#and whizzer just ends up kissing him half way through

[faggotthatwilldie]

Whizzer and Marvin would totally do that corny thing where they slow dance to music on the radio in their living room while trying not to laugh, I don’t make the rules, sorry buster.

[kurtstinypurse]

for the prompt meme thing: 18. celebrity!au + 9. strangers to lovers + “i’m rambling again, aren’t i?” pretty pls. for the rambling of it all and us etc

so this is way longer than that prompt post had in mind, but. I needed to give this the length it (and you) deserved!!

-

Kurt shouldn’t be checking his Instagram comments, and he knows it.

In fact, he makes a point not to, usually, because he knows what he’ll find - a sea of half-assed compliments and ass-kissing that, as nice as they are, all run together, and a scattering of rude remarks that will inevitably stick out to him and ruin his day.

And so he doesn’t check them, simple as that.

Well - until now, apparently, and he isn’t even really sure why he’s doing it as he opens the app, goes to his own page, clicks his most recent post.

Maybe he’s a masochist looking for reasons to feel insecure and beat himself up, or maybe he’s a narcissist and looking for an ego boost, or maybe he’s bored, or maybe it’s the fact that he’s home alone on a Friday night, two glasses of wine deep - but that part of it is pretty much business as usual.

But regardless, there he sits, scrolling through the comments on his latest picture - a snapshot of a model wearing his newly finished suit, floral and understated, a design he’s content with every stitch of.

As to be expected, the comments run together. There’s a lot of them these days, a larger following than he ever expected to get, back when he was an up-and-coming designer.

He’s not so up-and-coming anymore, though.

He’s established, made a name for himself and kept it, a big name, actually, becoming one of the most sought-after designers to create custom suits for events in New York - and, ironically enough, for most events in the Broadway world, for premieres and awards shows and the like.

It’s a small connection to the very world he once thought he’d be immersed in, but at the end of the day, he’s happy with what he has.

Kurt is scrolling, and he’s scrolling, and then- he pauses.

A blue verified check mark sticks out to him next to one username, and so he stops to read the comment, finding a name he recognizes, one he hadn’t expected to see.

blaineanderson ✔️ this is incredible! your designs are always great, but this one really captured me. fingers crossed I can wear one of your pieces one of these days!

Oh.

It’s interesting, actually, that Blaine hasn’t worn one of Kurt’s pieces before.

Kurt’s been aware of Blaine for a while now, vaguely tracking his progression from a stand-out off-Broadway to an understudy on Broadway to, finally, a full-fledged lead role.

He’s a hot topic, having been labeled as one to watch more than once, and Kurt knows Blaine attends the events and premieres Kurt often designs for, but they just...never crossed paths.

Or apparently they had, and Kurt’s just been missing it.

He blinks, and he reads the comment again, and he takes a long drag of wine, and he swallows, and he blinks, and he reads it again.

He realizes he’s smiling, down at his phone all alone in his apartment, no one to see it, no real reason to be doing it.

There’s no real reason why he clicks on Blaine’s profile, either, and there’s definitely no reason to explain why he clicks to follow Blaine, but if that wasn’t enough -

He clicks again, and he pushes away all room for logical thought, and he composes a message.

kurthummel: hi! this is really random, but I thought your comment on my post was really sweet, plus if you meant it, I’d love to design for you. anyways, just thought I’d say hello and thank you.

He presses his phone onto the couch cushion beside him, and he drains the rest of his wine, and he goes into the kitchen to refill his glass, and when he’s back - there’s a message there waiting for him already, much to his surprise.

blaineanderson: hey, kurt! this message was really exciting to see! I’ve actually been following your work for a long time now, and...wow. do YOU mean it? I’m not sure I’m worthy of wearing one of your designs, but at the very least, I’m so glad you said hi!

Blaine’s gracious, and he’s sweet, and Kurt already knows he’s handsome, and-

Kurt has had far too much wine.

And he has been single for far too long.

But Blaine… In a single comment and a single message, Blaine has managed to make Kurt feel more special than he’s felt in a long time, and he’s not sure why.

It’s probably the wine.

The wine is also why he writes back again - and another time, too.

kurthummel: of course I meant it! and why wouldn’t you be worthy? I actually happened to see the falsettos revival on opening night, and yours might be my favorite interpretation I’ve seen. I’m a big fan of the show, of course, and being such a lover of broadway, too… I’ve seen quite a few boots at this point, but your whizzer might have tugged at my heart the most. and your voice!

And your eyes, and your face, and your smile.

Shit.

The wine, the wine, the wine.

kurthummel: sorry, I’m rambling...

He wants to apologize for a lot more than that, but he manages to stop himself.

blaineanderson: no need to apologize! I...wow. again. you’re so kind, and it means even more because you’re so talented, too. your visions for your designs are just so thoughtful and original, especially that last one, and so I’m sure your ear is just as well-tuned so…yeah. wow. now I’m the rambling one! anyways, whizzer quickly became such a personal role for me, and I’m so happy to hear that shines through even a little bit. 

And they kind of go from there.

They keep complimenting each other for a while - there’s probably a ridiculous amount of compliments traded, actually, but they’re both doing it, and it feels like a creative exchange, almost, on topic and essentially business-related. It’s meant to be a precursor to business, actually, hopefully culminating in a project for Kurt and an attention-grabbing, show-stopping outfit for Blaine.

But then they just...keep talking, about their careers and how they like the city, about how they got to the city and where they were prior, about the songs they like and the shows they’ve seen and the movies they’d managed to miss.

It turns out they have a lot in common.

They keep talking, as Kurt finishes off his bottle of wine, as he moves to the bedroom and crawls under his sheets, burrowing into the pillows and blankets with no light but his phone screen illuminating the dark room.

At some point, he realizes he’s smiling, and he’s been smiling, to the point where his cheeks hurt, actually, but he just kind of lets himself.

Just for tonight.

-

But then it’s the next morning, and Kurt wakes up to a message from Blaine, and the conversation continues, direct messages scattered through the morning, during Kurt’s commute to the office, at work when he has the chance to sneak a moment on his phone.

And he finds himself looking for those moments to sneak a read of a message or a reply to one, kind of whenever he can.

Which is exactly what he’s doing when his boss, Isabelle, pokes her head into his office.

“Why are you smiling at your phone?” she wants to know, raising a curious, knowing eyebrow when Kurt shoots his head up to look at her, phone clattering onto his desk. “A new guy?”

“There’s- There’s no guy,” he stammers, because there isn’t, at least not the way she means, and he’s not sure why his face is getting hot.

Blaine is nice, and Kurt is nice back. That’s all it is, really - it’s nice to have someone new to talk to, to get to know, especially when they’re so- well, nice.

Isabelle hums like she doesn’t believe him, and Kurt suddenly isn’t completely convinced he believes himself.

Blaine posts a new picture of himself on Instagram that night, a classy shot from behind as he watches the sun set over the city from a tall skyscraper’s balcony, and if Kurt falls asleep thinking about the narrow lines of Blaine’s waist and the way his ass looks in those pants, well.

Kurt’s only human, after all.

-

He’s not sure when things start to change, exactly.

He can’t pinpoint the moment, but their conversations go from friendly and sweet to something more - deeper, first, a gentle delve into Blaine’s complicated family, a brief conversation about Kurt’s mom and his stepbrother, and then just- just more.

He’s sitting at his desk at work, poking at his salad with his fork and grinning at a silly picture Blaine sent him when he realizes - he feels light, and he feels giddy, almost, and he feels towards Blaine a sort of way he thought he couldn’t feel, not anymore.

But he’s feeling it, and he’s been feeling it, and he realizes, too, that he just kind of knows Blaine feels the same way.

It’s in Blaine’s messages, and it’s in the compliments that reappear when Kurt least expects it, and it’s in the emojis he uses, and it’s just-

It’s everywhere, and Kurt sits there, and he blinks, and he blinks, and he chews thoughtfully for a moment, and he decides, yeah.

He’s not going to question it.

It’s that night that Blaine asks for his phone number, and it feels like a step, and Kurt can’t help but wonder if maybe Blaine’s going to ask him out for coffee or for dinner or for drinks - they live in the same city, after all, and they know a ton of the same people and essentially run in the same circles, and it would be so easy, so easy to just take another step forward and make this real.

Kurt should be scared of that - and in the past, he would be, with a string of brief failed relationships and over three years of being fully single in recent history. He has no reason to think - well, anything.

But he’s just...not scared.

He’s cooking dinner when his phone vibrates, and he reaches for it with his free hand, expecting to find some sort of question or invitation, but instead he finds-

A video.

Unknown Number: Hey, you. It’s Blaine. I know I haven’t told you about this, but it’s only because I haven’t really told anyone about it. But besides just singing on stage, I like to try my hand at arranging my own songs, too, and I felt like sharing this one with you. xx

The attached video is just about three minutes long, and it’s of Blaine on his couch, dressed down in a sweater that screams cozy, and he has a guitar in his lap, and he smiles shyly at the camera before starting to play and to sing.

It’s an upbeat sort of song, and Blaine sings about being a king, about thinking he has it all worked out but figuring out he’s wrong, about his kingdom falling apart but being okay, about being foolish and unexpectedly falling in love.

Kurt knows it’s not for him - he isn’t stupid.

But his heart is stupid, and it’s racing in his chest, and his mouth is stupid, too, because he can’t force away his grin, and his hands are worst of all, because when the song is over, he presses to replay it, and then he replays it again.

And then he picks up his phone, and he types.

From Kurt: Blaine, that was… I don’t know what to say! The lyrics were so clever, and you’re so wonderful at guitar, and you know how I feel about your voice. I listened to it a few times, honestly, and I already want to listen to it again. Sorry, I’m rambling again, too, aren’t I? I...guess I tend to feel kind of foolish around you, actually.

From Blaine: It’s funny, I wrote this song almost a year ago with nothing to apply it to. But it’s starting to make more sense, I think. Or maybe I’m foolish, too.

From Blaine: Besides, I love to listen to you ramble.

Kurt breathes out shakily, and he blinks, and he reads the message again, and he blinks, and he smiles.

He doesn’t hesitate, and he knows he won’t regret it.

From Kurt: Are you free tomorrow night?

Blaine’s reply is near instant.

From Blaine: For you? Anytime.

-

It’s only been a week, Kurt realizes the next night as he fusses over his hair in the mirror, picks an invisible string of a thread from his vest.

A mere week since he messaged Blaine, a mere week since Blaine messaged back, and yet-

It feels like so much longer, so much more than that.

Blaine has agreed to meet Kurt at a cozy, low-lit cafe a few blocks away, one of Kurt’s favorite spots that’s coincidentally one of Blaine’s favorites, too.

It’s funny, really, how connected they’ve always been, even when they didn’t know each other yet.

Kurt isn’t used to not wanting to cancel at least a little bit. On every first date he’s been on in the past handful of years, he’s had to practically force himself out the door, force himself to try, already knowing nothing will come of it.

But now, he has to force himself not to leave for the restaurant too early.

Of course, time moves forward as it inevitably does, and it comes time, and so Kurt heads out, and he walks down the street with a rush in his chest, pulling his jacket close around himself, ready.

A breath catches in his throat as he sees Blaine waiting outside the restaurant, rocking slightly up and down on the balls of his feet in an impossibly endearing nervous motion, a bouquet of colorful flowers in his hand.

Kurt can tell the very moment Blaine sees him, too, eyes locking with Kurt still about a block away, and Blaine positively beams, radiant and happy and beautiful, and wow, Kurt made him do that.

Once he gets close enough to say hello, close enough to see all of the colors and the softness and the warmth in Blaine’s eyes, close enough to touch, Kurt is pretty much done for.

He isn’t the type to kiss on the first date, particularly not before actually having the date, but he’s not the type to pay so much attention to his Instagram comments or send someone a direct message out of the blue, either.

As he pulls Blaine close and presses their lips together, Kurt finds he’s never been happier to surprise himself.

-

(A handful of months later, Blaine wears a Hummel Designs original to the premiere of the Waitress revival, an adaptation of the very suit he commented on the picture of - with Kurt on his arm, too, there to stay.)

[kuraagins]

My highlights from falsettos UK

Please scroll past if you’re going to watch the show and don’t want spoilers!! Also feel free to ask if you have any other questions about his production <3

-Trina is is four jews instead of Jason!!! We see her get married to Marvin and they use the veil as baby Jason

-The ‘slavery’ is Trina being pregnant/going into labour

-When Jason comes on at the end of the song Whizzer gives him a piggy back and it’s so pure

-“When I put the steak in” Oliver literally thrust against Daniel from behind

-They were so snarky and flirty with each other I loved it

-overall there were more Whizzvin kisses throughout the show than both broadway productions, which obviously I LOVED

-the tango break in thrill of first love was about half the length and was more dancey, they kind of dipped each other but it wasn’t anything overly extravagant

-They had a VERY passionate kiss at the end of the song gay rights

-Daniel gave us anxious Marvin rights, in Marvin at the psychiatrist he was like hugging his knees to his chest and speaking all soft about Whizzer

-THEY KEPT IN “its queer mr Marvin!” which is honestly one of my favourite jokes in the show

-Elliott’s ‘my fathers a homo’ was HILARIOUS he came on doing this really camp dance and it honestly had the whole audience in stitches that kid could ACT

-Laura’s ‘I’m breaking down’ was PERFECT, her voice is literally incredible and she perfectly captured Trina’s despair despite keeping the song hilarious

-like one of the choruses she just hummed the lyrics while drinking straight from a bottle of wine

-I cannot praise this woman enough she is the perfect Trina

-Jason and Mendel dancing in Jason’s therapy was adorable as usual

-I loved Joel as Mendel in the marriage proposal

-He was so awkward and Trina was so confused it was so funny yet so so sweet

-A personal highlight was him starting to cry when he said “don’t start to cry” and Trina immediately being like “I’m... not crying?”

-At the end of Tight Knit Family (reprise) Jason is stood in between Marvin and Mendel and Trina comes on and protectively takes him off stage

-Trina’s song was SO beautiful it moved me to tears

-She was in her pyjamas and was basically getting into bed while she sang, but Laura just looked so sad and desperate it broke my heart

-Which lead us perfectly into march of the falsettos! In this production it was staged as Trina having a nightmare; Jason crawls out from under the bed and the men walk on in really stiff, creepy movements and torment her

-The song had to be pre recorded because the men had on these REALLY creepy smile masks covering their actual mouths

-Also on “asses bared my delight” MENDEL is the one who says it I think because on that line he bends Trina over and basically shows her ass to the audience

-during the chess game Marvin was drinking the whole way through, and you could see him drinking more quicker as he was getting more and more frustrated

-there was no love in this version, Marvin is patronising and mean towards Whizzer, who doesn’t want to take any of his shit

-when Whizzer wins Marvin basically goes around and slams/hits a bunch of furniture and he looked really apologetic immediately afterwards, until Whizzer sang the “Whizzer’s supposed to make the dinner” section of the song, and he got PISSED and packed Whizzer’s suitcase on stage while they sang and then threw it at him.

-Marvin hits Trina had me SOBBING

-When Whizzer says he doesn’t love Marvin you can SEE him get all tense and angry as he paces between all of the characters before the anger comes out in a burst as he hits Trina

-basically when the hit happened he got real close to her and she had her back to the audience as he slapped her face. Mendel pushed Marvin away and Jason called out for his mother and hugged her with Mendel.

