#the phantom of the opera fanfiction

[drmaddict]

Don't say it!

Summary: Giry catches Erik and (Y/n) in an extremely intimate situation. Erik would like to sink into the ground. (Y/n) doesn't understand the drama.

Word count: 329

Author's note: I wrote this in ten minutes. Just fluff. Have fun.

"Erik come out. Please!"

"No!", he shouted through the bathroom door.

She sighed. "Nothing's happened," she tried again.

"Nothing happened? She saw us!"

"It was only Giry. She brought me to you. I think she knows we're not just drinking tea and talking."

"She didn't have my permission to come down here!", he nagged.

(Y/n) rolled her eyes. "And she apologised profusely. She'll never do it again." She reached for the doorknob. "Open up now. Please."

"No.", his voice rang out. Defiant, like that of a little boy.

"Erik, we were just-"

The door was pulled open with a jerk. "Don't say it!" His eyes looked at her with determination. His hair was still sticking up a little from his head. Only his mask had found its place again. An anchor when he felt insecure.

"It's perfectly normal for couples to do this.", she tried to reassure him.

"It's too..."

"Too what?"

"Too human." he concluded, his face screwed up in disgust.

She raised an eyebrow. "My angel, you are human."

He just shook his head and pushed past her. "I am the phantom. The angel of the night. I can't be human."

She probably sighed for the tenth time in the last five minutes. Her diva as he lives and breathes.

He walked briskly to his organ and dropped onto the stool. His slender fingers rested on the keys, but didn't press a single one. They only felt the wood. Created a connection to ground him. "You make me weak.", he concluded.

She rolled her eyes. She placed her hands on his face. One felt the warm skin, the other the cool porcelain of the mask. "I understand you're uncomfortable with all this, but it's not like she saw us sleeping with each other." She ran her thumb reassuringly over his cheek.

"I would have preferred that."

She rolled her eyes. "Erik! We were just cuddling!"

He looked at her as if he'd bitten into a lemon.

(Gif is not mine)

[dreamingofep]

So back in 2023, I made this post comparing these two and this scenario has not been able to leave me since…

Then, after further discussion with my partner in crime, @theresalwaysep at Graceland, they have also encouraged me to write such a fic🤭

So my next series will be an Elvis!Phantom of the Opera x reader 🥀 Taking place in 1880, Christine returns back to the Opera House after leaving unexpectedly five years ago, crossing paths with The Phantom once more…

I’m so so excited to post about this! Please let me know if you’d like to be tagged in this or removed from my tag list.

I’ll continue to write Forbidden Love and once that wraps up, this will be next.

Here’s the mood board for the first chapter ♥️

[angel-with-paper-wings]

Live As You’ve Never Lived Before

“The sound of her sobs echoed through the silence, carrying through the thin walls to the hollow space beyond. Her voice and all its sorrow was heard, but not by an angel. That night, while the rest of Paris celebrated, two souls broken by the world wept together.”

Description: A retelling of the classic tale in which Christine and the Phantom end up together, but it works. Original work but with elements of Leroux, Kay, ALW, and 2004 movie blended in.

Read here on AO3

Special thanks to @erik-carierre for the WONDERFUL cover!!! Please check out their blog if you haven’t already!

[elfwoodfae]

I saw your request for Erik writing ideas, and I was wondering if you could do smut headcannons with Erik being a sub for afab!reader? Please and thank you!

NSFW MDNI

This is a long shot, and alas I haven’t written in ages but here we go.

I love the idea of Erik being very submissive when it comes to intimacy, more so in the bedroom.

All that cockiness he portrays is gone when the doors are closed. Always fearing that once you see him unclothed, without his mask that you will everytime regret and realize what a monster he thinks he is.

He doesn’t feel capable of taking control and guiding you through, he is more than willing to give that up, let you show him how it’s done, how touches and kisses can Ignite the hottest of passions in his blood.

He loves being under you, his big hands on your waist, holding you, grounding him, letting you take the pace, letting you push yourself on his chest as his head is throw back. Your lips caressing his neck and telling him how good he is, how much you need him.

