#poor unhappy erik

[birdstooth]

POTO post credits scene:

[luneemeritus]

Erik's final arc in the original novel is... intriguing.

alert: mentions of death, violence and possible suicide ⚠️ also spoilers from the Leroux novel and Lucíola (José de Alencar)

We never get to see how or when Erik truly died. I've seen people saying he literally died because of the kiss he recieved on the forehead and even joking about him never being able to sexually satisfy someone (bodyshaming hahaha how funny), but this is restricted to the memes only.

If Erik had died from a discharge of emotions, he would be dead right after kissing Christine (and recieving the kiss). And that's not what happened. He died days after this event. And more, he warned Daroga about his death, he says he was going to die, "dying of love", which means that he knew exactly how and when he was going to die. The kiss didn't actually killed him.

Some people theorize that Raoul actually shot Erik when he broke into his mansion. Which is valid and makes sense, however, it's we cannot know it actually happened since Erik doesn't seem to be hurted, bleeding or injured. And, i don't know, if Erik was shot, wouldn't he try to take care of his wound or at least call for help, since Daroga and Christine were two people that he could trust? Count Philippe seemed certain that his brother killed a simple cat with shinning golden eyes. The golden eyes don't seem like a coincidence to me, though. Maybe Erik did break into De Chagny's mansion, but Raoul couldn't shoot him?

well either way this chapter only makes me hate raoul even more but let's continue

The most obvious answer would be that Erik unalived himself. Considering that he presented suicidal thoughts before, it unfortunately makes sense. The first time he mentioned a suicidal desire was when he explained his Don Juan to Christine. He said that, once his masterpiece was finished, he desired to sleep forever with his score within the coffin-bed. He changed his mind, though, after he believed Christine loved him back.

And the second time, obviously, is when he threatens to blow up the Opera Garnier. He was determined to die alongside with everyone there. Which is an interesting topic about his character because he hated and blamed both himself and the society aroud him that drove him into misery. And his perspective wasn't wrong.

It's very sad to think about Erik unaliving himself. His motivation is understandable, but he needed and deserved a second chance (he earned a second chance actually, he just couldn't use it). I still think his mysterious death only happened because of public preassure, as it has happened with many other serials stories in that time (example: Lucíola by José de Alencar, Lucíola was supposed to end alive and happily married, but the misogynistic public preassured the author to kill her).

But how do you think Erik truly died?

[dreamytfw]

I don't watch Fallout, I've never played any of the games, so sorry for hijacking your post OP. But I just needed to say this. THIS IS SO CLOSE TO BOOK-ACCURATE ERIK IT MAKES ME WANT TO SCREAM (/pos)!!! Begging, pleading, grovelling whatever powers that be in Hollywood to please PLEASE PLEASE make another book-accurate Phantom of the Opera adaptation. We have the make-up/technology to do Erik's deformity right, we should use it!!!!

WALTON GOGGINS as THE GHOUL FALLOUT (2024-)

[state-of-disorder]

Past the point of no return

[thirdmagic]

listening to the phantom of the opera audiobook for the millionth time and the last chapter still fucks me up the exact same way each time

[benetnvsch]

girls who are totally normal about phantom of the opera,,,

[birdstooth]

POV: u are a hostage just trying to read your novel

Christiiiinnnneeeeee 🥺🥺🥺🥺 pls affection 🥺🥺

#poto doodles 🏷️

[flagbridge]

One of the things I love about having a Phantom mezuzah is that I touch it and press my hand to my lips every time I pass it so poor unhappy Erik is getting a lil kiss every time someone walks by.

Lego Phantom Mezuzah cases and individual Lego characters only now available on PhantomJudaica. Use discount code: tumblr for 18% off the entire store!

He now has a cape, and sleeps in a coffin. My next project is to put tiny little appliqués on the cape.