-Daniel boys had these WONDERFUL moments of vulnerability with Marvin. After the hit he looked so shaky and small, and he was breathlessly trying to apologise but he was almost scared of himself

-One of my favourite moments in the show was during the “he’s mine” section of I never wanted to love you. Marvin is trying to talk to Jason but Trina is holding him so protectively as if she doesn’t want Marvin anywhere near him.

-Father to son was beautifully simple. Minimal lighting with Marvin and Jason sitting cross legged on the floor. They hug and Marvin kisses his head as act one ends

-this version of welcome to falsettoland was EVERYTHING

-When the Reagans are mentioned they’re projected on the picture frames around the stage and Whizzer looks so disgusted

-THEN the lesbians come on stage covering their faces with signs saying “sodomy is sin”, but when they’re introduced they turn the signs around and they say “Love is love” !!!!!!

-also the lesbians got the HUGEST applause, as they deserve

-the ‘congregate in Central Park’ line now refers to them congregating for a protest march!!! The other characters have ‘no nukes’ signs

-There was the CUTEST ad lib between Jason and Mendel in the Everyone Hates His Parents dance break (which was iconic by the way

-it basically went

Mendel: “they should put this in a musical, we’re good!”

Jason: “Which one?”

Mendel: “I don’t know, I’m tired”

-I adored the restaging if what more can I say

-Basically Whizzer was falling asleep while reading on a chair, and Marvin is being all soft and adoring, and he takes Whizzer’s glasses off for him and takes the book off his lap and make sure he gets to bed, it’s so domestic and adorable it melted my heart

-Charlotte And Cordelia’s chemistry throughout was PERFECT

-at the end of more racquetball, when Whizzer collapses he ad-libbed like “Marvin I’m fine, I’m fine!” But Marvin was so concerned and worried about his boyfriend and immediately rushes to his side and holds him.

-Then theres the sound of ambulances and the lights on stage dim and the projection portraits flash and a voice over says ‘Dr Charlotte to emergency’ and a projection of a heart monitor appears above Whizzer and beeping can be heard, it’s all a really nice touch and really sets panic in you for Whizzer

-Laura’s holding to the ground was beautiful, as anticipated, and as she sang they set up the hospital and got Whizzer into bed, Charlotte and Marvin fussing over him. It was a subtle but really nice scene.

-In days like this Marvin gets Whizzer this ridiculous cartoon ‘get well soon’ card and Whizzer looks so disgusted by it but Marvin puts it up anyway

-cancelling the bar mitzvah was another one that made me cry, Elliott was crying real tears, which made Laura start crying, and they were hugging each other so tightly and his voice was muffled because of this, and they just had this perfect, believable mother/son dynamic

-during something bad is happening (reprise) Jason is the only other person on stage which COULD be interpreted as Charlotte telling Jason what’s going on with both Whizzer and his dad :’(((((((

-I loved Ollie’s take on you gotta die sometime. Instead of belting at the end he was so quiet he was barely audible, and he’s so weak and hunched over before Jason comes in and he tries to look strong for him.

-At the end of the bar mitzvah Jason stands on the table and sings his Hebrew (Mendel hands him the Torah but jason doesn’t take it as he knows the words by heart :’) ) and he holds his hands out to Whizzer, and Whizzer tries to take it but he collapses and the tight knit family surround him and try to help him and Jason says in this tiny, heartbreaking voice “Whizzer! No, I want to help!”

-In What would I do Whizzer is still alive and in his hospital bed and at the end of the song the heart monitor projection goes flat as the tight knit family surround a sobbing Marvin

-Mendel sings falsettoland (reprise) and blows out a candle lit during the bar mitzvah

-also at the end the cast (in costume) are projected onto one of the photo frames and it’s so beautiful

-anyway I love this show if you can please go and see it!!!!

[poeticallyunkind]

A Marriage Proposal - Chardelia

[side note: this is a repost of a story i’ve already published because, like the idiot that i am, i accidentally deleted the original post that this oneshot was under :( sorry for the confusion!]

By the time Cordelia takes the chicken out of the oven, her kitchen looks something like a hurricane. Pots and pans are strewn about the unkempt counter space, left unclean as the blonde rushes from one dish to the next. She runs through her messy checklist for the umpteenth time. Roasted chicken? Check. Charlotte's favorite soup? Check. Red wine, which she may or may not have found in the clearance section? Check. Fancy candles, white tablecloth, and the fine china she'd "borrowed" from her mother's house? Check, check, check.

Sighing, she takes in her hard work. The dining room looks even better than she'd expected. Elegant music flows through the radio, filling the apartment with a symphony of violins and gentle notes. Their table is decked in porcelain serving platters and crystalline wine glasses— the best she could find. In the center stands a candelabra, its light flickering softly in contrast to the darkened walls. She'd even gone as far as to deck the counter space with roses from their local florist.

After checking once more that everything is set, the caterer allows herself a moment to sit and breathe. It briefly calms the nerves tugging at her stomach, but one look at the clock on the wall confirms that Charlotte will be home any time now. In a matter of minutes, she'll give what just might be the biggest, most life-changing speech ever: a proposal to the woman she's madly in love with. No pressure, right?

Wrong.

Cordelia produces a small velvet box from her pocket. A glance at the ring she'd purchased nearly a week ago makes her heart pump with excitement. Admittedly, she'd had quite a bit of trouble finding something at the jewelry store to fit her tiny budget. She ended up with perhaps the most basic engagement ring possible: a sterling silver band that holds a diamond roughly the size of a pebble. The salesperson (who would occasionally throw the blonde a disgusted glance, as if horrified that a woman was going to propose to another woman) had described it as budget-friendly, but Cordelia figures that was the polite way of saying "perfect for people with shitty salaries". She had almost feared that Charlotte would reject her because of the gemstone, but Cordelia knew in her heart that her doctor would never be so materialistic and vain.

A smile creeps onto the caterer's lips as she thinks of her partner of three years. There's not a single doubt in her mind that Charlotte's the woman she wants to spend the rest of her life with. Sure, not everything in their relationship is perfect, but she adores her doctor and couldn't imagine a life without her. Her intelligence, her smile, her loyalty and maturity, the way she looks at Cordelia as though she's a goddess... Charlotte is breathtaking in every sense of the word. Despite her nervousness, Cordelia knows that she's about to make the best decision of her life.

Just then, a subtle click of the doorknob fills the cramped apartment. Cordelia quickly crams the box back into her pocket, taking a moment to smooth out her blue blouse. As the door opens, she's blessed with the sight of her beautiful soon-to-be fiancé, who runs a hand through her hair and offers a tired grin.

Unable to wipe the anxious smile off her face, Cordelia coos a greeting. "Charlotte, baby! You're finally home!"

"'Delia, how are y—" the doctor falters, her eyes slowly trailing to the candlelit dining table. "Oh, what's all this?"

"Surprise! This is all for you!"

Charlotte raises an eyebrow. "It's not already my birthday, is it? And Valentine's day was two months ago, and our anniversary isn't for—"

"Sheesh, can't a woman do something nice for her girlfriend without any particular reason?" Cordelia interrupts, heart beating a tad faster than what's considered normal.

Before the brunette can respond, she leads her into the dining room and pulls out a chair, gesturing for Charlotte to take a seat. In the dim candlelight, her partner looks positively radiant.

"Honey, you really didn't have to go through all of this effort," Charlotte says, looking a little bewildered she sits. "You already work your ass off cooking at work, the last thing I'd want you to do is wear yourself out trying to do the same thing at home for me."

Cordelia scoffs. "Oh, shush. It was really nothing. And besides, my favorite girl deserves the best."

Okay, perhaps "nothing" is a bit of a lie, but the exhausted look on Charlotte's face suggests that the last thing she needs to hear about is the grueling time Cordelia spent on this surprise.

Hand on her hip, she leans down to give Charlotte a kiss on the cheek. It isn't until after they've pulled apart and Cordelia has already waltzed into the kitchen that the doctor speaks again.

"...Is that matzo ball soup that I'm smelling?"

Giggling, Cordelia steps back into the room with two plates of food. She sets one on either side of the table and sits across from her partner. "Yep! I made your favorites— matzo ball soup, roasted chicken and veggies, even bought some red wine. Also, there's cookies that I baked with my family's secret recipe!"

"That must've taken forever..." Charlotte trails off, gazing at her dinner with a wide range of emotions. "I really don't deserve you, 'Delia."

"Hey, don't talk like that. We're in this together, sweetheart. I deserve you and you deserve me!"

"Sure, but I still—"

Cordelia interrupts once more. "No 'buts'! We deserve each other, and that's final. Now tell me, is the food good?"

Normally, it isn't. The caterer isn't necessarily the greatest chef of all time, and more often than not her meals are considerably less than great. Sure, her food was edible... but not much more could be said about her cooking.

Maybe a homemade dinner wasn't the best idea for this, she thinks, growing more nervous by the second. Everything has to go perfectly tonight! Shit, what if she says no to my proposal because of how bad my cooking is?

Tentatively, Charlotte takes a bite of chicken. Cordelia half expects her to spit it out when she isn't looking, but surprisingly, the doctor's features light up. "Honey, this is delicious. You made this?"

Cordelia has to resist the urge to break into a happy dance, choosing instead to beam. "I did! I made it all by myself!"

"I'm proud of you, 'Delia. This is absolutely perfect— no, you're perfect."

At that moment, Cordelia becomes uncomfortably aware of the small box's presence in her pocket. Her throat goes dry. Her nerves are telling her to simply take it out and get the proposal over with, but something deep within her forbids it. She needs the perfect moment, the perfect opportunity to confess her undying devotion to the woman in front of her.

In other words, she'll need to wait a little longer to get things moving.

The couple eats in relative calm for the next several minutes, occasionally exchanging bits of small talk between bites. They talk of Charlotte's day at work, of how things are going at the catering business, of their friends— anything to keep the conversation alive. All the while, Cordelia plasters a nervous smile on her face and keeps a hand tucked firmly on her jeans.

"How's Marvin?" Cordelia asks, the topic now settled on the lives of their mutual friends. Marvin is Charlotte's closest friend, but lord knows Cordelia doesn't get to hear enough about him. "I haven't heard from the poor guy in a while."

"Oh, he's... adjusting," Charlotte offers. "I try to talk to him on my lunch breaks as often as I can. All things considered, I guess he's doing well enough."

"Poor thing. It can't be easy, living a situation like that. Suddenly coming to terms with your sexuality, having to go through with a divorce..." Cordelia shudders, the word divorce leaving an unpleasant taste on her tongue.

"I think he's lonely. He's had time to cope with everything and make amends with the people in his life, but what I think he needs is to start getting out more, experiencing things with people."

"We could always invite him over for dinner," Cordelia muses. "Or, hell, I could grab Whizzer and force them to finally meet."

Charlotte huffs out a laugh, making Cordelia's heart flutter with glee. "Now that's an idea. Putting the two most different men in the world in the same room."

"Oh, come on, they're not that different! They're both gay, for starters. Both of them like to, uh, y'know..." Cordelia wracks her brain for any similarities between her best friend and Marvin, and comes up with nothing of substance. "Okay, maybe you're right."

They both share a laugh, and soon enough their plates have been cleared. The radio drones on, filling the apartment with gentle music. The candles have nearly gone out, and the bottle of wine has long since been drained of its contents.

Charlotte rises from her seat, gently pulling in Cordelia for a hug. The two take a moment to simply be with one another, wordless as their fingers intertwine.

"Thank you again for dinner, 'Delia." Charlotte presses a kiss to Cordelia's hand. "It was phenomenal."

"Well, thank you for not hating my surprise. You're phenomenal." Cordelia grins. "I'm really lucky to have you in my life, Char."

"I'm the lucky one."

They reluctantly break from their embrace, and a glance at the clock tells Cordelia that it's growing later and later by the second. Charlotte stands in front of her, her gorgeous features shadowed by the dying candlelight. The scent of roses wafts throughout the room.

A deep breath. Then another. She allows her gaze to fall on the woman she's absolutely crazy for, who in return smiles sweetly. Another breath, and the nervousness practically melts away from her body. Somehow, she knows that she's ready to make the biggest decision of her life.

In other words, it's time.

"...Char, wanna play a game?" she quips, hand moving instinctively to her pocket.

Charlotte's face scrunches up in confusion, a deep contrast to the smile she'd had only seconds ago. "What?"

"A game," Cordelia teases. "Y'know, something you play with—"

"I know what a game is, you dork. What kind of game?"

"Well, just close your eyes and I'll explain the rules."

Her partner gives her a strange look. "Why... would I need to do that?"

"You'll see," is all Cordelia says.

Charlotte scoffs at the cryptic wording, but indeed shuts her eyes. "Alright, eyes are closed. Now what the hell are you talking about?"

"Well, the game has to be played between two people who are madly in love with each other." Cordelia swipes the box from her pocket, fidgeting with the velvet.

"Go on..." Charlotte encourages, completely oblivious to what's happening before her.

The caterer props herself on one knee, breathing deeply once more. "And one of these players has to buy a ring, right? But not just any old ring. Because this ring represents the commitment, passion, and love between both players, and connects them for life."

Charlotte becomes visibly nervous, her voice edging somewhere between hopeful and scared. Her eyes remain closed. "Cordelia, are you...?"

"And the person with the ring loves the other player dearly, and desperately wants to spend the rest of her life with her. The other player is her better half, and she knows that. The other player makes her happier than words can tell, and god, the person with the ring hopes that she makes her feel the same."

Cordelia swears she can see Charlotte starting to tear up, and she'd be lying if she said that her own eyes weren't doing the same.

She continues. "So, basically, the game goes like this. The player with the ring gets on one knee, just like this..."

Charlotte finally opens her eyes, taking Cordelia's outstretched hand and producing a watery smile.

"Tells the other player just how much she means to her..."

Cordelia squeezes Charlotte's hand.

"And asks the question of a lifetime."

Charlotte keeps her soft gaze locked firmly on the woman pouring her heart out beneath her. "God, Cordelia..." she trails off.

"Will you marry me, Charlotte?"

Before Cordelia can even stand, she's swept into a long, passionate kiss. The box falls to the floor as she combs her fingers through Charlotte's hair. The world around her falls to meaningless pieces; her fiancé is the only thing that matters. She takes it all in— the wonderful sensation of Charlotte's lips on her own, the tantalizing scent of her perfume, the way the doctor's hand cups her cheek— and knows what Charlotte can't seem to convey in her own words.

Yes, she'll marry her.

[poughkeepsies]

haPpy birThDay mOm

Here, @letsgobethegoodguys, have this horribly written and paced garbage fire as a gift.

_________________________________

“Only you, man.”

“Wha’?” The arm draping over his still slightly feverish skin lifted, revealing the sweaty, unshaven face of Sam Winchester beneath. 

“This is literally the first year for as long as I can remember that nothing is actively trying to eat us on your birthday. And what do you do? Catch the flu. I swear it’s almost like you don’t want to eat the cake I slaved over for you.” 

“If it follows any of the same health guidelines as that ‘Elvis’ burger you’ve been trying to get me to eat, then I’m sure I don’t,” he followed, sitting up with a grunt. “And this isn’t even that bad, we can still do whatever it was you had planned.” 

The words, coupled with the sight of his little brother looking like a character straight out of The Walking Dead, made him crack a grin. It was unreasonably adorable of his brother to have the muscle coordination of a puppet with its strings cut and still be so eager to do whatever Dean wanted, a fact that he will forever take to his grave. 