He also loves being on top, having your leg over his hip, his face hiding in your neck as his lips open in pants against your skin, one of his hands in your hair and the other on the pillow but your voice is the one guiding him, setting the pace, your nails in his back and your hand on his hair keeping him there. Always letting him know how much you love the mess he becomes, how he melts at your touch, how good he is to you, how good he makes you feel.

[purrlockswatson]

How's the writing going, you say?

I was typing out my novel on my phone, looked up, and saw this. To clarify, I meant satin-LINED cavity, describing a casket.

Well, I hit my head on a toilet water tank today, so I can't expect myself to act rationally.

The story is about a vampire opera house. I played with the idea of adding Erik into it, but I didn't expect him to pop up out of nowhere to give one of my characters a house tour.

I think he wants to kill the vampires now, and I don't know what to do. How little control I actually have over my writing never fails to surprise me.

(More gremlin sphynx cat Erik here, fancy hat cowboy Phantom here)

[gremlinmodetweeker]

Lights Go Out I Wake Up

König is my sweet little baby and I love him dearly. Enjoy some more Phantom of the Opera!König as he watches reader. He's a bit creepy, but he's also my little creepy baby. Also, this story has a very different interpretation of Carlotta. I thought it might be nice to have women supporting women this time. Or well, one woman being a support. Anna, who you have yet to meet, is not so nice at all.

Also, König learns he has competition! He's not too happy about that.

Anyways,

No Content Warnings

Wordcount: 2.4k

Art from This Post

Story below the cut

Lights Go Out I Wake Up

You looked up in the balconies of the opera house expectantly. You tried to see if he was there. Maybe, if you were lucky, you might see a flap of his cape or a glimpse of the crimson ribbons of his mask. You desperately searched but, as always, it was to no avail.

You turned back to the stage where the primadonna was on center stage. She flicked her long blond tresses over her shoulder as she reached out to the audience, serenading them with her warbling soprano voice. You were drawn into the siren’s song, listening to each staccato note followed by a sweeping drop, each rise and fall of her tone as she sang out the tune to The Magic Flute. She attacked, she defended, she swooped and she swelled with the song as she traversed across the stage.

You smiled softly. You would never be like Carlotta, not in a thousand years. She was leagues above anyone in the house, hands down. Men traveled halfway across the world to bear witness to her voice and her visage. By the final notes of the song, the stage had been outlined with a row of roses, each bouquet from a different suitor fighting for her hand. Carlotta’s voice masterfully lulled each one of them into an enchanted hypnotic state. You followed her movements, trying your best to memorize each and every single flick of her fingers or swoop of her wine red dress as she sang out to the crowds. In that moment, Carlotta had placed the dagger in your hands and sang to you of rage, hatred, scorn. You, Pamina, watched as your mother told you her plans and urged you to slay the sorcerer. You watched her, her passion and beauty overwhelming as she came to a crescendo of the song, the make-or-break of the piece, the part that broke many a singer’s voice before.

Carlotta’s face was clear and relaxed as she hit the high notes, a beautiful crystal clear attack, receding briefly only to sharply hit it again and again before swaying onwards. One of the most brilliantly technical pieces of opera written for a soprano, and yet Carlotta seemed to be floating as she swept across the stage. She was above it all as she magically twisted the song to her delight.

As always, you were floored.

Carlotta was the greatest opera singer to ever come from the British Isles. At least, that was your opinion. The true beauty of Carlotta though was not her voice, nor was it her impeccable diamond-cut beauty. The beauty of Carlotta was her loving eye. She looked into the crowd and you could see her love for them in every smile she gave them. She was the queen of the stage and you would never dare to steal her title. As always, she looked at home here, presented for thousands to admire. She was the songbird of the Vienna State Opera, but this building was her cage.

When she had finished, she left the stage with tears in her eyes. You immediately took her in her arms and hushed her.

“I don’t want it to be over,” she sniffed as she held you tight.

“We’ll still keep in touch,” you assorted her.

“We both know it’s not the same,” she held you tightly, then released you back to the darkness of the workshop.

“We can message each other online,” you tried to explain but she wasn’t having it.

“I won’t be able to teach you anymore,” she bemoaned, “and then you won’t have anyone to help you with Anna.”