[sunshine-for-serotonin]

I was just crocheting a scarf for my stuffed koala bear (who's name is indeed Erik) and was just thinking how adorable a drabble would be from you of someone doing the same for Erik, either book!Erik or musical!Erik, probably with plenty of him calling them maman and probably getting in the way like the clingy bug her is. If you could write something even small for that I'm sure it would be utterly adorable ^w^

Omg, that IS adorable! Thank you for this idea!!

Contains tumblr reference because reader is modern and also because I thought I was hilarious (read: I am sleep deprived).

The block of French Erik speaks to you translates to: “I want to cuddle with you! Erik needs cuddles! Please, mommy!”

Erik had been staring at you for the past fifteen minutes as you crocheted the black yarn into previous stitches. The scarf you were making for Erik was coming along nicely, though you couldn’t help but lament the fact that you weren’t able to keep it as a surprise for him, seeing as he followed you around like a puppy all hours of the day and then some, far after you had fallen asleep. But looking on the bright side, your babydoll probably didn’t even realize that the scarf was for him, if he knew it was a scarf in the first place. Your current situation was more than a little awkward if you were honest, the gangly man hadn’t even bothered to sit down, instead hovering to your right as close as he could get before the arm of the settee cut into his legs. Pausing at the end of your round, you gazed up at Erik, who in response turned red and began to fidget with his fingers, shifting his slight weight from one foot to the other.

“Are you okay, sugar? Do you need something?”

“M-maman, I…I want…I want…” Flushing further, Erik turned his gaze from his long fingers and stole a shy glance at your eyes before quickly averting them once more.

“What is it, babydoll? You can tell me.”

A small whimper left Erik’s throat as he tried to formulate his words, locked in a battle between his insecurities and his overwhelming desire for your love. Eventually, however, his need for you won out as a small plea made itself known to your ears.

“Mommy, maman…I-I…je veux faire des câlins avec vous! Erik a besoin de câlins! S’il vous plaît, maman!”

“As much as I would love to cuddle with you, babydoll, I kind of have my hands-”

You hadn’t even been able to finish your sentence before the tears began to fall from Erik’s eyes down to his misshapen cheeks. Collapsing to his knees at the settees side, Erik grasped your arm through his sobbing and pulled it over the edge and to his torso, clutching it like a makeshift teddy bear.

“-full. …oh, Erik.” With a small sigh, you moved to untangle your arm from Erik’s hold.

At the feeling of you shifting away from him, Erik was sent into a frenzied panic.

“No, No, No, No! Don’t leave your Erik! Please! Stay! Stay with poor, unhappy, Erik! Erik wants maman, his angel, his (Y/N), to stay!”

By the time you had managed to get your arm free, Erik had begun hyperventilating and as soon as you left his grasp, Erik’s hands went to cover his face whilst he cried, further blocking his air intake. Hurriedly pushing your crochet items to the side, you ran to the side of the settee and knelt down to Erik’s level, moving his hands from his face and wrapping him tightly in your arms. The pressure of you pulling him towards you seemed to do the trick, as Erik slowly started to calm down, regardless of how the tears still fell from his eyes.

“Oh, lovely…shh, shh, shhhh, it’s okay. It’s okay, sugar, I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

“Please, maman, Erik needs cuddles! Erik needs his (Y/N)!” Erik whimpered, still sobbing.

“Oh babydoll, I know, I know, I know. But Erik, the project I’m working on right now is for someone very important! So I need some time to finish it, but I’m almost done! In fact, it should only take me about another half hour since I’d worked on it some days prior!”

“But maman, Erik needs câlins! Please! If he doesn’t get them, Erik will surely perish!”

“Being a little dramatic are we, babydoll?” You chuckled gently.

Shaking his head no, Erik gripped you tighter, trying to signify that, yes, if you didn’t give him all your love and attention soon he thought he would actually die.

“Tell you what, babydoll, you can sit yourself right with me while I work, and as soon as I’m done, we can cuddle all your darling little heart desires. And-” You cut your self off to give Erik a quick kiss, smiling at how Erik tried to deepen it before you pulled away, a miserable whine leaving him at the loss of contact, and wipe away his tears. “-if you’re good for me, I’ll give you any kind of reward you want later.”