The poor bastard hadn’t even lasted a day after their last hunt last week, one that Dean himself had planned to be their last until after Sam’s birthday. With the seemingly never-ending string of trouble that followed them around, this was the first year where everything seemed to have finally settled down. Jody, Donna, and the girls were fine, Cas was fine, and there were no exceptionally evil forces waiting on the horizon. Even Mom was back, even if she was spending her second chance at life seemingly everywhere but with them. They hadn’t had a chance like this to just shut everything down and celebrate for years now, and Dean would be damned if he let it go to waste. 

Or that was the plan until Sam got the flu out of nowhere and Dean spent the rest of the week playing worried nursemaid with his half-conscious brother.  

“Yeah, no. You’re not getting out of that bed for anything other than your whizzer until I’ve personally cleared you. I’m Dr. Sexy M.d. now.” 

“I never want to hear those words come out of your mouth in that order or otherwise ever again, or so help me God I will bring Amara back and have her kill both of us.”

It was funny, how his brother could go from adorable and eager to an annoying pain the ass in the span of a second. “Dude, for the last time, delirious and bitchy is not a good look on you. Or anyone, for that matter.” 

“I’m gonna pass out so I don’t have to stay in this conversation. Wake me up when it’s time for us to go.” 

That was not happening. Even if Sam could hold up a conversation, that didn’t mean he was ready for the night out Dean had planned. Bars and girls were the extents of Dean’s experience with anything resembling a party, but right now, that would be enough to throw Sam back in bed for another week. 

On second thought, Sam probably wouldn’t even enjoy those things anyway. Sure, Dean liked to prod and pretend, but he was well aware of how his and his brother’s definitions of “fun” differed. 

In a fit of inspiration, he hurried to get out the door. 

“Yeah, not happening. Goodnight, bitch.” 

Neither the pillow nor the closing of the door could mute the exasperated “jerk” that sounded in his wake.  

Two hours, and one and a half trips to the store (“How did I forget the milk?! I only went to the store in the first place to get the milk! Son of a-”) later, Dean pried open the bunker door, only to find the sleeping, suspiciously clean, and well-dressed form of his brother waiting below in the War Room. He cursed softly and hurried down the stairs, immediately knowing the idiot’s well intentions. It took a single echo of his step on the War Room floor to jolt Sam awake so fast, he only just managed not to fall out of his chair. 

“-wake, I’m awake!” he claimed, sounding the exact opposite. Dean huffed, settling the bags down on the floor and making his way toward his brother.

“Oh good, then you can explain why you’re still trying to go rogue.” 

“De’, you know you’re not actually a doctor, right? You just watch one on TV.” The mix of his congested nose and clearly still sore throat did nothing for the stubborn air he was aiming for. 

“Well, you don’t even do that, so you don’t get to talk. Now go on,” he emphasized with a nudge to stand and a gentle shove toward the bedrooms, “Go put on something comfortable and pick a movie, we’re dining in tonight.” 

The moment Sam nodded his disgruntled acquiescence and started walking back, he was already scrambling to the kitchen to prepare. 

Twenty minutes later found Sam and Dean Winchester both half-sitting, half-laying down on Sam’s bed, plates of homemade chocolate cake in hand and looking the picture of annoyed-contentment. 

“It’s your turn.” 

“Nope.” 

“It’s your turn. You and I both know it is your turn.”

“Oh no, last time was my turn, which is why I got up and then had to watch The Princess Bride for the thousandth time, and now by law, you have to get up and put on what I want.” 

“Who made this law?”

“Whoever made up the idea of turns, how the hell am I supposed to know?”

“Oh my bad, you act like such a know-it-all all the time I just assumed.” 

“Just for that, we’re watching Forensic Files reruns next.”

“Alright, Samantha, no need to rub in your weird serial killer fetish.” 

Getting up with an unintelligible grumble, Dean made his way to the tv stand and put in the DVD from Sam’s old collection. They probably could have been using Netflix this entire time, everything seemed to be on there these days, but it was a fit of nostalgia that prompted them to go searching through the old collection, movies and tv shows that they’d acquired over the years and watched together hundreds of times as their form of downtime. Each of these disks held a rare memory of almost perfect normalcy, of more often than not two brothers almost sprawled over each other and bickering meaninglessly. 

Turning back, it was clear that no matter what Sam kept insisting, he was still sick and tiring out fast. It was only a few minutes after the show started and Dean settled back in his spot when Sam’s head dipped tiredly into the dip of his shoulder. Moving with earned ease, Dean instinctually slipped his arm behind his brothers back, turning him even more toward himself and settling back against the headboard, content to be used as a pillow for the rest of the night. He pressed a dry kiss to his brother’s scalp, whispering a soft “Happy birthday. Goodnight, Bitch” into the shaggy hair. 

This time, there was no reply. 

(And no hunts for another week either. What, was Dean supposed to somehow magically take care of his brother and not get sick himself? Heck off.)

[idjitavenger]

Everything to Me - Whizzvin

Marvin x Whizzer

Warnings: Character death, grieving, implied smut, kissing, break up

Summary: The lives of Marvin and Whizzer were complicated and messy, but one thing was for sure. They loved each other.

A/N: I always cry after I listen to the ending of Falsettos, why did I do this to myself? This is just a bunch of sadness wrapped in a pretty bow.

Marvin listened to sound of Whizzer’s heart beating inside his beautiful body, it soothed everything that was running around in his head. He loved the man sleeping under him, he truly did, but the problem was that he wasn’t sure Whizzer felt the same way. His fingertips grazed the hair growing on Whizzer’s chest lightly. Marvin had to do this, he had to make sure his heart didn’t get broken again. The bandages Whizzer had used to mend the shards of his heart seemed to be fading and falling apart.

“Marv,” Whizzer mumbled sleepily, stretching out his arms before wrapping them back around Marvin’s torso. “Why are you still awake?”

“I can’t sleep,” Marvin looked up at Whizzer who was gazing with half lidded eyes back at him. He pecked Whizzer’s lips, smiling along with the stylish man. “Go back to sleep, Whiz. I’ll be okay.”

Whizzer nuzzled his head into the pillow to get back to his comfortable position. Marvin waited until his head moved up and down with his boyfriend’s even breaths before he let the salty water fall freely from his eyes. He hid his face in Whizzer’s chest, soaking the tan skin with his tears. In the morning, he would pack everything Whizzer owned and find the right time to tell him what they have is over.

-

Whizzer was never good at chess. He did not have the brain for the game, his knowledge more wired to that of style. Marvin, on the other hand, was very well the best chess player Whizzer knew. He could get checkmate in his sleep if he wanted to. Whizzer wanted to try, for Marvin and Jason’s sakes, but he just could not understand the complicated game for his life.

“That’s the king, treat him nice,” Marvin spoke as he pointed out the chess piece. “Use some brains; now protect him.”

“Yes, I know,” Whizzer rolled his eyes and looked over the board. He slowly reached for a chess piece. “Here I go... please, don’t watch me. I can do it!”

“Have a little scotch,” Marvin offered, reaching to the side for Whizzer’s glass cup. Whizzer choose to move his knight although once it was in place, he was immediate to regret that decision. “Do you want my help?”

“No, I don’t. I can think it through myself,” Whizzer insisted, moving the knight back to its origin.

“We’ve seen the worst,” Marvin watched the nose on Whizzer’s face scrunch up in frustration. “Move a pawn.”

“No,” Whizzer shook his head. He had to think for himself, he did not need Marvin’s help. His brown eyes moved to Marvin who was pointing out a square on the board. Sighing heavily, Whizzer moved one of his pawns to that exact spot.

“Good first move,” Marvin complimented. He put his head on his hands and thought of his own move.

“Quite alright. Take a turn,” Whizzer leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.

“Thank you kindly,” Marvin smiled slightly at the man in front of him.

“Move a pawn,” Whizzer mocked Marvin’s voice. He chuckled as Marvin shot him a glare (playful or not, Whizzer was not sure). Whizzer held his hand out to Marvin who gladly took it. He guided Marvin’s hand to a pawn and moved it. Marvin leaned forward to kiss Whizzer, but the latter pushed him away. “Play the game.”

Marvin waved his hand at Whizzer to tell him to take his turn. Whizzer tried, he truly did, but chess was not how he thought. It was too complicated, too many moves and choices.

“Let me win,” Whizzer tested, pouting his lip and using puppy dog eyes for his favor. “Please.”

“Yes,” Marvin was caught in his own little world of Whizzer Brown’s perfectly constructed face that he did not hear the man he observed intently.

“Thanks!” Whizzer’s tone lightened to one of joy. He moved the pieces quickly, Marvin joining in. The king on Marvin’s side was in the hand of Whizzer before Marvin knew what happened. Marvin did not know how to react. He pushed his chair out and went to the bedroom.

His mind finally caught up with his feet once his hand wrapped around the suitcase handle. He could hear Whizzer yelling his name from the living room. There was no turning back.

-

Whizzer walked toward the field, his heart racing. It had been two years since he’d seen anyone. He was too heart broken and just could not find the right way to march back into their lives. His arms crossed above his chest, the family he had not seen in a long time sitting on the bleachers next to him.

“What are you doing here?” Trina questioned, looking over the man next to her.

“Jason asked me to come. Since he asked me to come, I came,” Whizzer explained, his eyes landing on the shoes of the man he missed the most. The woman who he had yet to meet suddenly yelled out and stood up, knocking Whizzer out of his trance. “I love baseball, I love Jason. That’s what I’m doing here.”

Whizzer introduced himself to the two woman, his smile bright on his face. The brightness of his lie of happiness. He finally looked at Marvin and his heart stopped. Marvin was still as handsome as ever. It was not fair, why did Marvin have to have this effect on him?

“Is he still queer?” Whizzer whispered, sliding into the open spot next to Trina.

“I don’t know,” Trina sounded exasperated. Whizzer could not blame her, he was asking about her ex-husband.

“Sit in front of me,” Marvin, with a sudden burst of courage, spoke up. He was never this forward, what had changed those two years?

Whizzer moved to sit in front of Marvin. Being this close to the man he fell for was like heaven and hell came to crush his heart together. Without warning, fingertips touched the back of his head. Of course it was Marvin. Whizzer would have said something if Jason was not on deck.

“Hey Jason,” Whizzer exclaimed, holding his hand out for the child to hit.

“Oh, hi, Whizzer! Glad you came!” Jason smiled widely, his hands gripping the bat.

“May I?” Whizzer held his hand out for the bat and Jason placed it in his hands. He got into the stance of a baseball player. “Keep your head in the box, don’t think of a thing, your eye on the ball. Take a breath, then let it out. And swing! Okay, go get ‘em.”

Whizzer jogged back to the bleachers, slowing down at the sight of Marvin. He never got over their break up and, truly, he did not want to. Marvin held a special place in his heart that could not be erased.

“Whizzer?” Marvin jumped down from his spot on the bleachers, standing next to his ex-lover.

“Marvin?” Whizzer looked back at him and studied the face he missed.

“Think there’s any hope for the kid?” Marvin wanted to hear Whizzer’s voice. He missed everything about that man.

“I love Jason, but there’s no hope for him,” Whizzer and Marvin laughed, the sound quite melodic to the other’s ears. “Jason! You gotta stand a little closer to the plate!”

“He’s gonna get hit by the ball,” Marvin complained, hitting Whizzer’s shoulder lightly. He shifted on his feet and nervously messed with his hands. “Would it be possible to see you, or to kiss you, or to give you a call.”

“Anything’s possible,” Whizzer smiled lovingly at Marvin. The sound of a bat connecting with a ball interrupted the conversation between former lovers. Everyone shot up, holding onto their partners. Jason was too in shock to move.

“Run!”

-

Marvin fumbled quickly for his keys, glancing over at Whizzer as if to make sure he was real. He could not help but laugh at the sigh of relief that left Whizzer’s perfect mouth once Marvin unlocked the door. He missed that man so much, too much that even the entire dictionary is not enough to describe what he felt those two years. Marvin kicked the door closed behind him, his hands already pulling off the leather jacket Whizzer was wearing. Staring into the other’s eyes, Marvin and Whizzer took off their shoes and socks, tossing the items somewhere to the side. It did not matter where, the only thing that mattered in that moment was each other.

“I missed you,” Whizzer mentioned, unzipping the jacket Marvin wore to the baseball game. “I might not have known it then, but I do love you.”

“I love you too,” Marvin relished in the moment. He had been waiting for those words for two years and now that he had them, there was no way he was going to let them go.

“Why did you have to wear so many layers?” Whizzer complained, unbuttoning Marvin’s deep purple shirt.

“Just shut up and kiss me,” Marvin laughed, messing with the buttons on Whizzer’s own light pink shirt.

Whizzer was quick to comply to what Marvin asked, slamming his lips against Marvin’s. It was full of teeth and seemed inexperienced, but they had waited too long to not go in swinging.

-

Something bad was happening. Whizzer’s clothes did not fit anymore, his breath came out short and heavy. His body felt like it was on fire with each swing at the ball, each move he made. Marvin was worried. He never won at racquetball and yet there he was, winning against Whizzer pretty badly.

“No big deal, the game is yours,” Whizzer heaved out, his hand splayed across his chest. His heart was beating like a madman who just left the asylum.

“It’s unreal, you’re a quitter!” Marvin exclaimed, his eyes wide in disbelief. Whizzer was definitely the most competitive person he knew.

“I can’t go on anymore,” Whizzer mumbled, ashamed in himself for giving up so easily.

“Try to be a decent loser,” Marvin shook his head with a bright smile, patting Whizzer’s shoulder.

“Excuse me? I’m ready to go!” Whizzer glared at his lover, the racquet slipping from his loose grip. He went to grab it, but his balance was too weak to let him stand. “I’m ready...”

Marvin scrambled to the ground, his hands flying to Whizzer’s face. He rubbed his thumb over the tan skin. No matter if Marvin tried, he could not hide the fact that he was freaking out.

“I’m sorry,” Whizzer whispered, tears flooding his eyes like rain overflowing a river.

-

Marvin was right by Whizzer’s side when he died. It was in the early hours of the morning when everyone had fallen asleep except for Marvin. He couldn’t let sleep take care of his exhausted body. Whizzer was losing his shine by the second and it was now only a matter of when Whizzer was going to die.

“I love you,” Marvin mumbled, resting his head softly on Whizzer’s chest. He could hear the faint beat of a heart through the skin and loose shirt Marvin got from their home. “I can’t like without you. Please don’t leave me. Please.”

No matter how many times Marvin pleaded, Whizzer began to slip into darkness. In the early hours of the morning, with his unlikely lover hugging him tightly, Whizzer Brown passed away.

[louthegreatfurrry]

Stardust

A Megamind commission for the absolutely wonderful @justafictionalthing !

Do you want to commission me? My information is here!

Every single person was once a star.

Every single soul, every living creature – they were all cut from stars. The Guardian walks among them, these glowing sparks and dots, carefully picking out the ones who are ready to be given life. He carves souls from them – sometimes only one, sometimes two, sometimes more. A star dies, and souls are born.

Souls of the same star are perfect for each other. In every way, shape or form, no matter where they go, no matter what they do, they will never be complete without the other. They were created together, are several sides of the same coin, and even if they can’t remember that, some part of them will always know.

The souls are sent off to live lives all throughout the world. As family, as friends, as lovers, as pets. And they always find each other, no matter where they end up – for that is the power of the purest form of love.

