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milady-pink · 6 months

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Bride of the Living Corpse

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

Word Count: 4482 | Graphics: @firefly-graphics

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

Part 1 Part 3

Nothing could compare to the agony that Christine currently felt.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which brings us to suitor number two: Erik.

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

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

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

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

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

And that is exactly what she told Raoul.

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

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

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

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

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

But that wasn’t the worst of it.

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

Don Juan Triumphant

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

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

“Oh, Erik”

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

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

“Erik?”

Nothing.

But then.

“Mmmm…”

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

“Erik…are you alright?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eternally.

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

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ilikestuff69 · 2 years

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Marvel’s What If…? Episodes ranked

9: Captain Carter: The First Avenger

8: Tony and Killmonger Team-Up

7: Murder Mystery: Avengers Style!

6: Fuck Boi Thor

5: Marvel’s The Walking Dead

4: Ultron gets clapped by a Nazi supercomputer in an arrow

3: T’Challa being better than Peter Quill for 36 minutes

2: Ultron claps everyone except Black Widow and Hawkeye

1: Stephen Strange destroys a universe to save Regina George

#marvel’s what if #marvel #what if #captain carter #party thor #supreme strange #nick fury #ultron #t’challa #star lord #hawkeye #black widow #erik killmonger #zombies #doctor strange #mcu #marvel cinematic universe

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jolieeason · 11 days

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Top Ten Tuesday: Last 10 Books I Downloaded on my Kindle

Top Ten Tuesday was created by The Broke and the Bookish in June of 2010 and was moved to That Artsy Reader Girl in January of 2018. It was born of a love of lists, a love of books, and a desire to bring bookish friends together. Every Tuesday, a new topic is assigned from the schedule below. Then, you take that topic and fly free with it. You can do as little or as much as you want to (I have…

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flashfuckingflesh · 1 year

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Norwegian EVIL Has Women Issues! "The Thrill of a Kill" reviewed! (Wild Eye Releasing / DVD)

Enjoy the “Kill” on DVD now Available on Amazon.com Out of work Kimsy and her irritated mother butt heads over Kimsy’s lack of effort in trying to find a job and help out with responsibilities around the house. After a particularly nasty argument, Kimsy storms out to walk off her frustration in the quiet surrounding woods. Instead of lowering her blood pressure, Kimsy’s blood runs scarred and…

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moviesandmania · 1 year

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BABEZILLA VS. THE ZOMBIE WHORDE (2022) Review of comedy horror

Babezilla vs. the Zombie WHorde is a 2022 comedy horror film about a bombshell lizard woman who is trying to prevent an evil pimp from turning innocent women into zombie streetwalkers. Written, produced, directed and edited by Andrew J Chambers. The movie stars Stephanie Love, Kevin Heesacker, Erik Luna, Dane-Mychal Marvin, Gora Chand Saha and Joseph William Simmons. Reviews: Trailer: Watch on…

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#2022 #Andrew J Chambers #Babezilla vs. the Zombie WHorde #comedy horror #Dane-Mychal Marvin #Erik Luna #Gora Chand Saha #Kevin Heesacker #lizard woman #movie film #review reviews #so bad it&039;s good #Stephanie Love

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fear-is-truth · 6 months

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please do what the evans would dress up as for halloween 💌

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐮𝐩 𝐚𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧

✧. a/n ─ thank you for this ask! i’ve been wanting to do this but i’m too lazy..i know halloween is over but i can’t wait another 364 days..

-—————————⋆｡‧˚ʚɞ˚‧｡⋆—————————-

𝐓𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐝𝐨𝐧

michael myers (halloween)

michael vorhees (friday the 13th)

couple costumes:

kurt cobain & courtney love

✧. a/n ─ i feel like ghost tate wouldn’t put too much effort on dressing up, since he only gets to be out of the house once a year, he’d prefer easy costumes with masks on. and the gimp suit isn’t socially acceptable tbh

𝐊𝐢𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐫

mechanic

han solo (star wars)

indiana jones

couple costumes:

jack dawson & rose dewitt (titanic)

han solo & leia organa (star wars)

✧. a/n ─ kit would basically dress up as whatever the kids want him to be.