“Do you promise, maman? Do you swear to give your Erik your love?”

“I do, babydoll. Now let’s move back to the settee and you can sit with me, I’m sure it’s much more comfortable than the floor.”

“Merci, maman!”

—————————————————————————

“Erik, when I said you could sit with me, this is not at all what I meant and you know it. Do we have to sit like this?”

The only response you were given was Erik’s arms tightening around you and the nodding of his head against your skin. Currently he was perched in your lap with his arms around your neck as your hands rested around his waist, holding your almost finished scarf, hook, and yarn while you struggled to see over top of the man’s boney shoulder to continue your work. ‘So be it.’ You thought to yourself doing your best to count stitches and keep the yarn from tangling in your grip. As you continued on, Erik couldn’t help but steal a few kisses from your lips every five minutes to try and hold himself over until he could have your full attention, before tucking his disfigured face back into the crook of your neck until the yearning for your lips on his became overwhelming once more.

Finally, after a few minutes more, you were able to fasten off your row and cut the excess yarn.

“Alright, babydoll, I need you where I can see you!”

A whiny noise of displeasure left Erik as you tried to separate yourself from his hold, if anything Erik only gripped you tighter the more you tried to push him back.

“Erik, I promise, just this last thing and then I can hold you as long as you want, and you can hold me to.”

As Erik reluctantly drew himself away from you and sat up straight, you were reminded of just how tall the disfigured man before you was, silently laughing to yourself as Erik, so known for his genius and being a creature of the night to the few who knew him, looked at you and sulked at the loss of your touch. Gripping the freshly made black scarf, you delicately draped the material over Erik’s neck and wrapped it around his shoulders, not missing the look of wonder in his eyes as more tears welled in his sockets.

“Maman, is this really for Erik? For Erik to keep and treasure?”

“Yes babydoll, it’s for you. I even stitched the initials ‘O.G.’ into one end with some white-”

You were cut off by Erik’s happy wails, soon followed up by cold lips working feverishly against your own as though trying to consume your entire being.

“Merci, merci, merci, maman! Je t’aime! Je t’aime! Je t’aime!! Erik loves you, (Y/N)!!”

“I love you too, Erik. Now then, did you want to cuddle out here or in your room?” ‘Since I finally convinced you to get a proper bed with the promise of being able to hold each other more comfortably.’

“In my room, Erik wants to cuddle in his chambers!”

“Alright darling, we can if you wish. …I just realized you sound very much like a tumblr post back in my timeline with a cat named Miette.”

Shooting you a puzzled look, Erik halted in getting off of you.

“Pardon, Erik speaks like what?”

“It’s nothing, it’s nothing. Like I said babydoll, it’s something from my original timeline.”

“Mmm, Alright…”

As soon as he stood up, Erik wasted no time scooping you up in his arms, successfully reminding you just how freakishly strong Erik was for his frame, and carrying you towards his room.

———————————————————————————

@sloppyzengarden

[indelen]

Me when there's any media about a girl and her precious weirdo murder skull guy only she can understand:

Don't mess with a teenage girl and her emotional support skull

I know the skull was scorched after the explosion but I forgot ijbol

[addictedtowords16]

The reader knows and guesses the rest. It is all in keeping with this incredible and yet veracious story. Poor, unhappy Erik! Shall we pity him? Shall we curse him? He asked only to be "some one," like everybody else. But he was too ugly! And he had to hide his genius or use it to play tricks with, when, with an ordinary face, he would have been one of the most distinguished of mankind! He had a heart that could have held the empire of the world; and, in the end, he had to content him- self with a cellar. Ah, yes, we must needs pity the Opera ghost.