The process might be boring, at times, and then they seek out the Guardian to ask for a challenge. A test, a way to see how fast and well they truly can find each other.

And now the three of them stand, so close they are almost one, the essence that is them staring up into gentle eyes.

“A test, you say?” the Guardian asks, lowering himself down to be on their level. There are galaxies in his eyes, stars brushed across his antlers, planets in his fur. “What kind are we talking about?”

“The hardest you have,” they say.

“The ultimate challenge,” another adds.

The Guardian leans back, tilting his head to give them a contemplative look. “You will not be in the same universe,” he warns. “And will not recall this occasion, nor your birth.”

“We will find each other,” they say.

They nod. “We always have.”

This, apparently, is the answer the Guardian wanted, for he hums and nods. “Very well. Say your goodbyes.”

“Farewell,” they say. “Survive long for me.”

They laugh. “And the same to you. Live well.”

“As though I can decide,” they say, and they smile.

“Nonetheless.” They smile back, then turns to the Guardian, moving away from them, from each other, until they are three clear separates and not one blur. “We are ready.”

The Guardian inclines his head and does not raise it. “Safe travels,” he says, and on his voice is the distant heartbeat of a different world.

*

Something is missing. Cat is five years old and something is missing. There’s a piece of her, gone, an empty hole where there should be something. No one mentions anything like it, but no one mentions anything different, either, and so she bottles it up and pushes it down.

She thinks it’s normal.

*

Cirrus is torn from his planet when he’s eight days old, is torn from his family, from his budding life, and when he has nightmares about black holes at four, he doesn’t think it’s anything out of the ordinary.

*

The ache grows worse as she grows older. She’s ten, eleven, twelve, watching her classmates and friends finding partners, finding best friends – and when she’s thirteen her older friend travels across half the world to meet their boyfriend. Cat watches, and she isn’t jealous, not really, but – the hole, the ache, it thuds and hurts and screams inside of her.

Then she’s fourteen, and she’s being teased for not having a boyfriend – or a girlfriend, for that matter, an exasperated friend tells her. You’re pretty, they say, sounding confused, what’s holding you back?

Cat opens her mouth, wants to reply, and shuts it again.

How can she explain that the thought of tying herself to someone feels like ripping her own heart out?

*

When he’s twelve he changes his name to Megamind. It’s a play on the bullies – on their harsh calls of mega head, or giga head, and painful remarks about his skin.

(if he embraces it and makes it part of him maybe they’ll stop maybe he’ll stop, maybe maybe maybe)

His name was never written down anywhere and so there’s nothing he needs to change. No official papers, no lawyers or courts or meetings, only a small whisper to Minion and it’s done. Never had he told anyone, never had anyone known, and now no one ever shall.

But there’s something in his heart that stays the same. Some deep part of him is locked down and unable to change. He knows – he knows – he’ll always be Cirrus, that’s never going to change. His true name, the one his parents gave him, the one only one person on this wreck of a planet knows… it’s always going to be his.

His name is Megamind. That’s what they call him, so that’s what he’s going to be.

(and through it all – he never mentions it, not to anyone, but there’s this hollow feeling in his chest – it eases, somewhat, in Minion’s presence, but never enough, never enough, and his sleep is restless and scattered with stars and black holes.)

*

Cat is in class one moment, and they’re watching a video about space –

there’s a glint, a shimmer, and in a rush she’s floating, complete, and there are stars around her and she’s complete, the ache in her chest gone, stars and darkness and safety all around her. A soft laugh, a gentle hand, the glimmer of too huge antlers, and –

someone touches her arm and she falls out of her chair, the floor cold and hard.

She lies there, staring up at the roof, and the spots dancing before her eyes has nothing to do with her fall.

(she’d been complete –)

(and she aches and aches and aches and)

*

Megamind – Cirrus – Megamind runs away from prison for the first time, having found a perfect place to settle down, and he brings Minion and goes there and tries his best to live. At the odd hours of night, he jumps out of bed and beats metal with metal, producing strange creations – robots and machines and guns.

(his heart is empty his body is empty and there’s nothing within him and he needs to fill it)

He’s seventeen when he builds the first brainbot. “Purely out of necessity,” he tells Minion, who hovers worriedly over his shoulder. “To cover more ground,” he assures Minion, and doesn’t explain why he made it sentient, why he made it feel.

(and if the brainbot, and every single brainbot after that, fills the hole – if only for a moment, if only for a day, if only until it adjusts and grows and –)

(he doesn’t mention that.)

*

Cat delves into space. Maybe, she thinks, maybe it’s just that this is her love. Maybe this is what she’s been looking for, maybe this is what will complete her, maybe this is her.

Books and articles and tv-shows and drawings and art and theories and all it does to her is make her feel nostalgic. It makes her long, and more than once she finds herself brushing knuckles across a page, across a screen, biting her cheek against the infected ache within her.

(and sometimes when she dreams, when she dreams of this place in the stars, where she is complete, where she is perfect)

(when she wakes up there’s always this short moment where everything feels wrong)

(it’s like she must teach herself to walk all over again every single time she blinks)

Sometimes there are other dreams as well. Of faces and hands and butterfly kisses, of parental and familial touches and more than that, of eyes and smirks and a happy laughter. Sometimes she sees a face on the street and spins around, an echo of completion in her chest, but the eyes are wrong or the nose is off or the hair is strange and the echo fades.

She’s nineteen, she’s lost, and she needs, she needs.

*

Megamind – Cirrus – Megamind is fretting over his brainbots. Whizzer had gotten in quite the fight the other day, and his claws are unhinged as a result. Megamind has to fix it, but Whizzer’s whirring around and complaining in his own special way, refusing to cooperate.

“Hey – hey, wait now – ” Megamind says, jumping over the couch to go after him. There’s amusement in his voice and a smile on his face – it’s just the claw, not the glass casing, so he isn’t too worried. It’s nothing fatal, and if it had been, Whizzer would be asking to be fixed. Still, he’d like to readjust it before it can develop into something worse. “Whizzer! Wait!” He laughs, grasping after the unruly bot.

He lets out a row of guffawing chuckles, ducking from Megamind’s grasp with a playful bowg.

“Angel, please!” Megamind calls, and in a flash he’s chasing a young girl wearing a nightgown around a room, laughter in his throat and hands reached after her. “Angel!” he begs, jumping over a box with wooden blocks to follow after the giggling girl. “Angel, come on, it’s bed time!”

“No!” the girl cries, in-between bouts of giggles, and her hair floats around her head like a cloud. “No, da, I want to play!”

And Megamind stands stock still in his workspace, wrench clattering to the floor, the chill of the room overwhelming.

He raises a hand to his chest. The ever-present ache twinges.

His heart beats.

“Sir?” says Minion, creeping closer, eyes worried, expression worried, everything worried.

Megamind breathes.

(the ache eases, loosens, Minion’s presence soothing as always –)

(painful, still, but better.)

“I’m fine,” he lies.

(he never is)

Whizzer hovers over, presenting his damaged claw without comment.

Megamind picks up the wrench again, forcing a wobbly smile onto his face. “Well,” he says. “Let’s see about that claw, then?”

*

She tries dating people. Mostly because she sees the way people look at each other, the way they look at another person with utter trust and devotion, love and understanding and such obvious belonging. She wants that, needs it, but every person feels wrong, and none ever work out, no matter what she tries.

(she looks up at the stars and they’re so far away, and she isn’t sure who they are)

She’s twenty-two and she looks down at her own hands and decides that enough is enough.

*

The flashes and experiences continue on like that – a word, a smell, a color, a sound – they set him off and make him remember things that never happened or have yet to exist. He’s a child, he’s an adult, he’s in love, he’s loved, he’s warm and safe and home and trusted and good and –

*

Cat takes to the library first, picking up books on love and soulmates and spirituality. The librarian who checks her out gives her a weird look, but when she offers a glare that could melt stone they hurriedly look away.

Several hours are spent scourging the books. And there’s nothing.

Well, almost nothing – a small paragraph here, a reference there, a mention or call or theory. Most of it is about spirituality, and while it can’t be directly tied to her longing for something, for someone, it can still be applied to her in some way. There’s a mention of soulmates being unable to find each other and that it causes them great pain, but not much more than that.

Cat closes the book in frustration and takes to the internet.

*

“Minion?” Megamind says, from his place in his too-big bed, staring up at the roof he’d plastered full of glow-in-the-dark stars one particularly nasty night.

Minion looks up from the sewing machine in the corner. “Sir?”

Megamind thinks of the ache in his ribs, the longing in his bones, the hope that never quite dies. He thinks of the want, of the hatred, of the desperation.

He thinks of the black hole constantly on his mind.

“Do you ever miss home?” he asks.

It isn’t what he wanted to say.

Minion stops completely. “Uh, well, sir,” he says, “I – don’t have the same memory as you, but – ” He hesitates. “Sir, my home is here with you. It’s all I’ve ever known. But from your stories – what little we know – ” Here he cuts himself off, and Megamind knows him well enough to tell that he struggles.

“That’s enough, Minion,” he whispers. “I understand.”

He turns onto his side, curling against himself, folding into a tight little ball.

(he will never feel at home here.)

*

There is more information on the web, but still not quite enough. Cat clicks and reads and reads and clicks, takes notes in a little notepad she keeps on her at all times. There are a few accounts and stories of people who never feel at ease, of people who feel wrong, of people who feel they are from a different world.

Cat is all of them, but not like they say, and never in the same way.

She discovers witchcraft, and it calls out to her in that peculiar way some things do, but it has nothing to do with her ache nor her emptiness nor the strange flashes and dreams. So she continues on, searching, scourging, looking.

A page talks about shared dreams, and it’s the only thing she’s really felt connected to, in that sense. And so, she brews that cup of tea, and buys that herb, and makes that oil, and does that little ritual, and tries that type of meditation.

And to her great relief and joy it works.

*

They’re discovered by the local police and have to run for their lives. It’s Megamind and Minion and twelve brainbots bolting with whatever they’re able to carry. The place had been perfect, just the right size, in a great spot when compared to the rest of the city… they’d even made the air-condition work after some grumbles and tinkering.

“Well,” says Megamind, his hands on his hips as he stares at the abandoned warehouse, Minion carrying a heap of clothing so tall he can barely see. “It was time to move upwards in the system anyway!”

It’s a good thing he’s always found fun in creative processes.

(he hopes trying to make a home count as a creative process)

*

The dreams aren’t – quite dreams. In the beginning there are no scenes, nothing specific, only short flashes and impressions and feelings that linger. Softness, warmth, belonging – blue and purple and something cool to the touch. Home and safe and the same feeling she’s always felt about space, about belonging. Cat wonders where her soulmate is, what they might be experiencing, if they’re looking for her.

Sometimes in the middle of the day she puts her chin in her hands and wishes for sleep – not to rest, like she usually does, but for the dreams. And even then, less for the dreams and more for the lingering sensation of home.

*

Megamind’s new place takes form slowly but surely. He builds a few more brainbots, Minion sews a few more capes and outfits, and with the help of his growing army of bots he starts painting the walls. They’re black and gray – he prefers the dim calm that settles over a room when the walls are dark colors.

He gets a smaller bed, but comfier, and Minion settles into the room across the hallway. And then, eventually, even his mind calms. His dreams turn from black holes to patience and warmth – no pictures, no scenes, only emotions and senses and half-finished thoughts squashed in between heartbeats.

When he wakes he’s calm. He’s collected. Ready to start the day.

(and he doesn’t notice it, at first, but moving has soothed his aches.)

(well. at least he thinks it’s the moving.)

*

But, however comforting the dreams are, it’s not what Cat wants. She set out to find her soulmate, or soulmates, or whatever, really. She needs to know who it is that makes her feel like this – who it is she’d follow to the depths of hell. She needs to know why they’re so familiar, why these flashbacks that aren’t quite flashbacks keep turning up.

So she looks into lucid dreaming. Records her dreams, starts reading up on dream interpretations. Hangs up posters and looks at courses and reads books, going to bed early and waking even earlier just to find sleep.

Her dreams are too vague, still, to really get a grasp around – but finally, at last, they start to shape forms.

There’s a man, and green eyes, and a blue sky, and a wonderful, beautiful laugh. Blue hands against metal bolts, black silk and dolled up eyes, a theatrically evil laugh.

Cat wakes up and stares at her ceiling.

His presence in her dreams is familiar – it carries the echo of stars, the throb of a heart, the whisper of  a shared past.

And he definitely had blue hands.

“Who are you?” she asks, and the silence in her room gives no answer.

*

When the strange girl starts showing up in his dreams, Megamind isn’t quite sure what to do. She comes out of the heavy, homely haze like some sort of angel – with her pretty voice and her joyous laugh, her quiet grumbling over something that appears to be work-related, the way her hair tumbles down her back, her eyes ablaze with stars.

He shrugs it off. It’s probably just his imagination again – a particularly intense flashback that keeps coming back, most likely. He’s learned to live with them, accepted that they come every now and then and found that the best course of action is to ignore and move around them. But now they’re becoming… disruptive. Distracting. He finds his thoughts wandering to those eyes, to that smile, to that sarcastic remark more and more often. His hands still on his work, his voice halts mid-sentence, eyes flickering to things that aren’t there.

Minion notices. Of course he does. But he says nothing, because that’s the way he is. He changes in small ways, talks more, does more, buys more donuts. Megamind rarely has to ask for anything nowadays – it’s all done as soon as he can think of it.

Megamind supposes it’s because he’s worried for him. And perhaps he should be worried about himself, as well, but – well, he isn’t. How can he be worried, when the outcome is so decidedly positive?

*

And finally, Cat’s dreams become solid enough for her to start manipulating them. She twists, until the man she keeps seeing is standing beneath the stars, turns, until they’re on a hill, morphs and moves and keeps spinning things around to see him more clearly. At first it doesn’t seem like he notices his surroundings – he only sits there, or stands, staring at the sky or the hill. Cat is content to watch him, at first – at the way the stars play across his neck, the slope of his shoulders, the shades and colors of his skin.

Her content-ness doesn’t last forever, though, and during the fourth dream Cat steps forward and touches a hand to his shoulder –

and he turns, eyes meeting hers, and he sees.

*

It takes some time, but the hazy dream landscape slowly takes form into a hill, or a cliff of some sort – and the stars are spread across the sky, too close to be Earth, too far away to be his planet. He admires them, for some time, and while they are stars and this is space it doesn’t bring on that twisted echo of pain he’s always felt at the thought of planets and moons and light-sucking holes.

He wonders where the flashes went, where the woman he saw has gone, if she truly was only a figment of his imagination. Has he been to this place before, he ponders, and if not why does he remember it so clearly? Why – oh, why – does it feel so familiar?

And then there’s a hand on his shoulder.

*

Their eyes meet and Cat –

*

Megamind –

*

breathes, yet can’t breathe, memories flooding on and stopping at the same time, heart –

*

hesitating –

*

then ploughing on, the blood in her veins –

*

in his veins –

*

turning to fire, to ice, to molten lava, and –

*

he opens his mouth –

*

he opens his mouth –

*

and –

*

speaks.

*

The next morning Megamind takes a paintbrush to the black walls. When he leaves the stars are painted on them, the heavens, the hill, and her.

*

She doesn’t remember it all when she wakes up.

“My name is – Megamind,” he’d said.

(and he’d hesitated, had stopped, a flicker of something across his features, and Cat wonders what his real name is.)

