#alw!phantom

[nerdywriter36]

POTOber Day 26 - "Those Who Speak of What They Know"

is this oneshot incredibly self-indulgent because i have one very specific rarepair in this fandom and i wanted to write it into something? why yes, yes it is, but enjoy nonetheless <3

day 26 prompts - trapdoor/lasso/madame giry

AO3

FFN

Erik sighed to himself and checked the time on his pocket watch as he made his way up to Box Five, actually using the hallways to get up there considering how empty the theatre was. He knew he was late to meet Nadir for their regular chat that they had started having recently, simply to catch up and enjoy each other’s company, and he knew that he would probably hear about it from the Daroga, but they pestered each other so much that it wouldn’t really make much of an impact. Still, he did hate being tardy, no matter where he was going or who he was meeting.

Quickening his pace to not make himself as late as he could be, Erik walked down the box hall and stopped outside the door to Box Five. He frowned a bit when he didn’t hear anything at all from inside; sometimes he could hear his friend humming or moving around inside, but today, there was nothing at all. Not really thinking anything of it, he opened the door and went to step inside, slipping his hat off as he went.

“I’m sorry I’m—” he began, only to freeze where he stood as he took in the sight in front of him; the Daroga was there, yes, but...so was Madame Giry, and Erik was having difficulty processing the fact that her hands were clutching his shirt and his hands were on her waist as they both stared back at him in shock.

“Wh- I- s-sorry, I’ll just-” Erik stuttered, only to quickly shut the door so he could get out of the room and away from the surprised stares of the apparent lovebirds. He didn’t really want to think about what they had been up to before he walked in...or what their plans had been moving forward, and he rubbed his eyes to try and cleanse his brain of the images that it was producing. Oh, how he wished he could just slip his lasso around his neck and make it stop, or have a trapdoor beneath him that could open and drop him back down to his lair. Anything would be better than dwelling on what he had just seen or inevitably having to talk to his friend about it in a moment.

He heard the box door open a moment later followed by the sound of heeled shoes retreating down the hallway, enough to tell him that Madame Giry had walked away, which he had been hoping for; he didn’t think he could look at her for quite some time after that. Steeling himself, he turned around and walked into the box to find his friend standing by the wall, straightening his jacket.

“Explain. Now,” he said in a low tone.

Nadir looked up at him and shrugged. “You didn’t knock.”

“Wh- it’s my box!” Erik exclaimed. “I came up here for a chat with you, not to walk in on you with your hands all over the ballet mistress!”

“That was not what that was,” Nadir said with a quiet laugh.

“That’s what it looked like!”

“It was a kiss, Erik, relax. And before you ask, no, this hasn’t been going on long, and no, we weren’t intending to go any further in here. Now, sit down and tell me how your lessons with Mademoiselle Daaé have been going.”

Erik stared at the back of his friend’s head, his jaw slack, as Nadir sat down in one of the two chairs in the box, simply waiting for the Phantom to join him. “So I have to tell you about my personal affairs, but that doesn’t go both ways?”

“Have you not heard of ‘don't kiss and tell’?” Nadir inquired.

“Given that I’ve never been kissed, no, I can’t say I’m very familiar with the phrase,” Erik replied, forcing himself to walk over and sit beside his friend. “Can I at least get some kind of explanation so that I can remember not to just walk into any room at all in this opera house now?”

“Yes, yes, alright. Perhaps it’ll help you figure out how romances work,” Nadir said with a teasing laugh.

“Like I would take pointers from you.”

“You could get advice from worse places, to be honest.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s true. That aside, let’s hear it. Tell me about your lady friend, Daroga.”

[nerdywriter36]

POTOber Day 2 - "The Level of Your Eyes"

day 2 prompts: garrote/choking/gagged

here's the oneshot for day 2! struggled a little with this one, so i hope it came out okay haha. enjoy!

AO3

FFN

A promise broken yet again. He seemed to be quite the expert in that area. Betraying people that mattered to him, that is. First Christine, his dear Christine, and now Nadir, his only friend in the world as well.

Erik rubbed at his eyes, his fingers coming away damp from the tears that had been pooling, then set his hand against his forehead with a sigh. His grand illusion, his alter ego, the Phantom, had finally been brought to his knees. The Garnier burned, he was forced from his home (if one could even call it that), and now, he lay on a pathetic excuse for a bed in a dark hovel tucked away in a backstreet of Paris.