The Phantom of the Opera

[free-for-all-fics]

Phantom of the Opera AU Prompt inspired by Disney’s The Haunted Mansion! (The lore surrounding it rather than the movies.) Pls tag me if you’re inspired by any of this and I’d love to read it! ⚰️🤎

On the desk was a music-book covered with handwritten notes in what you hoped was red ink. You asked to look at it and read, “Don Juan Triumphant”. Yes, Erik said he composed sometimes. He must’ve worked on this piece as seldom as he could, since he told you so himself that he sometimes would work on a composition for fourteen days and nights together, during which he lived on music only, and then he’d let it rest for years at a time. In the middle of his room was a canopy, from which hung curtains of red brocaded stuff and, under the canopy, was his open coffin where he’d sleep. He had the ability to go for weeks without eating or sleeping and, when he did sleep, it was always in his coffin. According to him, one had to get used to everything in life, even to eternity. He began composing “Don Juan Triumphant” more than twenty years ago and swore to you that, when he finally finished, he would take it away with him in his coffin and never wake up again. He meant every word with the utmost sincerity.

Erik proposed to you but wedding rings were expensive, so his ring was quite old and rusty. He told you that you mustn’t lose it because he didn’t have enough money to buy a new one. This ring was his poor mother’s wedding ring and one of his most precious possessions. This ring deprived his poor mother of her freedom, instead gifting her with a hideous son. But for you, this ring symbolized the promise of freedom. You came to him with your beautiful eyes wide open, and swore to him that you consented to be his living wife! Until then, in the depths of your eyes, Erik had always seen his dead wife. It was the first time he saw his living wife there. You were sincere, you would not kill yourself. It was a bargain. Yes, you were waiting for him. Waiting for him erect and alive, a real, living bride.

You accepted his proposal and lived with him forever in that cold underground, like a scorpion. You cried with him out of genuine sympathy and compassion. You even put out your forehead a little, oh, not much, just a little, like a living bride. And when he came forward, more timid than a little child, you did not run away. No, no. You stayed and you waited for him. And, and he kissed you! Erik kissed you on the forehead. He kissed you just like that, on your forehead and you did not draw back your forehead from his lips! Oh, you were a good girl! You were a good, honest girl! He-! He-! He-! And you did not die! Oh, how good it was to kiss somebody on the forehead! You couldn’t tell! But He-! He-! His mother, his poor, unhappy mother would never let him kiss her. She used to run away and throw him his mask! Nor any other woman ever, ever! Ah, you could understand, his happiness was so great, he cried. He broke down in front of you, kneeling at your feet and stooping down to kiss them.

But he told you that, as you had turned the scorpion, you had, of your own free will, become engaged to him. You let him kiss you, and both of you wept: Erik because he'd never been able to kiss someone before, not even his own mother, and you because you realized this tragic truth. Erik sobbed aloud and you yourself could not retain your tears in the presence of that masked man, who, with his shoulders shaking and his hands clutched at his chest, was moaning with pain and love by turns.

This man, this murderer, your husband only ever wanted love! Yes! He was your husband and he loved you! He had invented a mask that made him look like anybody. People would not even turn round in the streets. You would be the happiest of women and, together, you would sing, all by yourselves, till you swooned away with delight. He romanced you and made you his wife so that he could buy you nice things and take you out on Sundays. Erik himself may have described his courting as childish and, despite his multiple talents, he wasn’t interested in sex and never consummated your marriage. He only wanted to have a beautiful wife and a life like any other man. It was only when he actually triumphed that he realized how impractical his dreams were.

He released you of your promise, he told you that you could go. You were set free, but you had already made your choice to stay when you married him. You would never break or betray your wedding vows because you loved him. It started as a cruel marriage of convenience, but turned into the best friendship you'd ever had. Erik bowed his head. He was going to die. He was going to die. Of love. He was dying of love. That was how it was. He loved you so! And he was dying of love for you. He…He told you! How beautiful you were when you let him kiss you alive. It was the first time, the first time he ever kissed a woman. Yes, alive. He kissed you alive and you looked as beautiful as if you had been dead!