𝐉𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐏𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡

erik destler (phantom of the opera)

professor moriarty (sherlock holmes)

couple costumes:

gomez & morticia addams (the addams family)

erik & christine (phantom of the opera)

𝐊𝐚𝐢 𝐀𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧

charles manson

joker

couple costumes:

joker & harley quinn (suicide squad)

✧. a/n ─ i keep imagining kai dressed up as jared leto’s joker, the tattoos would look sick (i’d be harley quinn)

𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐭 𝐛𝐨𝐲 ! 𝐊𝐲𝐥𝐞 𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫

zombie

luke skywalker (star wars)

couple costumes:

jasper & alice cullen (twilight)

tommy ross and carrie white (carrie)

fred & daphne (scooby doo)

𝐉𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐲 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠

glen lantz (nightmare on elm street)

maverick (top gun)

couple costumes:

maverick & charlie

mad hatter & alice

#kai anderson #tate langdon #james patrick march #kit walker #jimmy darling #kai anderson headcanons #tate langdon headcanon #Kit walker Headcanons #the evans headcanons #american horror story #ahs #evan peters #halloween headcanons #kai anderson x reader #kai anderson x y/n #kyle spencer #tate langdon x y/n #tate langdon x reader

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dross-the-fish · 10 months

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They found the elusive Phantom of the Opera curled up on pages of strewn sheet music, weeping with such pitiful heartbreak that none in the party dared to approach. “Je Meurs…” the deformed man sobbed to himself, unaware or uncaring that he had an audience. Dr. Watson shifted uncomfortably, “Either of you lads speak French?” he whispered to Quincy and Lawrence. Both shook their heads in dismay and Watson gave a resigned sigh, “I guess we’ll have to hope he speaks English.”