“I don’t need help with Anna,” you huffed.

Carlotta gave you a look, “Darling, we both know that’s a lie.”

You frowned, but followed her back to the dressing rooms. You flipped on a single light, keeping the room only barely lit enough to be able to see yourself in the mirror. Meanwhile, Carlotta sat at her vanity and flicked on the lights to get a better look at her own beauty. You watched her slowly wipe off the theater makeup while she sat at her vanity. She drummed her fingers on her cheeks in a light massage as she cooled down from the performance.

“So, do you know what you’ll do when you get home?” you leaned on the wall beside the vanity.

“Go to my parents probably,” Carlotta said as she put a dab of skin lotion on her fingers, “they’ve missed me. I’ve missed this little cafe in London that makes the best butter tarts. I hope they’re still open…”

“If they make the best butter tarts, why wouldn’t they be?” you asked.

“Everything goes too fast in London. One day you see a new hat shop, the next day it’s a tourist trap. There’s never a dry day in London!” Carlotta gave you a quick grin before dabbing at her temples again, “and I miss it. Vienna is nice, but it’s not home.”

“I thought you said Madrid was your home,” you pointed out.

“I was born in Madrid but I was raised in London,” Carlotta explained, “I moved there when I was eight. I only visited Spain when going to see my family, but other than that I was at home in London.”

“You know, you’re the only english woman I’ve ever heard be nostalgic about London,” you mused, “everybody else calls it a tar pit.”

“Oh it’s a tar pit alright,” Carlotta laughed, “but it’s my tar pit.”

You smiled as she went through the rest of her routine, unwinding her hair from its high knot and gently sloughing the great billowing red dress to change into a sleek pair of leggings and a turtleneck. She tossed her blond hair over her shoulders, casting you a sad look as she watched you take off your own clothes.

“I don’t have much longer to teach you,” she sighed.

“Well, it’s not like I need the teaching,” you pointed out, “I’m not your protege. I’m just a backup singer.”

“But you have the voice for a lead,” Carlotta countered, “you have it! Oh stop laughing, I’m serious! You can do it! Anna can do it, but she’s not a natural. You are.”

“I can’t handle that much pressure,” you sighed.

“But you can!” Carlotta sighed, “I just… I wish I could take you home with me. I could train you, give you a position at the RBO, we could do it! You could be a star!”

You shook your head sadly, “I’m not a star though. I’m lucky I even got my parts here.”

Carlotta clenched her lily-white fists in her lap. Her big wide eyes narrowed into feline slits. She looked angry, frustrated, but most of all, disappointed as she whispered, “You don’t know what you’re throwing away, do you?”

“I just know that it's best if I stick to my own lanes,” you grumbled.

Carlotta’s eyes never left you as she pursed her cherry red lips. In the dim light, she looked like a perfect angel, much like the ones painted above. She clenched her hands together, then let them relax with a sigh.

“You’ll keep up your lessons with me?” she asked hopefully.

You nodded and sat on a nearby stool, “Of course. I love your lessons.”

Carlotta smiled thinly, “I love them too.”

You watched as she slipped her necklace back over her swan neck. The bright glint of ruby reminded you of the stage curtains she wrapped herself in. You couldn’t imagine Carlotta as anything other than a singer. She was born for the stage, after all. Her entire childhood had been preparing her for the opera house, following in the footsteps of her mother and her mother before her.

How you wished you could follow in her footsteps.

“I’m gonna miss you, you know,” you sighed.

“I’m going to miss my best student,” Carlotta gave you a somber smile.

“We’ll keep in touch, right?”

Carlotta flashed her award-winning smile, “I have all your socials; I’m not letting you get away from me that easily!”

You chuckled as you walked around the room, searching for a small brown box.

Carlotta got up to peek over your shoulder to admire the empty wrappers tucked under your shawl.

“Well,” she crowed, “looks like tubby got his treat after all!”

“Tubby?” you scoffed, “the phantom isn’t fat!”

“Well that’s what everybody else says,” Carlotta pointed out,” and if he’s eating candies and chocolates all day long then he’s bound to be… Well, you know… Tubby.”

“I’m telling you,” you rolled your eyes, “when I saw him he was skinny as a rake.”