He told her he liked the stars, asked where they were. When she’d replied that she didn’t know, he only hummed and nodded. “Perhaps we’ll figure it out,” he’d said, and Cat had taken his hand.

Now she’s awake, sitting bolt upright in her bed and staring at her wall.

She has to find him. How hard can it be? He’s a blue alien man – things like that aren’t exactly common, right?

Forty-seven minutes later she tips her head back and downs the rest of her by-now cold coffee. As it turns out, it’s not only uncommon, it doesn’t happen at all. There’s nothing on him. Nothing. It’s as though he’s never existed. But the clothes he’d worn were modern enough – he can’t have existed so far back in time that he’s been forgotten. But how can she dream of someone who is yet to be?

She can’t.

Has all her research been for naught? Is he not her soulmate, but only – well, a figment of her imagination? Truly?

But the feeling of – completion, of safety – it had been there.

It’s him.

*

Megamind goes to Minion the next day. “Minion,” he says, “what do you know of souls?”

And Minion gives him one of the looks that says he knows exactly what’s going on. Megamind smiles sheepishly and offers an almost-shrug. “Why didn’t you say anything, sir?” Minion asks. “I would have done something.”

“Like what?” Megamind says, crossing his arms with a raised eyebrow. He can’t quite help his small smile, though. “Celebrated?”

“Yes,” Minion says. “Who are they?”

“I… don’t know,” Megamind admits. “I didn’t get to ask her name.”

Minion hums, turning back to the frying pan with a pleased smile. “It will come in time, sir. Just you wait and see!”

*

Cat stretches across the couch, yawning as she pushes herself up. She’s just finished watching the movie Paul, the bowls with chips and fruit pastilles empty on the table before her. Reaching after the remote she turns off the DVD player, getting ready to clear out the bowls and go to bed.

The screen goes black for half a moment, then it jumps over to the channel she’d been watching before turning on the movie.

She’s half-way into the kitchen when her brain catches up to her ears. “ – genuinely scared right now! Oh, I hope no one’s seeing this!”

The bowls clatter to the floor.

Cat spins, staring at the screen.

And it’s him. A bit cartoonish, admittedly, but adorable and green eyed and blue.

“Megamind,” she whispers, and she’s back in the couch before she’s consciously aware of it herself.

*

The next night Megamind is grabbed by the shoulders almost before he can fall asleep, a frantic her in his arms, speaking a hundred miles per second. “Wait, wait,” he begs, brushing a hand through her hair, gently trying to pry her away to stare into her eyes. “Could you repeat that?”

“You didn’t tell me you’re a super villain,” she says, and Megamind’s heart freezes. Then she hesitates, tilting her head to look at the stars above them, clear as ever. “…were a supervillain?”

He swallows, and he doesn’t want to lie, but it’s such a deep ingrained part of him that the words fall out of his mouth before he can stop them. “Why do you think that?”

She looks down at him, and their gazes lock –

(and she’s everything everything everything)

He barely notices when their fingers intertwine.

“We are from different universes,” she says, and she says it so bluntly that he can’t help but believe her. “You’re a fictional character.”

Megamind blinks. “I’m a what?”

Her hands tighten around his, and she tugs him closer, closer, and he can barely breathe, he hasn’t felt this whole since – since –

“A fictional character,” she whispers, “you are – a supervillain in Metrocity but you turn good – and are welcomed with open arms – ” She breaks off, tilts her head only slightly, and they’re so close. “And Deus, you look so much better in person!”

It startles a chuckle out of him. “You think I look good?”

“Are you kidding me? You’re the most attractive man I’ve ever met.” She laughs, too, quiet and dark. She tucks her head under his chin and brings their joined hands to his chest, pressing the back of her hand against his shirt. “Can’t you feel it?” she whispers. “This – thing between us…”

Perhaps she can feel his heart quiver. There’s something heavy in the air between them, something shuddering in apprehension. “I do,” he replies, and he takes his other hand, his free hand, looping it around her back and holding her tight, tight, close. “Say, fair maiden, would you share your name with me?”

She laughs, her nose brushing against his throat. “I’m Cat,” she says. “And I’m no one special.”

Megamind speaks almost before he can stop himself, but something tells him that if she’s here, she must know. “Well, my dear Cat,” he says, “it so happens that you are the soulmate of Megamind,  incredibly handsome criminal genius and master of all villainy – wouldn’t really call that ‘no one special’!”

“Oh! So you do use that!” Cat exclaims. “You say that in the movie, too!” Somehow she manages to snuggle closer. “I’m – I can’t believe I finally found you.”

She’d been looking for him.

“I’ve never been good at searching,” Megamind says, and he trails a hand through her hair, carding his fingers through soft strands. “But sensing this… I’m realizing what I’ve been looking for my entire life.” He shifts, nuzzling the top of her head. “Thank you for finding me.”

“You’ve been looking?” Cat asks. Her voice trembles, and Megamind has never been good with emotions, but there’s awe in there, and wonder, and unbelievable love.

“My darling,” he says, and again the words slip past his walls. Perhaps they are an echo from another time – perhaps their souls recognize each other. Everyone has always been a stranger to him – but Cat, in all the lives he’s known her, has never been. Never. “My soul has looked for yours in every face I’ve ever seen,” he says, and Cat shivers in his arms. “But my heart could never love another.” He doesn’t quite give her time to reply, not properly anyway, for he bends and whispers his name in her ear.

*

Cirrus.

Cat wakes up and the name rings in her ears, whispers, calls, and she doesn’t bother to fight the smile blooming on her face.

Cirrus.

It’s beautiful.

She watches the movie again that day, from the beginning this time, and if she hadn’t been convinced Megamind – Cirrus – is her soulmate, she would have known by now. The animated version holds nothing on the real deal, but it’s still wonderful and amazing and –

Cat runs a hand through her hair with a shuddery smile. She doesn’t even care to be embarrassed by acting like a lovesick teen.

Nighttime and sleep cannot come fast enough.

*

The next time they meet Megamind asks Cat about her universe. He’s curious, since she made it obvious they’re not from the same.

Turns out they’re very similar. The only major difference, it seems, is that aliens are ‘common’ in Megamind’s universe. In Cat’s, many people don’t even believe such a thing as aliens exist. Megamind can’t quite wrap his mind around it, but he supposes it makes sense.

They talk about the strangest of things. Cat’s job, at first, and then moving over to olden times. Megamind is overjoyed to find out she has similar interests to his. History is a common theme in their conversations, no matter what they originally started discussing – it always comes back to that in one way or another.

(it seems, Megamind will later ponder, that they both had sought an escape from reality in the fables of times long passed.)

Whenever the topic goes towards Megamind’s work, however, he quickly and smoothly turns the subject over to something else. He doesn’t want to talk about it, doesn’t want to discuss it, isn’t even quite sure what to do with himself.

It’s not like he doesn’t want to be Bad – he just… he just –

(wants to be loved.)

(and now that he is, he’s not sure what to do with it.)

It’s during one of their usual talks that Cat speaks openly about it for the first time. “Cirrus,” she says, her shoulder warm against his, fingers tangled between them –

(and his name, his name on her lips, that’s him)

“Yes, mia cara?”

“You aren’t evil,” she says, and Megamind’s world freezes. “You know that, right?” He doesn’t have to say anything. Cat knows him like she knows herself. “Love, you’re not a bad person. You’ve never been.”

And he wants her to be right. He needs her to be right. “But – ”

“No buts,” Cat interrupts. She sits up and tugs him with her, before leaning into a gentle peck on his lips. “You are the most wonderful person I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.”

Megamind tightens his hold on her hand. “Yes, well,” he says, “judging by the stories you have told of your home, the bar isn’t very high.”

“Shut up,” Cat says, her eyes hard. “I have never known someone better than you. Never. In all my lives, in all the things I’ve seen…” She leans in again, lips soft and breath hot and she’s so unbelievably real. “You can be a hero. You are a hero.” Tilting her head, she presses her forehead against his. “Cirrus, I love you. So much.”

(it’s the first time she’s said it it’s the first time he’s heard it and)

(he)

(breaks)

He wants to speak, to tell her there’s nothing he wants more than be good for her, that there’s nothing he wants more than to spend his life with her, but –

She meets his gaze and it’s stronger than the first time, stronger than the second, stronger than all of them combined.

(everything everything she’s everything)

“I can see our forever in your eyes,” Cat whispers, and Megamind is frailer than he’s ever been – if she breathes too harshly, now, he might break and shatter and disappear on the breeze. “I can feel it in my bones. I’ve loved you before and I’ll love you again – this is our infinity, Cirrus – this is us.” She speaks with the voice of an oracle, with the voice of someone who knows they are right and will forever be. The hand she puts to his chest is warm and safe and home. “You. Are. Good.”

Megamind draws a trembling breath. “For you, my love, I will be anything.”

Cat smiles, a small shaky thing, and Megamind covers her hand with his. “You aren’t doing this because of me,” she says. “You can’t change your core.”

(it slips into place everything slips into place and he’s whole and she’s right.)

Megamind – Cirrus – smiles back. “Nor do I wish to.”

*

Cirrus tells her a week later he’s dropped the ‘villain’ career. He doesn’t say anything, and Cat doesn’t question him, but she can see the light in his eyes has grown stronger.

She doesn’t say ‘told you so’, but Cirrus can surely read it on her, for he gives her a dry look and says, “Oh, yes, you are a genius” in that teasing, wry voice of his.

The world makes sense when he’s there. She hopes he knows.

(judging by the way he smiles when she looks at him the feeling is mutual.)

A few days later Cirrus isn’t alone when Cat arrives. Minion is with him, a nervous smile on his face and hand poised to wave. Cat doesn’t give him time for that, instead throwing herself at him with a squeal.

(she knows what it means, that he’s here, and she isn’t surprised, not really.)

*

Eventually, after tons of practice and struggling on both sides, they’re able to manifest by the other’s side during the day, as well. Not quite enough to breach the wall separating their universes, but enough to notice the other’s presence. Enough to be seen, to be heard, to be felt.

Megamind goes to Cat more often than she comes to him, but they’re together, and they’re there. They laugh, and they love, and they go through day after day until life feels worth living, until the old and familiar ache of being broken fades into a mere memory.

They marry, despite it all, because while they both know they will never separate, it’s nice to have it official and on paper. And in their still-shared dreams they press close together, hands against hands, skin against skin, hearts beating as one.

(Megamind never dreams of black holes again, and when he dreams of space, he dreams of stars.)

*

Life is good, and long, and despite the distance separating them Cat has never been happier with anyone else. There’s laughter and happiness and warmth, and home and safety and content.

And when all three of them one day, far down the line, pass quietly together, their souls mingle and twist and complete.

“Well,” says the Guardian, his eyes warm and wise as ever as he looks down at them. “Was it worth it?”

And they and they and they look at each other, whole and complete and together, and know that nothing has really changed.

“Yes,” they say, as one, and their forever is held in their hands.

[nevertochange-evertoshare]

Another Chess Game

I’ve started to actually do some writing that I post on ao3 but crossposting always feels clunky so I’m going to experiment with posting here too. Who knows. I put the first one under a read more since I’m just trying things out. If anyone has opinions, feel free to share!

There weren't traditions before. Not the first time Marvin was with Whizzer and not even when he was with Trina.

Every tradition they had always felt more like an obligation. So when they were given a second chance, Marvin wanted to start traditions. Real traditions.

They started with little family dinners. When Trina came to get Jason on Sundays, they'd all pile into the lesbians' apartment to eat together. The first few times were awkward, to say the least. Tense. Cordelia had been so nervous she'd nearly set the stove on fire. Marvin had ended up ordering a pizza and they all ate in the living room together. After they opened a bottle of wine and Cordelia had brought out dessert which had managed to remain unscathed, things were much more relaxed. Everyone talked and laughed, Whizzer even managing to get Marvin to dance with him. And so, the tight-knit family's first tradition was born.

Marvin had made a big deal about Hannukah. Now that they were a family and did family things, they were going to have a proper Hannukah. So here they were, the first night of the celebration. They'd decided to have it at Whizzer and Marvin's apartment(despite Whizzer having insisted on decorating for Christmas for the half of him that wasn't Jewish). After eating dinner and lighting for the menorah, they all settled in the living room, Jason nearly wiggling out of his skin in his excitement to open presents. Marvin laughed, taking pity on the boy and starting to hand out gifts.

While Jason all but tore into his gifts, Whizzer slipped into the bedroom and returned with his own gift for Marvin, sitting down next to him on the edge of the couch. He couldn't help but grin a little, his first gift for Marvin was more than a little silly. It was ridiculous, actually, but the moment he'd seen it he knew he had to get it for his boyfriend.

Whizzer handed the gift over with a kiss to Marvin's cheek, happily taking his own gift and unwrapping it. He smiled softly at the expensive looking watch Marvin had gotten for him, turning it over in his hands a bit. Suddenly, he felt nervous, wondering if he'd gone too far with his joke gift. Of course, he had other thoughtful gifts for the rest of the days of Hannukah as well as Christmas. But before he could think twice and take his gift back, Marvin had already unwrapped it.

In Marvin's lap sat a board game, on the box the words "No Stress Chess." Marvin sat quietly looking down at the game, Whizzer fidgeting next to him as he waited for a reaction.

"I um...it was funnier in the store," Whizzer tried to explain but was cut off by Marvin's laughter. He blinked a bit in confusion as the man doubled over next to him, wiping at his eyes as he finally calmed himself down.

"You're a dork, Whizzer. And I love it. Thank you," Marvin smiled when he'd stopped laughing, leaning over and kissing the other softly. He shook his head a bit and held the box up to show the rest of the room, Whizzer relaxing as everyone laughed.

When they'd cleaned up and everyone had gone home for the night, Marvin decided to break out the game. Whizzer had tried to protest at first, still not sure if it was a great idea. Even if they didn't fight, he was worried it would bring up bad memories. Even so, they ended up sitting across from one another, the helpful stack of cards between them as the contemplated their moves carefully.

As much as things had changed, it seemed chess was still the same for them. They'd hardly begun the game before the board was flipped, pieces flying everywhere. The movement caused Whizzer to flinch, biting his lip as Marvin froze before wordlessly getting on the ground to clean up. Whizzer hesitated for a moment before quietly getting out of his chair to do the same, careful to keep his distance from Marvin.

"It wasn't you, you know?" Marvin said softly after a moment, not looking up at Whizzer yet. "Just...this," he said, vaguely gesturing at the chess pieces, "it wasn't because I was upset with you. I just hate chess. And you somehow got better than me. Which it's stupid and insecure that I got upset about it but I'm trying. And just...it wasn't you," Marvin said, finally looking up at Whizzer.

Whizzer paused as he listened, meeting Marvin's eyes when he looked up. He reached out, gently touching the other's hand and nodding a little. "I'm sorry. I should've known it was a bad gift. I just...I thought it might be funny but it was too much."

"It was funny. But let's just put it on the shelf and never touch it again, alright?" Marvin smiled a bit, leaning forward to kiss Whizzer as they both chuckled and relaxed.

Once the game was cleaned up and put away, the pair retreated to the couch for the rest of the evening. Marvin settled against the arm of the couch, Whizzer settling between his legs and leaning against the other's chest, humming softly as the other played with his hair. Whizzer had put on some cheesy Christmas special and fell asleep halfway through. Marvin couldn't help but smile softly at the other, pressing a soft kiss to his temple and smiling more at the little smile Whizzer gave in his sleep.