He had paid a pretty penny to get a room on his own, though he suspected his threatening demeanour would have been enough to convince the owner of the dump he was in to leave him be. Either way, he just needed a place to lay low before he could make a proper escape. Not being able to hide meant getting caught, and getting caught meant his inevitable execution, but he was set on evading death yet again.

He hadn't gotten much sleep, as much as he wished he could just forget everything that had happened that night, but closing his eyes brought it all back; strangling Piangi, dragging Christine down to his lair, practically choking the young Vicomte to death while he forced Christine to make a choice that no one should ever have to make. His shame all came flooding back if he thought about it too hard.

He hadn't even flinched when he'd thrown and tightened his garroting wire around Piangi's neck. Hardly broke a sweat. He had treated it like something so mundane, so routine, as he'd felt the twitching stop and grabbed the tenor's cloak to run onstage and join Christine in their duet. It was like nothing he had ever said about killing people, killing the innocent, mattered anymore.

Buquet, he could justify. That man had snooped around too much for his own good, yes, but he had preyed too much on the young, innocent ballerinas too much for Erik to allow. They may have irritated him with their giggling and gossip, but they didn't deserve to be ogled and harassed the way they were around that man, he had earned his demise. Piangi, on the other hand...he had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Nadir had made him promise not to kill again after he left Persia. How could he possibly hope to explain this, what had happened? He couldn't even be sure that he could sneak down to the Rue de Rivoli and be welcomed into his friend's home. Perhaps he wouldn't even be allowed to consider Nadir a friend anymore.

And Christine. His darling Christine. He had betrayed her in the most spectacular way; he would never be worthy of her love, her affections, her concern. He had ruined that, but he hadn't even hesitated. He had gripped that wire around those men's necks just as tightly as he ever would, no matter what was at stake. Even the love of the only woman he had ever loved in his entire life.

Fresh tears filled his eyes and he rolled over to bury his face in his pillow to hide from his own shame, choking out a sob as he began to entertain the idea of slipping the garroting wire around his own neck. Why not end it all? He'd betrayed the only two people who might have mourned his death; now that he'd lost them, what would it matter if he was gone? No one would even notice.

[princeofconjurers]

((All the Eriks think Winslow Leach is very strange. But sometimes, when none of the other Eriks are in the lair, Merik will secretly let him in and they will sing his Faust song very loudly because that is Merik's guilty pleasure.))

[princeofconjurers]

Imagine Me, Trying too Hard to Put You From My Mind | Closed

It had been three weeks since that night. Three weeks since Christine had revealed his horrid face on the stage of the Opera, for the whole theatre to see, knowing who it was. Three weeks since he brought her back down to his lair, and made her choose once and for all what she wanted. Three weeks since she had kissed him, since he had let her go. At least, that was how long Erik thought it had been. It was hard to tell in the cellars of the Opera house. No, he was sure. He had counted each passing hours, each minute, each second on the one clock in his house, his only way of knowing the passing of time in that dark lair. He had vanished from his house for about a week, but after that time had passed and all of Paris was certain that he was no longer anywhere near the Opera house, he snuck back down into his home, and hasn’t seen another living soul since that night.

Erik was playing his organ, as his music was the only thing that would make the pain in his chest not hurt as much. Make him not feel so empty. Sometimes, when he plays, he would swear he could still hear her angelic voice. He knew that was impossible, though. She had left him behind. Abandoned him to go live happily ever after with her precious Vicomte lover. She was probably as far away from Paris, from him, as she could get. Her last words to him were a complete lie. God give me courage to show you, you are not alone. But he is alone, and he’ll always be alone. She said he wasn’t alone, and yet she left him the moment she got the chance. He was completely and utterly alone. Erik realized that he had stopped playing while getting lost in his thoughts, and his elbows fell onto the keys of the instrument in a loud cacophony of notes as he covered his face with his hands, letting a small sob escape his lips. Damn it, why did it have to hurt so much?!

As he sat there in silence for a moment, he became aware of another presence in the room. He froze, wondering how long they had been standing there without his knowledge. He composed himself again, then turned abruptly to look at them, panicking for a moment about being found out and trying to remember where he had put his Punjab Lasso so that he could silence them before they could give him away, when the knowledge of who it was standing before him had fully sunk in. Christine.

