremony, side by side. And in that moment, Angela decided that no matter how many accolades or transformations they went through, the real victory was in each other’s gaze—steady and glowing, proud and loving.

#overwatch #mercy overwatch #moira overwatch #moicy #scene inspo #drabble #random prompt

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