Maybe their new tradition hadn't started off perfectly but Marvin wouldn't have wanted the night to end in any other way.

[deplcythebattery]

Please please please refuse this if it’s too much but could you maybe do one where Whizzer used to Self Harm and like Jason or Cordelia see the old scars? It’s weird but knowing that my fav characters go through what I have is kinda comforting. Have a wonderful rest of your day

I’m happy to write this for you, no worries! I myself have been really anxious about my scars lately, so this will help me as well. Thank you so much for the prompt 💖

This one might be a bit triggering to some people since it deals with depression and scars! Be careful if you know you’re easily triggered, I don’t want to cause anyone to feel anything they’d rather not deal with right now

Whizzer started to stir as the sun hit his eyes through the blinds. He groaned and turned to his side, pulling the blanket between his legs and tightly against his chest. It was still warm all over - it hadn’t been long since Marvin had gotten up and left for work. Whizzer usually woke to the sounds of Marvin quietly shuffling around getting ready, or the latest when Marvin bent down and kissed his forehead, mumbling a soft ‘bye’.

That morning Whizzer hasn’t stirred. He’d been up till the early hours of the morning working on photography. Since it was summer, the nights were long and the soft, pale light of the setting sun had painted everything pastel and gold. It had been way past four when Whizzer finally crawled under the blanket he shared with the love of his life, too tired to remember to put on his plaid pj pants.

Whizzer groaned again as he pressed his eyes shut even tighter, trying to will himself to fall back to sleep. If Marvin had just left, it meant the clock wouldn’t show much more than 8am and Whizzer just didn’t want to wake up just yet. He’d kind of fallen back into the habit of sitting up when Marvin left, pretending like he was about to start his day too, but just going back to sleep as soon as he heard the door fall shut. This time, sleep just didn’t seem like it wanted to stay in bed with Whizzer. He tossed and turned for a while and then just gave up, threw the blanket aside, and frustrated he stood up.

The past few months had been a kind of a fog. Whizzer’s head seemed to be full of static and he couldn’t seem to concentrate. He either slept too much or too little. When Marvin was home, he kept up the happy exterior of a happy husband - well, boyfriend, since Marvin still hadn’t proposed - since everything between the two of them was good. They’d been together for two and a half years now, after growing a bit while spending time apart and then finally loving each other unconditionally after that fateful baseball game. Not that Whizzer complained or anything, he never admitted that he kind of would’ve wanted a wedding since Marvin didn’t believe in marriage after what happened between him and Trina. Whizzer couldn’t blame his lover, though, so he just stayed quiet when Marvin bashed on weddings and ceremonies and vows.

Eyes distant and face blank, Whizzer made his way towards the living room. He pulled his boxers up to keep them from falling and ran a hand through his messy hair. Marvin was good to him. Apart from the wedding thing, there wasn’t much they viewed differently. Their continuous fighting from the early months of their relationship had disappeared, replaced by loving bickering that made them both laugh in the end. Of course they still fought every now and then, but the toxicity of their love was gone. Now it was just that. Love. And Whizzer should’ve been over the moon. They had a beautiful home and Marvin took care of everything, meaning Whizzer got to do what he loved. He sold his photos to newspapers and worked gigs every now and then - wedding photography and whatnot - and everything was simply good. The quality of their lives together was good.

And yet, Whizzer woke up almost daily now and felt absolutely nothing.

The two years Whizzer and Marvin spent apart had been rough on Whizzer. He knew Marvin thought he’d spent them sleeping around and partying, but the reality was something different. He’d spent weeks behind closed doors, forgetting to eat and sleep. Of course every now and then he went to the bar and brought home a gorgeous stranger to drown out the ice that tore his skin where Marvin used to place his lips. In all honesty, Whizzer didn’t even remember that time too well. He’d been full of static and darkness and when he wasn’t drinking his brains out, he was sleeping. It was like a drunken haze minus the drunk part two thirds of the time.

But that feeling had disappeared when Marvin stepped back into Whizzer’s life. At least that’s what he thought and for a long while, over a year, that had been true. Everything was just so good and it really seemed like Whizzer had gotten clear. The only thing reminding him of the hardship that their breakup had brought him were his thighs, full of thin scars like a tiger’s coat. Whizzer had hated himself for pushing Marvin so far away that he’d actually left. He’d hated himself and he’d felt disgusted every single time he brought a stranger home. Booze and loud music couldn’t take that away and when Whizzer was alone, it had become too much.

The scarring had faded a ton, but the once rather deep slashes never really disappeared. They were there, a constant reminder for Whizzer to never let Marvin go. A constant reminder that he might not be enough. A constant reminder that he’d pushed Marvin’s buttons hard enough to make him walk away once already. The haze had started to come back and Whizzer’s days started to blend together again. He smiled to Marvin and kept his cocky grin up at cocktail parties, but when he was alone, he didn’t do much. Marvin didn’t know, but he hadn’t been on a work gig for a while and the previous night had been the first time he’d gotten out in days. Whizzer knew he was a good enough actor to hide it from the people around you and honestly, he didn’t want to feel like a burden. After all, he’d wrecked Trina’s family, Marvin didn’t need anything more to worry over, and the lesbians next door had enough on their plate with Charlotte being a doctor working long hours. He could handle it alone. And even if he couldn’t, would it really be that big a deal? He was just a pretty boy and nothing more.

Absentmindedly, Whizzer sat on the couch and ran his fingers over the uneven skin of his right thigh. He didn’t even really register he’d walked across the apartment and into the living room, but there he was, and his foggy eyes stayed still staring into nothingness. The silence felt deafening and soon enough Whizzer turned on the tv, curling up and letting his mind stay blank. The white noise made it feel like the crushing weight of feeling nothing, feeling like nothing, wasn’t as heavy and it was easier to just sit there. If the tv was on and Marvin came home early, Whizzer could always say he was watching some show without him just sitting there being questioned. The static in his head combined with the white noise from the tv filled his ears and numbed him, in a way, and he missed the knock that came from the door.

Whizzer didn’t realize someone had entered until he heard a voice from the doorway that led to the kitchen. It made him jump and his brain took much longer than was normal to decipher what had been said to him.“Hey, Whiz,” a soft voice had called and Whizzer blinked his pale eyes, trying to figure out what was going on. When he finally turned around to see who it was, he met the eyes of a worried blonde.

“Cordelia,” Whizzer stated with little emotion in his voice, trying to sound delighted, “what’s up?”“I just brought you some gefilte fish,” she said and offered Whizzer a smile. Cordelia walked over and sat next to Whizzer, worry evident in her eyes. “Aren’t you cold?”“No, not really,” Whizzer replied, but Cordelia was already pulling the blanket off the back of the couch. Before Whizzer could react, she’d already bent over and started to place it over his lap.

A gasp escaped Delia as her eyes shot wide, then her shocked expression immediately turned into a worried frown. Her motion had stopped completely and she just stared at Whizzer’s bare thighs. Confused, Whizzer turned his head to glance down, sure that he was definitely wearing his pj pants like he always did. His heart skipped a beat and then broke into pieces when he realized he was just in his boxers. Blinking, he had to turn his head as not to cry from the humiliating feeling of Cordelia finding out just how weak he was. The spiderweb of scars were clearly self inflicted and by the look on Cordelia’s face, she hadn’t missed that.

In that exact moment, Whizzer wanted to die. He swallowed hard to get rid of the knot forming in his throat as Delia sat beside him, gripping the blanket so hard her knuckles turned white. “Whizzer, baby,” she started with a choked voice, “what happened?” When Whizzer didn’t say anything and just kept staring away and blinking away tears, she finally looked up with tears in her own eyes. “I knew Marvin was worried about you, but we had no idea it was this bad.”

Hearing Marvin’s name pulled Whizzer from his static and his eyes moved to his friend. For a moment, he just looked at Cordelia. Then, with another blink, his cheeks got wet with pouring tears and a sob tore free from somewhere deep in his chest.

Whizzer lowered his head to his hands and just cried, broken and hurt, sobs shaking his body. Cordelia immediately dropped the blanket and moved closer, pulling Whizzer against her chest, trying to keep it together. “I-I-I-“ Whizzer started, unable to get any words through the violent sobs he couldn’t control.“Shh, honey, just breathe,” Cordelia soothed him in response, hands already going through his hair in a soft way, letting him know he was loved, “it’s okay.” Whizzer’s arms moves away from his face and wrapped around Cordelia’s torso, like a desperate and lost child, and he buried his face against her shoulder. For a long time, they sat there, Whizzer sobbing continuously and Cordelia holding him, saying it’d be okay, ignoring her own wet cheeks.

When Whizzer’s sobs finally started to die down, replaced with hiccups, Cordelia pulled away a bit. “I’ll go get you some water and tissues, okay baby?” She asked and stood up and Whizzer let his arms drop from around her waist. He nodded his head, avoiding looking at her and pulled the blanket up that had fallen on the floor. Cordelia moved fast and was back in what felt like a heartbeat with a big glass of water and a box of tissues. She sat back down next to the mess of a man and held out her hands. Whizzer mumbled a thank you as he took the glass of water, downed it in one, and placed the glass on the living room table to be able to wipe his face with the tissues. He took the box from Cordelia and blew his nose, drying his snotty and wet face, knowing he looked slightly dead.“Now,” Cordelia started softly again and Whizzer just fiddled with the messy tissues, “what’s going on?”

At first, Whizzer just shrugged his shoulders as another wave of tears tried to wash over him. He took in several sharp breaths to keep it from happening and tried to keep it together.“Whizzer, I love you and you can tell me what’s happening,” Delia continued and Whizzer nodded silently, swallowing hard again. Then he sighed out and finally spoke.“I just- I just feel so broken,” his voice was rough and full of pain, “like I’m absolutely nothing.” Cordelia put an arm over his shoulders to help him stay grounded, but her eyes spoke about how badly her heart broke at the words.“I don’t- I don’t know- I should be happy, yknow? Marvin and I, we’re- we’re so good, we’re happy, and I should be happy. I just can’t do it. When we were apart, it was the first time of my life, and that’s documented on my skin. That’s what you saw. I’m just- I don’t feel like I’m enough. We’re good but I still feel like he deserves better, like he deserves someone who’s worthy. I broke us up once, I feel like I’ll do it again,” Whizzer word-vomited, his hands shaking.“Marvin loves you,” Cordelia responded with kindness, “he wouldn’t give up on you. He’s noticed that you haven’t been yourself lately and that’s why I’m here. He asked me to come see you. But you said those scars are old? What’s up with you now, you’ve lost weight and I can’t remember the last time I saw your laughter reach your eyes.”

Cordelia’s words hit Whizzer hard. Maybe he hadn’t been as good at hiding the pain as he’d thought he was. A dry, almost bitter laugh that choked into a sob left his lips before he could say anything more and he had to gather himself again.“When I see my scars, I remember all that again. I just- it’s that- everything’s a haze nowadays. I should be happy and instead I can’t remember the last time I had a coherent thought or actually enjoyed waking up,” he explained and shook his head, “even showering is difficult.” Cordelia had noticed that Whizzer’s usually perfect hair was greasy and unstyled for a while now and it alone should’ve been a warning bell. “Oh could’ve come to us earlier, Whiz,” Cordelia said quietly and stroked his cheek with her soft hand. Whizzer nodded again.“I know, I just- didn’t want- want to feel like a burden.”“You could never be a burden,” Cordelia said, sounding almost scared of what Whizzer had said. He just shrugged his shoulders.

“When’s the last time you ate?” Delia suddenly asked and it made Whizzer finally look at her.“Uh, I had a candy bar last night…”“Proper food, Whizzer,” she shoved his shoulder gently, smiling softly though she dreaded his answer.“I- I don’t really know, honestly,” Whizzer said and averted his gaze again.“Okay, we’re gonna get you some food now, then we’re getting you in the shower and I’m calling Marvin. Together we can figure this out and get you to someone who can help get that static out of your head and your cocky arrogance back,” she said with determination in her voice that filled Whizzer with a strange kind of warmth. He didn’t want Marvin to know, but deep inside he knew it was the only way for him to get better. And he wanted to get better. He wanted back the happy life he had with the love of his life. And he wasn’t alone. He didn’t have to fight alone anymore. Whizzer just needed to hear that, to know he didn’t need to be brave anymore. And now he didn’t. Delia an Marvin would fight with him.

Cordelia stood up and held out her hand. Whizzer took it without hesitating and stood up a bit shakily, returning Delia’s soft smile with a real one for the first time in months. It would be okay.

[flowersymbolism]

Flowers of Spring - Chapter 10

AUTHORS NOTE: Guys. This is it. The end. I am so, so grateful for each and every person who took the time to read the story we wanted to tell. I’m sure Alex will make a post giving her two cents, but I wanted to say, from the bottom of my heart, thank-you. Thank-you so much for reading, liking, reblogging and experiencing our story. I want to thank you for falling in love with Lammermeier as much as I did (I love him a lot.) I want to thank you for all the times you’ve said ‘how dare you?’ to us. I want to thank so many people who have given us feedback as we’ve written this. I feel like I’m at an awards ceremony. One last thank-you! I want to thank our beautiful pals @riyis @skeletonmelodies  and @stupid-sea-pigeon for validating us. @obsessive-introvert  for being wonderful and supportive. @thatsilvermagic for being them (Thanks, lke. Sorry we killed you.) And thank-you Alex, the other half of flowersymbolism, @flew-off-with-whizzer-brown for being an amazing co-writer and sister. You’re gonna grow up to do great things, kiddo. We’ve been told a few times how canon this story feels, and we couldn’t ask for a better compliment than that. So, I hereby present to you, after my ridiculously mushy and unnessecary authors note, Chapter 10, the finale of Flowers of Spring.

Yours, forever and always, Lottie.

It was as if everything were in a haze. Hanschen threw the letter down on the bed, his knees failing him as he found himself falling onto the bed. He sat, shaking, unable to understand why this had affected him so. He was going to leave her. He didn’t want to be here. So then why was his world slowly crumbling around him? This was his fresh start. Suddenly his regret, remorse and guilt was overcome by a new emotion. An emotion Hanschen hadn't felt since childhood, not truly. A hint of it arose when his son, for the first time, had used his words against him, but it had never bubbled to the surface until now.

Hanschen felt rage.

He was angry at himself, angry for being careless and ruining things again. He was angry at his son, his stupid son, for taking things too far and getting kicked out for good. He was angry at the world for letting a villian who stole the life of a child go unpunished. He was angry at the man who had tore his family apart with his soft curls and brilliant smile. He was angry at his damned wife for once again ruining everything he wanted. He wanted to leave, and of course she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

He grabbed the nearest object to him, a book laid on the bed, and threw it, hard against the wall. It hit the wall with a thud, clattering to the floor and falling open. Hanschen stared at the book, just for a moment, then pushed himself to his feet.

Hanschen hurried out of the room, not realizing until now that he was crying. He aggressively wiped away his tears with the heel of his palm, taking the stairs two at a time. He stormed through the hallways, straight to his study, and looked around for a moment. Darting over to his desk, he grabbed a single item: the letter. The last remaining letter he had saved all those years ago.

He clutched it in his hands, and seemingly for a moment, his anger disappeared. But he soon stuffed the letter in his trouser pocket and headed back out of the door. He moved quickly, at the front door in a second, coat in hand and then around him. He was out the door in a flash, the only things on his person a wallet and that precious, precious letter.