Before the doctor could approach the crying figure Adam Frankenstein stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “I know French. Let me speak to him,” he said in a quiet rumble. Watson wrinkled his mustache. He was fond of The Creature and thought that after several months in his company he’d learned everything he needed to about him. Not the case, it seemed, for it had not even occurred to him that Adam could be a polyglot. Truthfully, Watson barely understood how a creation who had spent so much of his time in isolation knew English, much less French. Holmes would have had him figured out top to bottom by now, he thought to himself with a pang. “Fine, but please don’t scare him he seems…vulnerable,” he made a resigned gesture. The volume of the sobbing behind him intensified. “I’ll try but no promises, I daresay I am an even more frightful aberration than he,” the corner of Adam’s mouth quirked upward in a rueful smile, “Perhaps, from one living corpse to another, we may strike a kinship founded on our mutual ugliness” he mused. Watson’s frown deepened but before he could chide Adam he was cut off by a piteous cry: “Christine!” Quincey perked up, “I know that! That’s a girl’s name! You don’t think this is over a girl, do you, Larry?” Lawrence grimaced at him, “God, I hope not. After everything we went through to get down here our sentient zombie better not be dying of a broken heart.” Adam threw them both a look as if to say. Quiet! You’re distracting me. Once everyone had settled, he approached the Phantom and knelt beside him, addressing him in French. “Hello, are you hurt?” The Phantom started, as though he had been shaken from a dream. A bloodshot eye, as yellow as Adam’s own, peeked tearfully through the lattice of bony fingers covering a pallid, badly deformed, face. “What are you?” he asked, pausing his weeping long enough to be cognizant of the monstrous giant kneeling beside him. He turned away and groped behind him for a black mask that had been carelessly discarded on the floor, putting it back on while The Creature waited patiently. Adam did not answer him at first, after a thoughtful pause he offered: “Someone like you.” That seemed to be explanation enough for the wretched man for he resumed his crying “I am dying,” he said between sobs, “I am dying of love.” Adam nodded sympathetically, “Love, and the want of it, are indeed, powerful enough to die from. What happened?” “I kissed her! I kissed her alive! She let me-she let me! I have never…” he trailed off in a fresh wave of tears. Adam patted his back. “Where is she now? Has she forsaken you?” he asked. “Forsaken? No. Never! She would not…she is a good girl…she would have been my bride! My living bride! I could not keep her, not after she allowed me to kiss her. I have freed her!” the Phantom seemed to compose himself a little and he sat up, wiping his eyes on his sleeves. He seemed to notice, for the first time, Watson, Quincey and Lawrence hanging back watching him. “Who are you and why have you come here? I am in no condition to entertain guests. No guests have ever graced my lair save for the Daroga who shall, no doubt, be very cross with poor Erik, and there was Christine who has taken her little chap and fled forever…” The three Englishmen exchanged confused glances and Quincey offered an apologetic shrug. “He wants to know who you are,” Adam clarified, switching to English. Quincey nearly tripped over himself crossing the floor with his hand extended to introduce himself, “Quincey Harker, very nice to meet you! Sorry about your traps, we had to dismantle them to get down here. They were very impressive, by the way! Adam, will you tell him I’m impressed? I’ve never seen such feats of engineering before,” he babbled grasping and pumping Erik’s hand enthusiastically. Erik froze and replied, in slightly accented English, “Thank you…do not touch me,” as his mind finally began to clear he tensed, realization sinking in that there were four men, one of whom was larger than any man he’d ever seen, who had him effectively cornered and at a disadvantage. Quincey dropped Erik’s hand with a muttered apology and Watson nudged him aside, “I am Dr. John Watson. We’re supernatural investigators. You’ve noticed, surely, that the undead are rising at an alarming rate and we were hoping that, with you being the only other revenant we’ve discovered to be in full possession of his mental faculties,” he gestured at Adam, who grinned in response, “that you might be willing to come with us and lend us some aid. It is my belief that through researching cases like yourself and Mr. Frankenstein here we can derive a cure or at least a way to restore those inflicted to a sustainable quality of life.” The Phantom looked from man, to man, to creature and shook his head, “You are mistaken. Despite the rumors, for which I myself and largely responsible, I am no corpse. Although that shall undoubtedly change very soon. No, I am only Erik.” Adam’s face fell, “Are you saying that you are…alive?” he tried and failed to keep the disappointment from his voice. Erik gave a biting laugh, “I should not be! Nothing that looks like me should have been able to draw breath yet here I am, living as of yet,” he withdrew a little from Adam, who all at once seemed to him, to be much larger and more menacing than before, “Are you not?” he crept back, his long spindly legs bent at the knees in a half crouch as his hand subtly reached inside of his coat, “Are you in fact, one of the undead?” Black lips drew tight and white teeth bared as the creature’s face darkened, “I am! Whatever you’re about to try, don’t. I promise it will not work and the destruction will be your own.” Watson threw out an arm to keep Adam from advancing, “Steady there! No call for that! No one is here to harm or threaten anyone,” he threw Erik a pleading glance, “Please, we’re no danger to you! We’ve no interest in harming you or forcing you to come with us. I see we’ve made a mistake and we’ll leave you in peace. Right, Adam?” Adam looked from Watson to Erik and forced himself to relax, “Right,” he affirmed, though he did not take his eyes off of the thin, crouched man. Like a caged animal The Phantom regarded them before he followed their example and straightened, “I apologize, I am…unaccustomed to civil company, much less when it presents itself with… such a… creature,” he was blatantly staring in a way that made Adam’s hackles raise. “I hardly think that’s fair coming from you. Living or not, you’re not really much different from him, are you?” Lawrence interjected brusquely, “Let’s face facts here, you’re a monster in your own right even if you are only human.” “I suppose there is no denying that,” Erik sighed, “I suppose we should part ways. I cannot linger here and neither should you. No doubt, after they clean up the chandelier, there will be a mob gathering to come and tear this place apart and thanks to you I no longer have the protection of my traps.” “You could come with us,” Quincey offered, “Even if you are alive, we could definitely use someone with your knack for engineering back at our headquarters in London. We have rooms and we’ll give you free food and board.”

“I was going to wait for death to come and take me but perhaps it is not yet time to bring my story to a close,” Erik considered, taping his chin beneath his mask, “Could I bring a friend? If I am to leave Paris I should not like to go without a companion, though he may finally be through with me after how poorly I have treated him.”

“I don’t see why not,” replied Watson, “We have room and we need as much help as we can get.”

“It is agreed then. I know not what awaits me in London but perhaps it will be better than waiting to die here in this tomb. Allow me half an hour to collect my things and I will join you.”

#Phantom of the opera #Frankenstein #Sherlock Holmes #Lawrence Talbot #crossover au #HE'S IN #tbh I don't like the writing but it's as good as it will ever get so meh

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yakumtsaki · 6 months

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-Oh Sunset, I'm so lucky to be in a loving relationship with such a kind, loyal and non-criminally insane person such as yourself!

You're so on the money, buddy, the only thing you missed was 'sexually repelled by cousins'.

-I CAN'T DO THIS, TYLER, YOU'RE SUFFOCATING ME -I'm sorry! Also my name is Ty! -I KNOW BUT IT'S A STUPID NAME AND I'M NOT CALLING YOU THAT

She's right, Ty, and to top it off your last name isn't Union, it's like you're not even trying!