Erik had once asked you to bury him by the lake when he died, if you thought of him as a human being. He had told you where you would find his body and what to do with it. He had asked you to submit his obituary to the newspaper when you received a letter from him. You were fidgeting with your wedding ring and turned it three times around your finger. This triggered a secret compartment in his desk to open and an envelope fell out. You found him in his coffin, clutching “Don Juan Triumphant” to his chest. He wasn’t breathing, lost to death’s cold embrace. You buried him in the greatest secrecy with his magnum opus and the gold ring he gave you. Up until that very moment, you had worn it on your finger every day with great care. You cherished it and kept it safe - much like you did with Erik’s heart. Now it was returned to him, in its rightful place on his finger, while your finger would remain bare until the day you died. He would always be your first and only husband, ring or no ring.

Three weeks later, the Epoque published the advertisement: "Erik is dead."

You were on your death bed, surrounded by your loved ones. You had held onto Erik’s final letter for thirty years, though you never opened it. Thirty years is a long time. Why hadn’t you read it? You’d tried to read it many times, but you couldn’t bring yourself to even open the envelope. Did your next of kin think it would be easy for you to spread the news of Erik’s death yourself? Even if he wouldn’t have wanted it, you- you should have stopped him. You asked a loved one if they could read Erik’s letter to you.

They started reading aloud: "My wife. If you are reading this, I must be dead…”

Feeling a pang of sorrow and a sense of moral obligation, someone thought the best thing to do with Erik’s corpse would be to finally reunite him with his bride. Barely anything had survived from the time of the Phantom of the Opera and his reign of terror. So many documents, stage set pieces, costumes, and other antiques had been burned up when the Opera House caught fire. Even after hours or days spent researching in libraries and inspecting the objects that had been salvaged and preserved in museum archives, there wasn’t much to go off of. No one even knew who Erik was until fragments of old records, once believed to have been lost, were uncovered: Old newspaper clippings telling of a ghost haunting the Opera House, a forged wedding certificate, a forced marriage, a tragic love story. It was extremely difficult for your next of kin to locate where he had been buried. You never divulged the secret or wrote it down, wanting to uphold your promise to Erik and take it with you to the grave.

It has been only darkness. All sides are closed in around him, solid, unmoving, and cold. Erik thought he’d be burning in Hell, eternally hanging from the iron tree in his torture chamber surrounded by mirrors until he succumbed to insanity like the fate he had condemned many others to. But instead he’s underground, a living corpse in death just as he was in life. He has no headstone, no epitaph. In accordance with his wishes, his grave has remained unmarked. Erik internalized his appearance as a living corpse and slept in this very coffin in life as he does now in death.

He masqueraded around as an Angel of Music, a Phantom, an Opera Ghost to torment and manipulate all within the Paris Opera House into doing his bidding. Yet, in his final moments, he was afraid to die alone. As he laid dying, he wondered, was there truly nobody in the world who could truly love and understand him? If you had wished for him to suffer even in death, surely you would’ve forgotten about him forever. He just had one last question for you that he never had the courage to ask: What was he to you? Maybe that made him a coward in the end, but he loved you. He still loves you.

Suddenly his coffin is forcibly opened and warm yellow light from oil lanterns shines down on him from above. He has to resist the urge to recoil and shield his empty eye sockets, wanting to turn away and hide from the disturbance. Light doesn’t affect him anymore, but it’s a force of habit leftover from when he was alive. A woman is gently lowered into the ground and laid down beside him. His lungs are long gone and he hasn’t felt the need to breathe in decades, but his absence of breath catches in his throat out of reflex, trying to hold onto something, but the air just passes through his neck bones.

The lid is slammed shut and he’s once more plunged into the familiar darkness he’s grown accustomed to. He can hear the dirt being shoveled back into place over top his coffin. He can hear people talking, reciting both a prayer and a promise to take the secret of where you and the Phantom are buried to the grave. Tears are shed and fall like raindrops onto the dirt. He can hear footsteps become quieter and quieter as they get further and further away, retreating to he knows not where. But he can’t focus on that now because, God help him, your hair is the same color. It’s you. His Angel of Music, his wife!