“As a rake?” Carlotta raised a perfect eyebrow, “not a tractor mower?”

“No he’s skinny! Honestly, I should probably put out something a bit more substantial for him…” you muttered.

“Oh you’re going to go and make the phantom home cooked meals now, are you?” Carlotta smirked.

You huffed as a blush crossed your cheeks, “Well, maybe it would be nice.”

Carlotta hummed as she watched you go dispose of the wrappers. When you sat back down, Carlotta gave you a sagely nod.

“Well, if you get this phantom on a diet maybe he won’t be so afraid to show himself,” Carlotta shrugged, “who knows, maybe you could introduce us. You do seem to be his favorite.”

“Me?” you twittered awkwardly, “I don’t know about that…”

“Oh I know!” Carlotta laughed, “whenever you’re on stage the reviews are all five stars! I think the reason you’re being cast so often is that the managers are noticing how well we do when you’re on stage!”

You huffed, “You’re saying it’s not my skills as a performer drawing in the reviews?”

Carlotta bristled, “No I’m not saying that!” she relaxed as she took your hand in hers, “I’m saying that the phantom has a liking for you. I love you, but one particularly good background singer isn’t going to turn the tides of an entire production. You don’t ensure that lights magically keep working. Hell, one lead girl, Hannah I think but you’d have to check with her, her mic went out halfway through a performance. Not a single person noticed until they were doing audio checks after the performance! It was incredible!”

“Wait, you’re talking about the time we did Faust, right?” you asked.

“Yes that’s the one!” Carlotta grinned, “I’m telling you that something’s special about you when you’re on stage. Everybody else says you’re a lucky charm, but I think that a certain someone is watching over you.”

You looked away to try and hide your flushed face, “Well, maybe. But if he really liked me, wouldn’t he maybe introduce himself? I only saw him once…”

“I’m telling you,” Carlotta said primly, “he’s afraid you’ll think he’s fat! Either that or he’s an actual ghost, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

“I thought Henry was the ghost hunter around here?” you elbowed her lightly.

“What I said stays between us!” Carlotta warned you.

“Sure,” you smirked, “whatever you say.”

“You know, you should show more respect for your teacher,” Carlotta sniffed.

“I thought you were Anna’s teacher?” you pointed out.

Carlotta groaned and rubbed her temples irritably, “Well she’s no star either. If it weren’t part of my contract here I would’ve dropped her ages ago. She’s…”

“She’s something else,” you supplied.

“Oh she sure is…” Carlotta grumbled as she leaned her elbows onto the vanity, “at least I get one decent student out of this contract.”

You smiled, “I try to be.”

Carlotta turned to face you again with a ghost of a smile, “You are.”

You chatted easily in the dressing room, swapping stories of theater hijinks and arguing over the stature of the phantom of the opera late into the night. As you left for the night, you wondered once again if you had actually seen the phantom so long ago. Was it really true? Did you actually see the phantom, or was that just another performer? You suspected you’d never know for sure. You just hoped that you’d actually seen the whole event. You’d started to wonder if you were hallucinating the entire time.

You shut the door and locked it as you left.

Inside the room, König drifted from the corner of the dark room to your vanity. He heard voices coming from the alley behind him. Carefully, he used a nail he’d stolen earlier to tack a small letter to the corner of your mirror before ducking behind a panel in the wall. He noted that the gap was terribly small, far too small for a ‘tubby’ man to fit through. If that Carlotta wasn’t such a good teacher, well… König shook his head of the thoughts. As long as Carlotta was good to you, he’d be sure to watch over her too. His personal offense could wait another day if it meant ensuring you’d be safe in the opera house. He could be the ‘enormously fat rat’ as long as he could continue to watch your performances.

He hid behind the wall as the next group of singers swanned through the door. He listened to them titter about, laughing and giggling after such a successful showing. He heard a small gasp, and listened close.

“Look at that!” a girl said aloud.

“Look at what?” another asked.

“On the Songbird’s vanity! There’s a note!”

“Should we take a look?”

König bristled.

“No, no we shouldn’t. Let’s just ask her about it later.”

“Do you think it’s a lover?”