He wasn’t thinking, he knew he wasn’t, but somehow he could bare to spend another minute inside that house. He didn’t know where he was going, but his legs seemed to, and so he followed his heart - or his head, at this point he couldn’t tell which - all the way down the country lane he lived on. Neighbours watched as the distressed, messy and frantic Herr Rilow moved down the road and out of sight, in the direction of the train station.

The air helped clear hard, calm his range, but the distress remained. He was broken, or so he thought, never to be fixed. His family had discarded him, like a broken toy that you were once so fond of but now only see as trash, something to get rid of. Something that no longer belonged. Hanschen no longer belonged in that house. The ghosts that haunted him deserved better than his presence. He missed home. That was not his home. Home was garden parties, and soft kisses, and books, and joy, and love. The house he left was filled with nothing but silence, and remorse, and the weight of every mistake he had ever made. He filed through them in his head, Sofia, his angel, Robert, his pride, his joy, Lammermeier, and sweet, sweet Johanna.

Ernst.

All these lives, ruined. Because of him. He thought of all the lives ruined by others, ruined by fate, and cursed that he too would suffer the same fate. Wendla. Moritz.

Max.

The childhood faces he could barely remember but who’s memory pressed against his chest like a cold, dead weight.

And then he’d reached the train station. He looked up at the building, blinking away tears that hung on his eyelashes. He knew this was where he belonged. He knew that whatever happened, he would end up back here. This was the first time, Hanschen realized as he stood there, taking in the weight of the situation, that he had visited the train station on his own volition. Every other time, something had brought him here.

A letter had brought him here. But not this time. He knew that whatever he chose, stepping into this train station would lead to the end of the line.

And so he stepped inside.

“Open it, father, go on, open it!”

The two eldest children watched their father with big eyes, sat around the fire. The presents under the tree had been unwrapped and the children were sat amongst the collateral damage. Well, all except one. In Hanschen’s hands sat a long, small, neatly wrapped box, with a brown label - ‘Love Santa Claus’. It certainly wasn’t his wife’s handwriting. His wife looked equally confused at the box, but his children waited eagerly, wanting to see what Santa had brought their father.

And so he gingerly unwrapped the box, being careful not to tear the paper too much. He slowly pulled the lid off the box, scanning the contents for a brief moment. A beautiful brass fountain pen lay in a cushion of velvet. Reflecting the light of the fire, it almost seemed to glow. He stared at the pen, feeling his cheeks flushing pink and hot. The children looked disappointed.

“What a beautiful gift,” Sofia said, cooly. Hanschen looked up at his wife, whose eyes were fixed on the pen. He instantly looked back down, to his lap, and closed the box.

“Yes, quite,” he said quietly, slowly pushing himself up off the floor to his feet. “If you’ll excuse me, I-” He faltered for a moment. “...I think I left one last gift in the study.” He moved out of the room, and as soon as he was safe behind the door of his study, almost collapsed against the desk. With a shaky hand, he placed the box onto his desk, sitting down on the surface and wrapping his arms around himself.

Ernst.

He’d forgotten about him. He’d received plenty of letters of good cheer and christmas wishes that he’d forgotten that he haven't received a letter in months. Because he wasn’t sending a letter. He was sending a gift.

Hanschen shook his hard violently, clutching his shirt sleeves tightly on his upper arms as he held himself. His life was going wonderfully, with his third child on the way and two more beautiful children around him. His loving wife, radiant and wonderful, and a home that he could call his own. So why did he hurt so much whenever he thought about the sweet boy he fell in love with all those years ago? Why would he shake, and cry, and hurt? He might never know. Hanschen picked up the pen one last time, opening the box, and noticed an engraving in the brass.

‘Yours, forever and always.’

Standing on the platform, Hanschen was faced with his life. In front of him stood every path, every road taken, and those he’d chosen not to go down, too. A million lives he could’ve lived, but only one he chose. He could’ve lost himself in the dreams of what could’ve been, but he chose not to. Now he had little choice. Now, he was at the end of the road, in front of him stretching out only the woods. For all Munich knew or cared, Hanschen Rilow was dead. He decided he liked that. As the train's whistle grew louder and louder, drowning out all other sounds, Hanschen thought of two men - the one who'd been here before, a passing shadow in his life, a mirror; and a man who was miles away, whose smile was the world's greatest treasure, a dream.

That smile. A smile so bright, so genuine and warm. A smile that ruined him.

His mind always seemed to wander back to Ernst. In the years they'd known each other, they'd spent more time apart than they did together, and yet his image was as clear as day in Hanschen's mind, every detail memorized: the pale freckles on his cheeks on which Hanschen left innumerable pecks. His dark brown hair, tousled by the wind. His voice, soft and warm, but which could also spit scorching flames, jeers and criticisms that you felt for days. The way he moved as though an orchestra was playing a tune only he could hear. Though it was in Hanschen's nature to blame others for his fate, he never could it in his heart to be bitter towards Ernst.

“Hurry up, Hanschen!”

The two boys ran through the streets of the small town in which they lived, schoolbags clutched tightly so as to stop them bashing into their sides, or other people. “If we don’t hurry, my father will have finished his sermon! Hurry!”

Hanschen lagged behind. Not because he couldn’t keep up, but because, quite honestly, going to church with Ernst straight after school on a Friday evening was not his idea of fun. His idea of fun was lazing about in a field of tall grass, with the beautiful dark haired boy tangled in his arms. But Ernst wanted church, and so he would go.

He realized, soon enough, that he had gotten distracted, and had lost sight of Ernst. Frowning, he picked up his pace, close enough to the church that he reached it within a minute or two. As he was running he cursed Ernst’s long, slender legs, for the first time in his life. Hanschen finally reached the church, and slowed his pace as he made his way up the gravel path.

Ernst stood in the doorway of the church, starting with sparkling eyes at what was happening within. As Hanschen got closer, he realized that Ernst was starting at his father, up in front of the congregation preaching something or other about loving thy neighbour, whatever that meant. Hanschen loved his neighbour and was chastised for it. He’d never understood what the Bible had that made it so special, but Ernst was borderline obsessed on learning the details, the lessons, the parables, the whole nine yards. Hanschen bet every penny in his pocket that Ernst could probably tell him what Jesus ate for breakfast the day before he was crucified. Ernst was absolutely set on becoming a pastor, and Hanschen, although unhappy with his decision, supported him. Especially when it meant getting to stare at his wonderful, freckled face and his gorgeous, wide, sparkling eyes just that little bit longer without him noticing.

The sermon ended, and Ernst turned, the biggest, most beautiful smile that Hanschen had ever seen. A smile that made his heart skip a beat. “Ready to go?” Hanschen asked, casually, although inside it was taking all his strength and willpower not to grab the poor boy there and then and place his lips on his neck and tell him how much he wanted him.

“Mhm!” Ernst nodded enthusiastically, his smile seemingly growing even more, which Hanschen had previously thought impossible until he’d witnessed it himself.

“Then let’s go.” He held out his hand for Ernst to take, and he almost did, but hesitated, his smile suddenly fading from his face. Hanschen quickly realized what he’d done, and shoved his hand into his blazer pocket. ‘You’re such a fool’ he thought to himself. ‘Be more careful.’ The two stared at each other for a moment, then Hanschen lifted his chin and turned on his heel, beginning to head off. His cheeks flushed and his body ached and he wanted so badly to touch the beautiful, starry-eyed boy, to feel his skin against his. And then, as Ernst caught up, he felt his fingers brush against his and Hanschen almost doubled over, the wind practically knocked out of him. How was he so affected by this boy? He was nothing like Hanschen had ever seen before. This boy who unbuttoned the collar of his shirt which exposed his neck and soft, warm skin dotted with freckles and god, he loved him. More than his Io. More than his Desdemona. More than his fleeting crush on the good-looking boy in his class who had caught his eye. He loved Ernst, more than he’d ever loved anyone. And this evening, at the vineyard, he would tell him.

The simple realisation struck him as more and more people filed onto the platform, and though the station was filling up, he felt as though he was the last man on Earth. God, I love him.  It was then he felt the cold metal on his finger. His ring. His wedding ring. He twisted it around his finger, toying with the idea, before pulling it off. Hanschen held the ring in his hand, in a closed fist against his chest, feeling the cold, cold metal against his palm. The cold grounded him. Hanschen inhaled deeply, closing his eyes, taking in the ring of the engine, the rapid chatter and shuffling of feet. The soft tinkle of metal as the ring fell from his first to the tracks below. And the train grew closer yet.

He was prepared, now, to take the leap.

It was a pleasant afternoon, the setting sun bathing everything in a deep orange glow, the air hanging with the rich aroma of the flowers of spring. The well-trod path that lead from the church to the small house was once again being walked by Pastor Robel. He could’ve walked the snaking way home with his eyes closed. And sometimes he did, losing himself in the tranquility of pure silence, the few moments where he wasn’t expected to be anyone-not Pastor Robel, the pillar of support, not Ernst, the lover.

Years had passed since he’d last seen Hanschen, and in the predictable yet enjoyable motion of his life, that weekend stood out, the memory of it still as detailed as when it was first forged.  He’d turned it over and over in his mind, much like how he did with Hanschen’s first letter, the cold, distant goodbye and that vineyard, 20 years ago. If nothing else, Ernst could always retreat to his thoughts, taking out moments in time and replaying them as one would take out photographs and read the notes scribbled on the back.

He did, however, come to as he reached his street. Looking to the right, he could see the Pfeiffers’ house, and, on the front porch, Kurt and Dieter were huddled over homework, scratching of pens interrupted every now and then by giggles and fingers fumbling to intertwine. Seeing them so carefree brought a smile to Ernst's face and he knew they'd both taken to heart his advice. All they needed now was luck, which he could only pray they'll have. Just before continuing on his way, he saw Mathilde come out of the house and set out lemonade for them, an easy smile on her face. How the Pfeiffers managed to live unperturbed by whispers or rumours was beyond him, but he could only be happy for them, despite having never had the luxury to do the same.

He turned right to reach his own yard, when he looked up and saw a figure on his porch. Ernst approached, getting closer so as to try and see who it was. A tall man, his back turned to him, and next to him two bags. His hair- golden, shining in the soft light of the sun. Ernst's breath was caught in his throat and a million thoughts raced about his mind, and he felt like everything inside of him, every cell and every drop of blood, was pushing him forward.

He couldn't remember moving his legs, he could've floated for all he knew. Now, Ernst was at the base of the steps, but the man with the golden hair was still lost in his own world and didn't notice anything. It must've taken Ernst years to untie his tongue, but eventually he did, and his voice broke as soon as he opened his mouth to say the name.

“Hanschen?” it was a mere whisper, but behind it were hidden a million unspoken words.

At that, the man was finally brought back to reality, and his head snapped around, coming face to face with Ernst, staring with wide blue eyes. That's when Ernst’s heart stopped. Blue eyes. Blue eyes. Blue eyes that weren’t Hanschen’s. He felt disappointment wash over him, though he knew, rationally, it was not this man's fault that he wasn't who Ernst had wished he was. Still, it took a lot for the misplaced betrayal to not show.

Ernst took a moment to look at him, and a suspicion was beginning to form in the back of his mind. This stranger, though certainly not Hanschen, reminded him uncannily so of him. The hair, the face…  something he couldn’t quite decipher. Regardless of his confusion, Ernst spoke:

“Can I help you?”

It was then that the boy seemed to snap out of his thoughts, and it dawned on him that he’d been silent the whole time. His face reddened and he looked down in embarrassment for a second, before snapping his head back up and answering:

“Hello, yes, you can. Sorry, I, um-” The boy seemed flustered. Embarrassed. Desperate. “I’m sorry to have showed up on your porch like this, but... but I need.. help. Are you Ernst-- Um, Pastor Robel?”

Ernst was intrigued, not knowing how the boy had learned his name, but decided to keep his questions for later. “Yes. And you are...?”

“I believe you know my father.” He swallowed, looking off to the side for a brief moment before looking back up at Ernst with those big, blue eyes. “My name is Lammermeier Rilow.”

[twelfthdyke]

Hi! Do you have any headcanons for Marvin and Whizzer at the hospital? (b/c tears) Love your blog and your HC's by the way!!! You're so creative and detailed and I love you and the Falsettos characters so much!

i hope you like these!! i also love to upset myself. tysm for the compliments! my hcs are mediocre but i'm glad you enjoy them!!

this took so long. i was trying to remain sensitive to the situation and hope that it’s accurate. i had to google the symptoms of AIDs and how to play chess so it's all here, folks. it's so weird to go from silly, lighthearted hcs to crushing ones.

we all know that whizzer is stubborn as hell. he would straight up refuse help when he's first hospitalized. he's barely mobile but too proud to admit his body is deteriorating quickly.

the amount of help he requires just doing things like walking a few metres frustrates him to no end. he starts getting really angry, telling marvin & charlotte to shove off and leave him alone. 

he's convinced that if he tries hard enough he'll be able to make himself better or at least act like it. 

he gets so upset with himself and his body's inability that he actually breaks down crying at one point-- multiples times lbr. 

he collapses and is sat on the floor on his knees, gripping his hospital gown and wiping furiously at his tear-streaked face. marvin goes to help him up but decides to crouch beside him for a bit, rubbing whizzer's arms and holding back his own tears.

marvin is constantly in a state of faux optimism that whizzer can see right through. whizzer also holds a calm, lighthearted expression when he can as he tries to worry his friends and family as little as possible. left alone they watch each other and know that it's not alright anymore.

they drop their brave faces and just hold each other most nights. their tight knit family leaves the room and they lay silently together. if tears are shed, neither of them say anything.

on nights where the silence and sobs are too painful they reminisce over things they did together in the past (although they usually avoid mentioning racquetball or chess). they'll lie on their backs, hands intertwined, recounting all the dumb places they messed around and tease each other.

these nights are spent cuddling and talking until whizzer succumbs to fatigue despite doing nothing that day. marvin has to face the inevitability of the situation alone late into the night and early hours. he's graced with insomnia and anxiety throughout whizzer's illness.

there comes a point where whizzer refuses to look in a mirror and laments his good looks. his cheeks become more sunken and his weight loss is so blatant, it's unsettling.

whizzer: remember when my hair line was my only flawmarvin, holding him and whispering into his hair: it still iswhizzer, lightheartedly: don't be a sap, marv

whizzer is soon suffering the mental effects of his diagnosis. he's suddenly overtaken by constant anxiety and depressive thoughts. marvin comforts him however he can, understanding how it must feel for him. 

along with these, whizzer's memory is taking a serious toll. he tries to play chess with jason but completely loses his train of thought. 

jason: you can't move that waywhizzer, half asleep: huh...?jason: the knight. you can't move diagonally; it's against the rules.

marvin notices the distress and confusion on whizzer's face and quickly comes to his rescue, challenging jason to a game.

he's left confused a lot  he loses grasp of dates -- but this could be due to his refusal to count down his days while marvin anxiously keeps track of it, trying to be with whizzer for every single one of his final hours, minutes, seconds.

whizzer sometimes finds him overbearing but marvin knows when to back off and allow whizzer the space despite his reluctance to leave him alone.

whizzer prefers to be in company most of the time during his treatment. when alone he's left to his thoughts of death and what he'll leave behind. no matter how many times he wills himself to believe it's just his time. 

he's frustrated, enraged that if there is a god, why he would do this to him? he knows he is not an infallible being but he at least deserves an explanation. he doesn't deserve to be left to suffer this nameless disease that only provides him with pitiful (or disgusted) looks and half-hearted apologies.