You’re on your sides, facing each other since there isn’t enough room for you to both lay on your backs. You can't miss the eyeless sockets that you swear glow yellow and pierce the darkness. Your hands are around your knees as you attempt to draw them up, trying to curl yourself into a ball and press yourself as far into your side of the coffin as possible. Erik never thought he’d share his coffin with anyone, so it’s awfully snug and narrow for two adults to fit. There’s such a small amount of space that it’s hardly worth mentioning, but it’s cushy and comfortable enough with the soft pillow and velvet fabric lining the inside. Despite your best efforts to make yourself small, you’re forced to lay halfway on top of him. Your head is resting on his chest, in the crook of his neck and shoulder blade. If Erik could blush, he probably would. He’d never been this close or intimate with you in life; you’d never even shared a marital bed. But he can’t dwell on that now. You’re terrified, just as he was when he had first awoken after death.

He was expecting to burn in the fiery pits of Hell for eternity, subjected to the death traps and torture devices he had built and murdered countless people with when he was alive. But instead he found himself in this soft darkness of nothing, in all of its shadowed velvet embrace, a Purgatory of sorts. For he belongs nowhere else but a gloomy vault bereaved of light such as this, in a coffin like blackness itself. For he is blackness itself, isn’t he? He’s merely existed here for…He can’t remember how long it’s been since he died. Ten years? Fifty? More? He’s grown used to eternity. But you…you’re a fresh corpse, still made of flesh. Your hair is still in place, your cheeks are still powdered with blush, your fingernails are still polished in your favorite color, and your lips are still plump and smeared with your favorite shade of lipstick. They look oh so inviting to kiss.

"It's okay."

Is that really all he can bring himself to say in this moment? Every day since his death he’s dreamed of this exact scenario. You’ve been on his mind for God knows how long and he’s thought about what he’d say to you. But now that it’s finally happened, now that you’re finally here, words are failing him? What’s okay? Nothing that he can think of. Or maybe everything because you’re both dead and together again. He had never been a patient man, and waiting for you was certainly not pleasant, especially since he could never be certain that you’d ever find him again.

Doubt creeped in and tormented Erik as he felt suffocated by his fears and insecurities - that you’d find another man, one much more handsome than he. That you’d start life anew with this other man, have his children, and be buried by his side, while you forgot about your first husband forever and left him to rot, to suffer alone in death as he did in life. Even if you had been a hundred years late to your own wedding, Erik would’ve waited for you to come. False hope seemed better than harsh reality. Really, did any of it matter anymore? You’re here, you came back and are with him at last! His beloved bride!

"It's okay."

You’re scared and right beside him, and he wants to hold you, to comfort you. There are openings in his coffin but they’re very small. Through one of these openings he raises his hands to your face, wanting to console you with his touch, brief yet kind. But you, his faithful and loving wife, his beautiful bride, can’t recognize him and recoil from his touch, believing yourself to have been buried in a common grave in an unfamiliar cemetery next to an unfamiliar man. Erik never thought he’d miss having his face. His face which was not really a face at all but only the semblance of a face no one could bear to look at. His face that cursed him at birth and was so deformed he had to hide it with a mask all his life. In death he got his wish and now looks like any other man but, in this moment, he detests being equal to them.

"Hush, my love. Still your tears. Shh, it's okay, it's me-".

What exactly is that supposed to mean? He’s nothing but bones and the tattered remnants of a stolen suit that’s covered in dirt and maggots. It was much too big on his lithe frame when he was alive, and it nearly swallows him now. He could be anyone. The skeleton beside you could be Raoul de Chagny or Joseph Buquet, for all you know. But to you he is, who? The Phantom, as he had terrorized Moncharmin and Richard, nearly driving them to insanity? The Angel of Music, as he had tutored Christine Daae? No. To you, he is-

"-Erik. It's Erik, your Erik. Just me, still me."

"Erik."

It’s only murmured, rather breathlessly as if your throat is clogged by thick dust and your voice is strained from lack of use.

"Erik."