A scoff.

“I don’t think so. She’s not exactly a lovable sort.”

König rolled his eyes.

“Well, maybe. There’s that one guy who’s always asking about her.”

“Oh, that Makarov guy?”

That got König’s attention.

“Yeah, the russian guy. He’s always watching Songbird, you know? I’ve heard he only gets tickets when Songbird’ll be on stage.”

“You think he got backstage to pin a note for her?”

“Maybe, or he might’ve given it to a stagehand to do it for him. Either way, it’s so romantic!”

“Well, if it’s really Makarov behind that, Songbird’s got another thing coming for her.”

“You think so?”

“Oh I know so! Makarov… Well, he’s not a good man. Let’s just hope it’s anybody but Makarov.”

König glanced around in the dark. Makarov? Who was this Makarov? Why was he interested in his little Songbird?

He didn’t bother to hide his footsteps as he crawled away, too focussed on the new man to notice how the girls went silent as he left.

“Was that the phantom?” someone asked.

“Maybe. What’re your thoughts he wrote the letter?”

“A ghost writing a letter? Now I know you’re making things up.”

“Who knows, maybe he did. Can you imagine it? A phantom falling in love with our little Songbird?”

Someone hummed carefully, “Something tells me that’s not too far off the truth.”

König dump

Alternate Universes

[gh0stsp1d3r]

phantom of the opera!Rafe x Christine daae!reader

(Is this too niche? Sorry it’s the theater kid in me)

okay this is the last one i swear, im sorry i love making moodboards so much 😭 Ill write soon i swear

[flagbridge]

All Vows Cover Art by @bonzlydoo (IG: noellenorthstar)

Happy one year anniversary to All Vows launching on AO3! Thrilled to share this cover art and a new appendix on the fic.

Phantom of the Opera: E/C, R/C, C/M, Post-Leroux/ALW Canon; Redemption Arc, 140K Words, 40 Chapters, 18+

[ask-phantom-erik]

Erik reading fanfiction of him and christine, and the daroga caught him off guard

Sorry for taking so long to get to this, life be crazy hehe

He’s just a silly little man scrolling through AO3

[sloanedestler]

Christmas Phics

Just in case anyone is in the mood for some Christmas phic, here are the ones I've written:

Mistletoe - Erik and Christine have been together for a few weeks when he takes her out for a special Christmas date. Fluffy, Modern AU, rated T

Joyeux Noël - Erik and Christine are celebrating their first Christmas together after she marries him under duress, but they each have very different ideas about what would make the occasion happy for the other. Some angst and fluff, rated T

Wait For It - A look at some of the different Christmases in Christine's life - some happy, some sad, but all leading her to the person that fate has bound her to. E/C with some R/C, rated T. Honestly, this is still one of my favorite things that I've written <3

Hopefully I'll be able to add to this list in the future. In the meantime, Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays, everyone!

[bewarethewolfarmy]

A Celebration For Two

(This is so self-indulgent buuuuuut it's my birthday and I reserve that right.

This is my first character x reader fic; hopefully it will at least tolerable. Comments are welcome of course

Update: Now with a sequel Things Better Unshared)

Erik had witnessed a number of celebrations for the date of others birth and never quite cared much for or about them, though it was hard to be certain whether this stemmed from his general disinterest in most people or a deep seated jealousy that they both knew and could celebrate their birthdays. It could easily be a mixture of both knowing him. But he had never before felt this sort of outright irritation and frustration seeing others gather for an, admittedly small, celebration.

It had to be for you though that such emotions could be pulled out. Not since Christine had simply watching someone interact with others elicit such jealousy from him but as he saw the other actors and dancers move about, wishing you a happy birthday, handing you small gifts and flowers and cards and smiling at you, he felt himself twitch with impatience, thinking of how he wished he could just rush down from the rafters to grab you, steal you away into the darkness and keep you all to himself. He had to hold back a growl as he saw one man, one of the many extras, no name, no talent, no use but who had the incredible audacity to actually smile at you, actually touch your hand and damnit if you didn't smile back, even if it was the light professional one that you knew to wear on stage. Not your real one, not that one that could light up a room and made his heart shudder just to think of, so warm, so kind, so his. But still you deigned to give a smile to this cretin who didn't know his left foot from his right and couldn't sing for anything; all of your smiles should be Erik's, he reasoned, he could play melodies that you had told him could bring the stars from the sky and make a soul float beyond heaven itself, and you always seemed happy to smile for him whenever you were alone. Even if it wasn't the smile he loved most from you, every smile should be for him, he hated to see you give one to any singular other person; upon the stage when it was directed at none was acceptable because then it could just be his still, but this wasn't.