Bruh.. This chain of interactions from the hugging to the insulting to the making out took place in about 1 minute, I can't believe Stacy and Julian of all couples produced Sunset. Why can't you be more like your parents?? They were my cutest, healthiest couple ever!!

-They only thing they cared about having sex 50 a times a day! Aunt June basically raised me!!

Omg I'm looking at the pics of the spare updates I never posted because I suck and YA SHE DID, that explains so much, June is truly the platonic ideal of the hot-batshit combo.

Speaking of batshit-

-And hot!

If you say so, Barth is putting the moves on Marla Biggs, whomst we last saw when June (there she is again) used her to dump Erik-

-Yes, and that one wolf whistle from June turned me gay for all eternity, so don't even bother!

-UGH. So I guess I have no choice..

-..but to sleep with another one of my second cousins! -Oh Barth, I can't believe this is finally happening!!! -I know, Cyan, it took way too long!

We've been here for a week.

-Don't worry, nothing will interrupt this magical moment-WHAT THE FUCK I'M BEING CHEATED ON GOTTA RUN SORRY CYAN CATCH YOU LATER

Ok apparently I was laughing too hard to take a decent pic, but yes, BARTHOLOMEW CAUGHT HIS COUSIN 'CHEATING' ON HIM AS HE WAS HOOKING UP WITH HIS OTHER COUSIN. I HATE MY GAME.

-AND I HATE YOU, SUNSET. YOU BROKE MY HEART -FUCK YOU, BARTHOLOMEW, I'M NOT GONNA BE PART OF YOUR SECOND COUSIN HAREM -I HOPE YOU DROWN IN THE POOL -This was so beautiful, Sunset, I think I'm falling in love with you💙 -GET OUT OF HERE, TYLER -It's Ty! -NO ONE CARES, ASSHOLE -DON'T TALK TO TYLER LIKE THAT -That's not my name! -IT IS NOW, SHUT UP

I gotta hand it to Ty, he's in it to win it, whatever it is one could possibly 'win' when it comes to Sunset.

-Oh Sunset, you're the queen of my heart! -Gross!🥰

-Aw baby, I love spending all our awake time woohooing and doing nothing interesting, huhu!🌞 -It really is the best, thanks to your horrific LTW we don't even have to try! It's so awful people are bound to vote for us just to watch the trainwreck!

Ya I wish I had a counter-argument but you two really have this thing figured out, even I wanna watch me have a mental breakdown trying to raise your 6 asshole kids.

-Our kids are not gonna be assholes!🌞

LOL YA OK MEADOW, whatever helps you sleep at night.

-Meadow and Felina are not the only ones with a perfect relationship! Britannicus and I are also deeply in love!! I'm writing a novel about it as we speak!!!

Jimmy no offense but I literally forgot you live here and I can barely remember who Britannicus is half the time.

-THE PARTY HAS ARRIVED

Oh Britannicus here you are, thank God, you're so indispensable to this legacy!

-All you main-houser bitches look down on me but I have a lot to offer!! I'm grandpa Gunther's heir!!!

Of course you are, now give us the pizza so the people who matter don't die.

-I'll show you! I'll show you all!! >:(

Yes yes, it's been lovely catching up-

-and now it's time to get serious and break Cyan and Barth up! Hit us with your best shot, Marg, we've been on a winning streak lately with those matches, please don't go back to Cyn's leftovers.

-Got you, say no more..

-Here's Kennedy Cox!

MARGARET

-Well it's very hard to find someone Cyneswith hasn't banged!

Ok ya that's very true but Cyan is understandably like 😬 so let's try this again, here's another dollar.

-Alright, you didn't want Cyneswith leftovers..

-How about Sandy the Zombie leftovers??

I hope I don't have to explain to you why that's SO MUCH WORSE

-And I hope I don't have to explain to you that you get what you pay for when you give a dollar for a date!

Fucking touche, Marg, get out of here.

And now for another sequence of events so absolutely ridic I'm just gonna describe it with no dialogue:

So I send Cyan inside to check the college directory thing and see what available bachelors we might booty call up, but there's no one that I like for her so I send her back out to ask Margaret for another dollar date-

-once outside, we find BRITANNICUS SERENADING BARTHOLOMEW, to which Cyan has no reaction as she's probably too shocked-

-poor dumbass loved up Jimmy has no clue and is inside getting high-

-Cyan asks Marg for another date as Barth is performing the Second Cousin Vagina Monologues-

-Margaret gives us Neon Vest Zomb AGAIN and I'm like wtf-

-at which point Britannicus, who just one moment ago was serenading Barth, WOLF WHISTLES AT CYAN-

-CAUSING BARTH TO FEEL CHEATED ON AND DUMP HER

-BETRAYED BY MY OWN BLOOD TWICE IN ONE DAY! OH, THE SHAME!