Spoken with stronger conviction now, and a hint of relief. You did not recognize him by the ugliness of his head, for all men are ugly when they have been dead as long as he, but by the plain gold ring which he wore and which you had certainly slipped on his finger when you buried him in accordance with your promise. It shined in the darkness, a spot of warm color within the pitch blackness, like a beacon of light.

"Erik, you're-"

"I'm dead, I know. Yes, my flesh and hair, what little I had, have fallen away and I'm not much more than a skeleton. A living corpse as I’ve always been. But I have you. It’s not till death do us part, after all. Maybe neither Heaven nor Hell wanted us, or maybe our love has transcended death itself, but I won’t act a fool and waste eternity questioning it. Oh, how I’ve waited for something to happen, for something to change, but every day was the same and blended together into an endless hour. It’s been so unbearably long…but now we’re together again. This eternity is not just yours and it’s not just mine, it’s ours to share, and we may spend it however we like!”

He can hear you crying, and he can’t tell if you’re lamenting your fate or overjoyed by it, still scared of the dark as you had been in life, or if crying just seems like only thing you can do at the moment. Now he’s crying too, but neither of you are capable of shedding actual tears anymore so it’s just dry sobs. His arms are around you, one hand in your hair, brushing your locks.

"I'm dead," you gasp, as though the thought has suddenly just dawned on you.

He knows, he knows. It’s a shock, isn’t it? It’s a shock that’ll take time to get used to, but you’ve done so well so far already. So well. And you have all the time in the world to get used to it, and then some.

"And I'll stay with you, this time forever. I'll not abandon you again. Forgive me for my past selfishness and cowardice. I chose death to escape my fear of living aboveground. I couldn’t find the courage to leave the Opera House. But here in the cold, hard ground with only you, I— You’ll forever be my wife and never again my widow. I love you, and I’ll love you until the end of time, and then some.”

The embalming fluid that was pumped into you will still keep you preserved for a short time. Erik will love you in death as he did in life, even after your body decomposes and the insects eat away at you until you’re just like him and are nothing but bones and baggy, tattered clothes. When that happens, you won’t feel a thing just like he didn’t. Perks of being dead, Erik supposes. He brings your lips together, but he has no lips and one day you won’t either, but even then your kiss will taste just as sweet as it does now. He’s your living corpse and you’re his corpse bride. You’ve never been afraid of the dark so long as you were with your husband, and now you’ll never have reason to fear the dark ever again.

[not-the-phantom-of-the-opera]

Poor, unhappy Erik... ♡

Indeed.

[forwhatiam]

“He had a heart that could have held the entire empire of the world; and, in the end, he had to content himself with a cellar.” -Gaston Leroux, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra

here are the quotes in the image case they're at all difficult to read:

"Poor unhappy Erik! Shall we pity him? Shall we curse him? He asked only to be 'someone,' like everyone else."

"If I am the phantom, it is because man's hatred has made me so. If I am saved it is because your love redeems me."

"Oh, tonight I gave you my soul, and I am dead."

[mortimers-cross]

Phantom of The Opera- No one would Listen

SUCH a shame this song was cut from the film! 

“Poor, unhappy Erik! Shall we pity him? Shall we curse him? He asked only to be 'some one,' like everybody else. But he was too ugly! And he had to hide his genius or use it to play tricks with, when, with an ordinary face, he would have been one of the most distinguished of mankind! He had a heart that could have held the entire empire of the world; and, in the end, he had to content himself with a cellar. Ah, yes, we must needs pity the Opera ghost...” 

[birdstooth]

EXTRA, EXTRA, Red Death Dies of Embarassment!!

Ok so imagine if Christine’s masquerade dress didn’t stand out or everyone was wearing a similar fashion…. (think of that Halloween when everyone and their mom’s dentist’s dog dressed as Harley Quinn)

Plus the fact that dude spends all day in his dark ass sewer cave lair and is prob dazzled by all the lights…

Bonus: Who wore it better? Christine or Bassoonist #3