He didn't blame you of course though, never you. The man handed you something, some small bouquet of flowers and you deigned to thank him, causing Erik to snort. A pitiful gift, certainly not worth one of your smiles, even a lesser one. His would outshine it entirely he was certain and after realizing you were on the move again he quickly followed from his hiding space within the rafters; he knew where you would be going, of course he knew and of course it would be there. He would need to move fast to get there first.

You somehow managed to sneak away from prying eyes and entered the side room, hidden away from all others, the only privacy easy for you to find. Christine had had a dressing room but you did not as you were still just one of the chorus, though not for lack of wish on Erik's part to make you more. Still having heard the stories of before, of what had happened and how it happened, you managed to convince him that trying to push you onto center stage was not a good idea, not to repeat the mistakes of the past but simply let things be; he agreed only as long as he got to hear you sing for him, as long as he still got to teach you even if you would usually gently admonish him when he got too intense about it. Something in that made him strangely happy, to be treated with both care and sternness by you; you were not afraid of him so much as you kept a cautious attitude towards his moods and would usually try gentle redirection before sometimes having to tell him off more sternly.

As you entered and closed the door you quickly felt your wrist be grabbed by the strangely strong grip of Erik. For a skeleton of a man who lived and thrived in shadows he was strong and such a touch always made you shiver even just a bit; to see it always made Erik smile and it was no different this time. You nearly dropped the flowers, a small defeat in his mind but one he was willing to let slide for now, and you looked up at him with wide eyes. “Erik...”

“Come,” he said and realized his tone came out equal parts desperate and short; he chewed his ruined lip and seeing this you placed your other hand over his with that smile, that beautiful warm smile, the one that made his heart flutter.

“Lead the way Erik.” Oh how much it pleased him when you said that name. He choose it himself, you knew that in the same way you knew so much more about him; in the darkness of the night, when you'd come to his lair and simply sit with him, he'd tell you stories to fascinate and amaze you, and with rapt attention you'd listen. And eventually those stories had turned to his life almost without him noticing and he had nearly broken down into tears once he did. But you, kind soul as you were to him, you had let him tell you in his own time and told him it wouldn't change a thing. He was still the fascinating and wondrous phantom in the walls, the protector of the opera, the man whose voice and music could bring tears to the eyes of the stoniest of hearts, and forever would he be to you that and so much more. And so he'd told you the truth, of what he had done to Christine, of what he had been, of the blood on his hands and the darkness in his past and heart, and you had listened and you listened and you listened some more. He knew he loved you when you had cried for him in the end and told him you were sorry for the things he had suffered, the pain and the anguish, and that you understood at least a little now of what made him the way he was. He knew but it had already been too late by the time he had started the tales.

Down, down, down into the darkness and the depths of the operahouse and before either of you knew it you were within familiar surroundings, that house of his rebuilt from the disaster before. Candlelight lit the sitting room and you took in a deep breath of the scent of roses and paper; sheets of music all around was scattered and you felt the urge to twirl in the room as you did every time he brought you here.

“Close your eyes.” He tried to hide all the emotions he was feelings, tamper them down and focus on now. You obeyed, the amount of trust you having in your dear phantom filling him with utter ecstasy every time and he had to resist the urge to giggle. He did not resist the urge to take the flowers from you and discard them none so gently elsewhere, they were unnecessary and unsuitable to someone like you; you deserved a crown of roses, of the most beautiful flowers and still they would not compare to the beauty of your soul he was certain.