BARTH SHUT UP. BRITANNICUS WHAT. THE. HELL

-I told you! >:D

Ok you know what, at least with this I feel we have peaked and there is simply no way the situation in this house can get more insane and degenerate-

-Think again!

NO FUCKING WAY. NO. SPICE WHAT ARE YOU DOING YOU'RE DATING ELDERLY GOOD WITCH, I SPECIFICALLY FOUND YOU A GF TO KEEP YOU OUT OF THIS BS

-I know but there's something almost genetically inherited drawing me to Cyan! -Yes, It's almost like our parents were into each other but there was some invisible force separating them!

YA THAT WAS THE LAWS OF NATURE

-Oh please, it was the extended family mod and we no longer have to function under its oppression!

NOTHING IN THIS HOUSE IS REMOTELY FUNCTIONING. You know what, enjoy this while it lasts because I'm breaking every single one of you mofos up, istg I feel like I'm fighting the Hydra, I chop one semi-incestuous head off and two others pop up. WELL I'LL WIN LIKE HERACLES

I'd like to end this disgusting update with this image of the rose Ty left for Sunset next to the flaming shitbag Neon Vest Zombie left for Cyan. What is this world coming to that men no longer appreciate you cheating on them with 2 of your cousins during a date?? Chivalry is dead!

#unions #gen 4 #ts2 #long post

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catboy-sinister · 10 months

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Currently rotting, so I present:

The Quiet Council playing Minecraft

Charles: Tries to establish a community with order and rules, fails horribly. Forgets that it's just a game and gets way too involved in Minecraft Server Politics. Eventually just closes the server.

Erik: Hangs out with Ororo. Illyana or Beto probably showed him the game so he knows what he's doing, but he's here to relax. Way too sick of Charles to help him.

Apocalypse: Uses his Celestial tech to play because his hands are too large for normal human tech. Still can't run shaders.

Irene: Sits by Raven and tells her what she needs to do. Just happy to lay her head on her wife's shoulder, and to ruin Charles's day.

Raven: Gets competitive, immediately wants the best gear. Keeps stealing Charles's stuff when Irene tells her he won't notice. Describes the beautiful things she sees in detail to Irene and builds a flower garden for them both.

Nathaniel: Spends the entire time making his skin. When he does get into the game, he griefs Charles's house and then harrasses Apocalypse with TNT. Eventually gets bored, sets his game to creative, and blows up everything.

Emma: Collects all the types of cats and spends time building a beautiful base with Kate. As in, Kate gets the resources and builds the base, while Emma gives directions and adds details

Kate: Pretty good at the game. Harrasses Shaw and griefs his village. Loves resource gathering and mining.

Sebastian: Spends his time levelling up villagers and turning them to zombies + curing them so he gets the best deals.

Selene: Doesn't understand the villagers are NPCs, so she sets up a cult in a village to worship her. Secretly, she gets a little attached to them. She also builds plenty of Iron Golems.

Hope: Probably a Minecraft pro. Basically speedruns the best gear and farms while dragging Bennet along with her. At first, she tells Bennet to get her resources, but after he keeps getting lost/dying she just does it herself.

Bennet: Has no idea what's going on, but follows Hope around and does what she says. Easily gets lost without her. He likes the armor and weapons, he feels like a knight again.

Piotr: Collects a bunch of animals, and has an army of dogs. I imagine he names them after flowers and dyes their collars to match. Of course sets up large farms.

Kurt: Doesn't really know how to play the game. Tries to help Charles at first, but eventually goes out on his own or helps Piotr on his farms.

Ororo: Hangs out with Erik. Charles kept asking her to help him build a community but she was more interested in building and mining with Erik.

Jean: Knows how to play through Rachel and Teen Cable. Probably tries to sneak Scott onto the server but he says no. Also tries to help Charles but gets sick of him.

Doug: Secretly competing with Hope. Failing miserably, but he's still having a great time.

Krakoa: Asking Doug questions about the game. Eventually tries to recreate Minecraft biomes on the island. It becomes a major emergency because suddenly skeletons and zombies are appearing at night and attacking mutants.