[princeofconjurers]

God Give Me Courage to Show You, You Are Not Alone | Closed

Erik felt his Angel press her lips against his in a kiss that was at first gentle, reassuring, comforting, but then it changed to one of passion. Almost… Desire. He was in such a state of shock at the kiss that his mind had momentarily stopped working and he forgot how to make his lips move to return it, but soon he recovered enough to return the kiss with as much passion as her. The Vicomte stood there, the lasso around his neck, staring at them with wide, pain-filled eyes. Did this mean… Did she choose him? She chose to stay with him? He was so happy, over-joyed and he felt tears streaming uncontrollably down his face. But for once, they weren’t tears of pain and sadness. They were tears of joy. Pure and utter joy. So much so that he momentarily forgot the mob closing in to kill him.

But then he heard them. They were getting closer. Time was running out, and soon they may all end up dead from the angry mob. He could hear them now, and they may not even have a chance to realize that they could hurt Christine or Raoul in the process of trying to get him. Who knows, maybe they would not even care. After all, they had already risked her life by having her perform in his Opera, didn’t they? At least according to them? Erik, of course, would never hurt his Angel, but they didn’t know that. They thought he was a raving mad, merciless killer with no guilt or remorse. And, well, he was, but not to Christine. To Christine he was just a man in love, like any other, desperate to have her love him back arguably to the point of insanity.

He had to get his Angel and himself out of there before it was too late. The Vicomte occurred to him as an afterthought. He said he’d release him if she agreed to stay with him… He should probably do that before the boy strangles himself in his attempt to get out of the lasso’s grasp. “Forgive me for this, Christine…” He said to her before he walked to the Vicomte, hitting him over the head with the stand of one of his candles to knock him out before burning the rope that bound him so that he would not be strangled. The boy would be fine, he was just unconscious. They couldn’t have him seeing where the escaped from and going after them. “Don’t worry about your Vicomte; he’ll be fine. But we must go now or they will find us.” He said as he reached out to grab her hand, pulling her to one of the many secret passages in his home, leading to the outside world and fleeing from the Opera house.

[princeofconjurers]

The Angel of Music | ALW!Phantom | With WanderingDaae (continued on Tumblr)

Erik was glad when she said that she will be able to handle the lessons being everyday, but he knew that he would still have to keep an eye on her. To make sure he doesn’t work her too hard, for he didn’t want her to not do as well with her duties in the Opera house. He didn’t want anyone to suspect anything. He’ll continue as he has been doing for a while longer, and if he finds it necessary, he’ll make sure their lessons aren’t as long, or maybe even change it to every other day if absolutely necessary. She’ll be disappointed (she seemed to really enjoy his lessons!), but he hopes she’ll understand. He watched as Christine looked around the room as she spoke, almost as if she were expecting to see his image hiding somewhere in the shadows. He frowned slightly at that. He wished she would stop looking. He wished she would realize that this is what’s best for her, and for him, even though neither enjoyed not being in the same room, always separated by a wall of glass, with Erik wishing he could hold her in his arms and Christine just wanting to see the face of her angel. What she didn’t know was that she really didn’t want to see her ‘angel’s’ face. Nevertheless, he smiled at her words. No, thank you. It means so much to me just to get to talk with you… More than you can ever know. He thought. “You’re welcome, Christine." He replied. Teaching her was the single best part of his day. The thought of her precious voice was the only thing keeping him going, the only reason he even wants to wake up in the morning. The sound of her voice was always running through his head. She gave his life meaning, gave him a purpose; teaching his beloved angel how to soar on the wings of melody. Listen to him! He’s fallen blindly, madly in love with this girl, and he’s old enough to be her father! If only she knew… She would be disgusted by him, in so many ways. She could never think of him that way, he knew, but indulging himself in this little fantasy of his was too tempting to resist. He’s always been one to live in a fantasy world to hide from the cruelties of reality. But, one day, reality will destroy his dream. It is inevitable, but he’ll enjoy this while it lasts.

[princeofconjurers2]

((Besides the ones I just mentioned, are there any other Phantoms you phans suggest I check out? Of the ALW musical, I mean...))

[princeofconjurers2]

Who's the better Phantom?

John Owen Jones

Hugh Panaro

Ramin Karimloo

Michael Crawford

Colm Wilkinson

Peter Jöback

Earl Carpenter