Quickly he moved and tried to bring together all he had done. He had never done this before, not for his only friends the Daroga and Madame Giry and her daughter Meg, nor for the Shah he had once served or the sultana he had tried once to impress. Not even for Christine he had realized at some point, though not for lack of care or wanting to; he had simply not been ready to, too scared and uncertain, too weak to pull together to make such a spectacle. But you wouldn't dismiss his efforts surely, you wouldn't turn to another man despite it or make him think it was too much; rather he almost felt it was too little as he completed his preparations and with shaking voice told you to open your eyes again, wringing talented fingers together and once more chewing his lip as he watched you, waiting, hoping.

You opened your eyes and gasped. A hundred of your favorite flowers, arranged perfectly and making you wonder how he found so many to begin with. Beside them was a dress, beautifully tailored in silk and lace and you knew without trying it on that it would fit you without a doubt.

“I choose the color because I was certain it would match your eyes,” he said with all the confidence of a child, his eyes wide as he stared at you, “And I thought this sort of design would accentuate your body all the more, t-tastefully of course my dear songbird.”

“Oh Erik,” you said hands to your mouth.

“I-I also wrote you a song,” he said finding his nerve failing him and his fingers tapped air and each other, a nervous twitch that showed at times, “If I may I would like to-”

He found his words cut off by you moving to throw your arms around his neck and kiss him. It always startled him when you did, though it pleased him to no end nevertheless; the first time you'd willingly kissed him he'd nearly collapsed into tears, begging to know how he deserved such a thing. He still teared up every time it happened and now was no exception, allowing you to wipe away a tear from his eye, gently brushing your fingers over the deformed side of his face as you smiled.

“Sweet man, however could I ever thank you for such a beautiful gift?” His heart swelled and thumped in his chest, “You know I would love to hear you play, I always love it when you play for me but I wish I had a way to repay you for such wonderful things.”

“You repay me every day with your smile and your love, my songbird,” he said and leaned his face into your hand, appreciated and savored the warmth of your touch, of your love, even while wondering how he still deserved it, “You give me so much and this is but a small repayment on my part for all you do for me.”

“Still such hard work on your part, it makes my own gift seem so small.” Erik felt confused but you pulled away, leaving him then also feeling saddened by the lack of contact between you. He whined, just a little one, but the usual smile you would give when he did so did not come. You were far too focused on reaching into the small bag you usually kept at your side, in which he knew you often kept all sorts of things as necessary throughout the day.

Tonight you pulled out what seemed to be a long crimson knitted scarf. No not knitted, crocheted, and he recognized it as something he had seen you work on some nights as he had composed at his organ or rested his head in your lap in need of being close to you. The image of you working on it with your nimble fingers, the softness of your voice as you had hummed absentedly, it had been so terribly domestic it left him in awe every time. Now you held it out to him and he could see that initials had been knitted in: ED. Erik Destler, the name he had chosen for himself, the name he had claimed as his and that he loved to hear you say in that melodious voice of yours. His name. It had his name.

“A gift for Erik, on his songbird's birthday?” He could not help but slip into third person, his emotions starting to surge within him again.

You smiled and placed it gently around his neck. “You don't know what yours is and I thought, it would be nicer to share with you than simply have you celebrate me when I can't rightfully do the same for you.”

You pulled one end around his neck and he convinced himself that he was wrapped in your scent because you had made it. Surely that was true and even if not, this had still been touched by you, made by you, had to have a little bit of your soul embedded in it. And better yet you made it for him, for Erik, and you wanted to celebrate him, you wanted to share your birthday, your special day, with him!

He immediately started to tear up again and his lip quivered in that sad way it did. “You would share your birthday with Erik, you would want to do that for him? You made him a scarf, just for him, because you...you care...”

“Oh Erik, of course I care,” you said and leaned up to kiss his cheeks; there were far too many tears to wipe or kiss away, but you couldn't help but think how adorable your phantom was when he was like this.

You knew how to make the dam of emotions break and you knew exactly what to make him completely break down for you. “I know you likely have never heard this but I just wanted to say: I'm glad you were born, I'm glad you lived this long so we could meet but most of all that you came into this world so I could love you. Happy birthday Erik.”