#the quiet council #charles xavier #erik lensherr #en sabah nur #irene adler #raven darkholme #nathaniel essex #emma frost #kate pryde #sebastian shaw #selene gallio #hope summers #bennet du paris #piotr rasputin #kurt wagner #ororo munroe #jean grey #doug ramsey #krakoa

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potol0ver · 1 year

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Comfort

Erik deslter (phantom of the opera) x GN reader with childhood trauma

I don’t know how long this’ll be I just have the thought in my mind and I want to write it.

Warnings; mentions of childhood trauma, night terrors

Waking up in fight or flight mode isn’t exactly the best way to wake up. Slowly sitting up and looking over at a clock in your room, you can see it’s the dead of night. Sighing to yourself you move so your back is in the corner of your bed and bring your knees up to your chest to hug them. You need to calm down, you need to remind yourself you’re not there anymore, but the fear in your chest just won’t go away.

You don’t know how long it’s been when you stare at the floor, your hearing going haywire. It almost feeling like you’re a statue, you’re paralyzed. After a long while your body finally gives you mobility again, you can’t let this overload you again, you have to be around someone. Thankfully your lover is most likely awake at this hour composing music. Your mind going on autopilot didn’t even bother to put on shoes as you find the nearest catacombs entrance and make your way to him.

The rocks at your feet help a little getting you to remember where you are, you stare at the floor the whole way to his layer, almost like you’re sleep walking. Erik heard you long before he even saw you and he paused writing his music. Concerned you’re up this late, he looked down the pathway you’re taking and sees you looking like a zombie. Now very worried he practically runs up to you and cups your cheek.

“Mon amour? What’s going on?” Erik says with soft eyes. You say nothing, your voice hasn’t come back to you yet. Instead you just grip onto the hand holding your cheek. Leaning into it you can’t help but feel tears start to well. Erik noticed this and was stunned, he has never seen you cry before.

Snapping out of it he swoops you up and walks back into his layer, sitting on his bed. Your legs draped over his, your face buried in his neck crying your heart out, and your arms that we're hanging onto him for dear life. It all broke his heart.

“Mon amour,” he whispered as he cradled you in his arms. “Je t’aime, please tell me what's wrong. Who caused these tears?” kissing your shoulder, your tears start to calm down letting you speak.

“It's childish really,” you say lifting your head to meet his eyes, “this is all because of a silly nightmare.” you chuckle to yourself about how ridiculous this reason was to you. To Erik, this only made him more worried. You have never broken down like this in all the time he's known you, and for a ‘silly’ nightmare this doesn't seem childish, only very concerning.

“If it is making you weep Id say it isn't silly or childish,” he says bringing a gloved hand to your face and wiping tears off your cheek. “May I ask what it was about?” Eriks' voice was so sweet, so calming, you couldn’t hide the truth.

With a deep sigh you answered, “it was about my childhood,” adverting your eyes from his, you stare at the velvet bedsheets, “it wasn’t the happiest mon amour.” Leaning into his neck again you pleaded witha broken voice, “please let me stay, I don't want to be alone.”

Now, it's Eriks' turn to cry. His eyes became blurry as you clung to him again, your pleading words broke his heart. Never in a million years did he wish for you to have a similar life as him, especially cruelty. He gently leaned back on the bed and made sure both of you were relaxed. He started rubbing your back and whispered praise and comforting words into your hair.

“You’re here mon amour, you’re safe, no one will hurt you, not as long as I’m here. Je t’aime.”

When your breath finally calmed, you kissed his neck as a thank you. Shuddering slightly, he meets your gaze. “If you ever want to talk about it, please share with me. I don’t doubt you already assumed I also have a bad childhood, that is true. So I would not mind listening to you.” Erik said with a half smile.

“Thank you mon ange, maybe in the morning, for right now I think its best we both sleep.” You nestle your head back into his shoulder, and release a deep sigh. He kissed the top of your head and whispered good night.

“I love you Erik”

“Je t’aime, mon amour, je t’aime”

The last thought Erik had as you two drifted to sleep, was maybe you two were more alike than it seemed.

#phantom x reader #erik x reader #erik fluff #erik angst #erik destler #erik poto #poto #erik destler x reader #phantom of the opera x reader

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milady-pink · 6 months

Text

Together in Hell

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

Word Count: 1964 | Graphics: @firefly-graphics

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

Part 1 Part 2

_______________________________________________________________________________

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

Not after what they did to the Persian.

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

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

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

That was how he came upon meeting the Persian.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘What was that?’

All too soon they found the answer.

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

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

“Where is Christine?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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