And oh how that dam broke but to you there was no better gift than to know you had made the phantom, no, the man you loved so dearly so happy in kind. He was taller and stronger than you but you held him as he cried and thanked you for something so simple as a scarf and some words, nowhere near as grand as what he had made for you for your birthday. But you supposed this would have to be enough; you'd just need to plan better and more for next year.

“Happy birthday songbird, Erik is happy you were born as well, Erik is so very thankful that you were born and able to be here and with him and love him even despite his mistakes and his flaws and his deformities.” His words were delivered quickly and frantically but you knew they carried every bit of his truth.

And that, in your mind, was the best gift of all: knowing you were loved and could be here to love such an adorable and emotional man.

[vladimirsangel]

I did this sketch, inspired by your vision of Feral Cat Erik on a wardrobe, to send you when you were feeling off-colour, but chose to send the one with Erik in bed with a plushie instead. I had no idea how close I was to unknowingly drawing fanart of your writing.

Now that I've actually read it, here's the final drawing with the correct details. (Ignore the random TNT; Erik says he didn't put it there.)

I wish you happy writing!

I have fanart??

excuse me while I go to cry quietly and manfully in a corner

This. All of this. Is beautiful. The stripey socks! I didn't specify what kind of socks he is wearing and NOW THEY ARE STRIPED FOREVER IN MY BRAIN.

Firmin's face. Oh god. He's really going through it. While André just....flails.

Thank you. Thank you for not only reading my ridiculous story but making this. It is inspiring. I need to finish that chapter I've been struggling with.

[dreamingofep]

If anyone wanted to read, I just posted a new fic on A03🫣 It's not Elvis related so I'm not going to post it here but its a Phantom of the Opera story. I definitely have a thing for dark, brooding, musical men. What can I say, I have a type 😝 Heres the link if you'd like to read🖤

Taglist:

@loving-elvis

@neptuneismysister @velvetelvis @ccab @presleyenterprise @theresalwaysep

@prompted-wordsmith @sillybookmarks @dkayfixates @ellie-24 @rktismylife-blog

@myradiaz @tacozebra051

@thatbanditqueen

@18|kpeters @flwrs4aust @emma181873

@austinswhitewolf@eliseinmemphis

@everythingelvispresley @chasingwildflowers @idontwanttoputanything. @ohjustpeachy_

@elvisalltheway101 @austinsmutler @kingdomforapony.

@generoustreemystic @claire-elvisgirl

@ashtag6887@burnthheparaphilia @richardslady121

@jaqueline19997

@returntopresley. @iloveelvis @rimartin11@that-hotdog.

@louisejoy86 @misspresley @cattcb @annapresley8

@arrolyn1114 @raginginkedslut @epthedream69

@mh777ep1938

@50sexyshadesfashionista

@oldhOllywOod @hooked-on-elvis @livelovedilfs @sloppiest-of-jos

[ereyies]

Red Death

hii!! my name is elaine/lainie.

i made the concept for this drawing in my sketchbook and it was disastrous. so I decided to try again while I was testing out iartbook how to use the app before just moving back to my beloved ibis paint to do the lining and everything else. this drawing took around 6 hours over a week or more.

this was actually meant to be cover art for my fanfiction that I am writing on ao3 atm that you can find here !!!

ty for all the reception on my last post, love you all lots <333 i don't really know how to use tumblr, and am very new to the website, so you all make me feel very welcome <33

[scarlet-came-back-wrong]

Reading Dracula fanfiction from the 2000s is a wild ride sometimes. Vlad III hangs out with Tod from Elisabeth. Seward cucks Henry Wotton and Arthur marries Marian Halcombe. Dracula and Lucy split the Crew between their respective harems. There is a retelling from Dracula POV written by a fourteen year old that is miles better than The Dracula Tape by Fred Saberhagen, the published book with a similar premise. Erik and Christine are also here somehow (and both are vampires, of course).

[purrlockswatson]

Vlad's Erik (Vlerik)

Doodles of @vladimirsangel 's Erik Carrière from his story, Trying Again. Click for close-ups:

Right-oh, advertisement time. I'm not-so-well at the moment and can't muster the strength to make sense, so I'll just say that I went to menace the author with my excitement the moment I finished reading. And had to shorten my original message by half so as not to scare the living daylights out of him.