along with the mental collapse, he suffers from persistent nausea as his immune system struggles to fight back any other infections he catches. he can't even look at food without imagining it coming back up. if the illness doesn't kill him then malnutrition is the next contender.

when he and marvin lay together, marvin can't help but notice how he's being poked by exposed ribs.

marvin will hold whizzer and notice how whizzer is somehow extremely hot yet shivering. marvin attempts to nurse him through his more feverish days and whizzer has to remind him that they're in a hospital and marvin isn't a doctor. 

he won't admit it but he prefers marvin's care no matter how useless he is at it. most doctors are cold, dismissive. charlotte isn't able to hang around 24/7 so a familiar face is welcomed.

whizzer outright refuses to allow himself to be babied and makes distasteful jokes at his own expense in hopes of lightening the mood -- it doesn't really work despite his best efforts.

marvin does laugh to some of his morbid joking, to mendel and trina's shock and distaste. whizzer is pleased with himself, not having seen marvin laugh in so long. it's not as bright as he usually laughs but it's something and whizzer finds himself laughing too. marvin holds his gaze fondly and if he's tearing up no one mentions it.

they soon have to face the inevitability of the illness and how it's going to affect marvin. there's a wordless exchange between marvin and whizzer after they've both been informed of marvin's likely future. they hold each other a little tighter that night.

they have a full discussion later on. whizzer won't stop apologising and marvin won't stop asking him not to. 

marvin is all too aware of his fate. this isn't whizzer's fault, he knows that much for sure but he's infuriated. why was there no public information? he'd become a victim to rumours and sourceless hearsay. he and whizzer and countless others.

the days go by quickly, some better than others but whizzer's clearly getting worse. each night he seems a little colder (physically and emotionally), he holds marvin hand a little less tight, his conversation is a little more sparse.

when whizzer's time finally comes and he's lost behind that hospital curtain, marvin is empty. he's never quite understood how someone could feel empty, completely devoid of any emotion, but here he is.

marvin and jason have much the same reaction. frozen. stiff and frozen in place. trina just wishes that this time jason wasn't so much like marvin. she'd always been loud, emotional. couldn't jason cry for once? then trina could hold him and comfort him and whisper how it's going to be alright regardless of her own uncertainty.

on that final day, after mendel and trina have collected the bar mitzvah things and quickly ushered jason out, marvin feels powerless. 

cordelia is leant against the wall covering her face and holding back her own tears. 

before he leaves, whizzer offers him one last genuine (yet teary) smile with his hand over marvin's. his tight squeeze slowly loosens and marvin leaves a final kiss on his cheek as he strokes the back of his hand.

marvin is there when the final light leaves whizzer's eyes. marvin is there when charlotte slowly covers whizzer's body with a sheet. he forces himself to look away knowing that whizzer isn't there anymore. not really. he's there as charlotte comforts cordelia and he can't help but feel a sudden spark of envy. 

he clenches his fists and puts on a brave face. he figures that's what whizzer would want. he couldn’t be more wrong and subconsciously he knows that.

his facade finally collapses when he sees jason place that king chess piece on whizzer's grave. he inwardly snorts, even in death whizzer wins.

jason sees his father's tears and trina is startled when jason lets out his own pitiful sobs. 

the entire tight knit family is left to mourn and to wonder if everything will ever be alright again. mendel, forever a skeptic, offhandedly mentions that whizzer would be watching them where he is right now. the uncharacteristic comment is a welcome comfort as their now-family-of-6 holds each other. 

the belief that everything could be alright lingers.

so yeah... hmu to sob over falsettos.

[eldertwelvecupsofcoffee]

Secret Snowman Gift!

Here’s my gift for @tevetina

I tried to incorporate all three of your requests; I hope I did them justice. 

Happy Holidays!!

Whizzer stares out the window, watching as the sun set behind the Manhattan skyline in brilliant, blinding orange. He remembers, faintly, a time when the sight of that skyline filled him with inexpressible excitement, when that skyline represented a world of possibility for him—a way out of Brooklyn, out of his dad’s shitty apartment and oppressive parenting-style (or, rather, lack-thereof), and into a place where he could unapologetically be himself, without fear of punishment. Now, the sight of that skyline left Whizzer empty.  After all, look where all that “possibility” had led him: a cold, sterile hospital room that smelled too strongly of bleach and had buzzing florescent lights that didn’t do his complexion any favors.

“Hey.” It’s soft, barely whispered, but enough to snap Whizzer back into reality. He turns, plastering a smile across his face, to see Marvin’s just woken up from his nap.

“Hey there, sleepy head.” Whizzer says. “How’re you feelin’?” He crosses as he says this, and pushes Marvin’s hair out of his face; it’s damp with sweat and clinging to his forehead. Whizzer discreetly wipes his hand on his pants.

“Better with you here,” Marvin replies, trying to sit up a little in the bed. “But still terrible. It’s like someone moved the Sahara inside my mouth.” He reaches for the pitcher of water on his little bedtable, but Whizzer automatically moves to grab it for him, and pours him a glass of water in a pink plastic cup.

“These are so ugly.” He remarks, placing the cup in Marvin’s hand.

“I could have done that myself, you know.” Marvin says with a frown.

“I know, sweetheart.” Whizzer replies with a gentle nod, choosing not to point out how badly Marvin’s hand shook when he’d tried to get it on his own. “Move over.” He nudges Marvin over to the side, causing his lover to dribble water on himself in the process, and falls into the bed beside him. He yawns and leans into Marvin, nuzzling against his shoulder like he would have done in their bed at home.

“You don’t have to stay here,” Marvin points out. “I’ll still be here tomorrow, even if you do go home and get a good night’s sleep.”

Whizzer laughs, locking his fingers with Marvin’s. “It’s going to take more than that to convince me to leave you here alone.” Marvin purses his lips, considering this statement for a moment.

“Okay then,” he says finally. “What would you tell me, to get me to take care of myself, if our roles were reversed?”

“Well,” Whizzer says, thinking it over for half a second. “I’d probably say something like…’Marvin, just go home, and turn on the TV. Drink a little somethin’ till you’re dead—think of me around, sleeping soundly in our bed.’” He pauses, then adds, “But I wouldn’t really want you to leave, so I’d tell you there’s nothing to fear, and beg you to stay right here. And finish with an ‘I love you’, so you couldn’t say no.”

Marvin smiles and presses a weak kiss to the top of Whizzer’s head. “I love you, too.”

 Whizzer managed to get Marvin back to sleep not long after their little exchange—a task that was becoming easier and easier with each passing day, and which did nothing to quell the growing pit in Whizzer’s stomach. He’s just slipping out of the hospital room when Charlotte catches him in the hall.

“Whizzer, wait.” It’s as close to a yell as she can reasonably get, given it’s nearly eleven o’clock at night, and most of the hospital is asleep. Whizzer stops and waits for her, rubbing his eyes in an attempt to wake himself up again; he’d been hypnotized by the idea of passing out on Mendel and Trina’s couch—something he’d been doing more often lately, given how much closer their place was to the hospital.

Charlotte’s wearing a grim expression, and holding her clipboard close to her chest. Whizzer’s anxiety spikes, and he can feel his arms go a little numb, a nervous reaction he’s had since he was little.

Charlotte sighs, “Look, Whizzer…something bad is happening to Marvin. Something very bad. Something that kills.” Whizzer winces at her bluntness. “Something…infectious, that spreads from one man to another.” She looks at him expectantly, her eyebrows knit together in worry.

It clicks a little slower than Whizzer would care to admit.

“Oh.” He says slowly, because it’s all he can muster. “I have to go now.”  He turns, not entirely sure of where he’s going, because his vision has clouded over and his head is swimming.

“Whizzer?” Charlotte calls after him. “Whizzer, I’m sorry!”

“Whizzer?” Jason’s voice is softer than usual, as if all the life and energy that normally filled him had been sucked out. He’s sat himself down in the hard plastic armchair next to Whizzer, who’s been asked to leave Marvin’s hospital room, because, as one of the nasty nurses put it, he’s not Marvin’s “family”.

“Yeah, pal?” Whizzer asks.

“I need your help with something.”

Whizzer keeps draping and re-draping the garment bag over his forearm; it won’t sit straight, and he’ll be damned if the clothes inside it end up wrinkled because of that.

Trina gently places her hand on his shoulder. “Everything will be alright.” She smiles as she says this, but her eyes give away the uncertainty that her voice doesn’t. Whizzer offers her a weak grin in return, knowing he looks more uncertain of the sentiment as she does.

Whizzer takes a deep breath before he rushes through the door, with a more enthusiastic “Surprise!” than he thought he could manage. He claps a hand down on Jason’s shoulder, explaining how the whole affair was Jason’s brilliant idea.

“I brought the prayer shawl!” Mendel chimes in.

“It’s Jason’s Bar Mitzvah?” Marvin asks, trying to stand up to greet them all. Whizzer pretends not to worry at the way Marvin has to lean into his bed to get the support he needs to stay upright. Whizzer crosses to him and gives Marvin his hand as support. Marvin laces shaking fingers between Whizzer’s and beams; Whizzer can’t help but notice the tears welled up in Marvin’s eyes.

“I brought you a change of clothes.” He explains, clearing his throat slightly and gesturing with the garment bag. “We’ll change you into as much as we can; you’ll look good in the pictures.” Whizzer doesn’t add “Well, as good as you can”; Marvin’s eyes are rimmed with dark purple, his lips colorless, and his cheeks thin and pale. He looks like a walking corpse, and there’s little Whizzer can do to dress that up, though he does wonder if Cordelia or Trina might have some blush in their purse he could use to put a little life back into his lover’s face.

Marvin laughs, snapping Whizzer out of his worried wondering. “I love you. Marry me?”

“We’ll see.” Whizzer says, kissing Marvin’s nose. “You know I want a summer wedding, and who can say where my affections will lie by June?”

Marvin rolls his eyes at that, making a motion with his arm that should push Whizzer away, but does little to move either of them at the moment.

“Come on, now; let’s get you changed.”

What comes after the makeshift ceremony can hardly be called a reception, but Whizzer wouldn’t trade it for a Bar Mitzvah at the Ritz, even if he had the chance.

Trina’s found an NPR station that plays all instrumentals on the boom box that was Charlotte’s gift to Jason—a gift which she insisted he open immediately. Trina proudly declares it better than the band she’d looked into—and much cheaper too. She and Mendel are waltzing around the room, giggling like teenagers; Charlotte and Jason are doing the tango, while Cordelia claps and cheers them on from her place by the appetizers; Marvin is leaning into Whizzer’s shoulder as they sway back and forth, like two teenagers at the prom who’ve no real idea how to dance.

For a moment, Whizzer forgets they’re even in a hospital room. For a moment, he forgets that Marvin’s sick. For a moment, there’s no oppressive weight in the room, no tensions between them, no fears of the future looming over everything.

For just a moment, everything—every single thing—is perfect.

[styledevoted]

🍺

@livebyyourwit

he's standing on wobbly legs with a bottle neck clutched tightly in one hand, the other gripping the doorframe for the sake of stability. it's no secret that whizzer brown knows how to handle his liquor, but he enjoys the buzz and warmth it fills him with when he's just started on another glass past tipsiness. it fills his thoughts, especially those with edges far too sharp for him to handle sober. it somehow made all the guys in this bar look fractionally more attractive-- or at least attractive enough to consider screwing later that night. even when he'd declare them hopeless closet cases, a type he knew and could read like a book, they blurred into something more desirable the more alcohol fused with the blood pumping through his system.

normally he'd have either gone home with somebody, screwed around in the bathroom, or both. but instead he'd gotten wasted on drinks bought for him but not rewarded for, and then bought himself a bottle to nurse. because even over a year later he can't shake marvin from his head. he'll go out and every now and again his thoughts will drift back to 'wow, that guy has marvin's hair' or 'i swear marvin had that same exact tie'. he can't take it, can't take being constantly bothered by thoughts of a man who definitely wasn't thinking about him. a man he wasn't supposed to care about in the first place. it was too much, he decided sitting at the bar as guy number six walked away disgruntled by lack of attention. he had to put an end to it.

hence why he wound up at marvin’s door at two in the morning on a saturday night, banging furiously in the door. sober him would be aghast. sober him would absolutely despise his guts for even considering coming here let alone actually going through with it. and sober him would definitely want to fling himself off a bridge if he ever remembered what happened after a bleary eyed marvin answered the door.

eyes rake over marvin as he stands there in his sweatpants and a t-shirt, hair mussed by sleep and surprise worn plainly on his face. but whizzer doesn't see surprise, doesn't wait for any questions to be asked before swaying where he stood and jabbing a finger at marvin's chest.

"you," he slurs, eyebrows scrunched together and nose screwed up, "i need to talk to you."

once marvin recovers from his shock, he winces at the loud volume of whizzer's voice and glances over his shoulder back into his apartment before quickly stepping out and closing the door behind him. they stand there for a moment in the hallway, marvin's hand still on the doorknob and whizzer still staring accusingly as he swayed. staring like he was looking for a fight, an apology, a rise of some sort. because he was, he was looking for something interesting, something to shake life up again and change the monotony caused by screwing around like some detached pet of a pretty boy. he'd always been good at playing the part, but something about doing it now after all his time spent with marvin only made it feel uncomfortable, as though it was tainted now by memory.

there's something different about marvin, something softer in the way he holds himself, but whizzer is too drunk to care-- he blames it on the sleep marvin had just been roused out of. but there's still a hint of condescension in his gaze that he has no problem picking up on, because it was familiar and dig under his skin more than anything else could. he didn't come back here for that, he came back for closure, damn it.

"whizzer, you're drunk. i think it'd be best if--"

"that's it?" whizzer's volume hasn't decreased, and marvin's features crinkle for a brief moment before his hand finally leaves the doorknob, "almost two fucking years and the first words out of your mouth are 'whizzer you're drunk'! not 'damn, whizzer, you look good!' or 'wow, long time no see, you're looking great!'? no, better-- 'whizzer, you're looking sweeter than a donut'!"

marvin poorly tries to conceal a snort of amusement, but whizzer's too riled up to notice.

“to you i was only cheap, and...and dumb, and whatever the hell else you liked to say ‘bout me,” marvin’s amusement shifts into something more uncomfortable, goading whizzer further, “i mean, ten months and there wasn’t even a goddamn ‘i love you’! it’s like you only know how to give compliments when you’re lookin’ to get into a guys pants, jesus christ--”

marvin’s expression pinched, and gently he was putting his hands on whizzer’s arms and turning him around to face the way he’d come.

“look, jason’s asleep, you’re gonna wake the neighbors, and you’re not thinking straight right now, whizzer. just go home, get some rest, and if you still want to talk, call me.”

there’s a softness in marvin’s voice that as condescending as it still sounds to his drunken ears, whizzer almost finds it soothing. it’s almost like it doesn’t belong to marvin, who’d very rarely spoken to him in a gentle way while they were together. the only times marvin had ever been uncharacteristically soft was on the cusp of sleep, when they were lying in bed together, limbs tangled as consciousness began to ebb away. in those moments, walls were warily dropped for even just a brief moment to exchange a chaste kiss or soft word-- it had never failed to make whizzer feel both safe and unbearably flighty at the same time.

but now it’s reaching his ears the same time marvin’s trying to shoo him away like an unwanted pest. while whizzer has half a drunken mind to press and ask if jason’s the only one sleeping over tonight, the thought flickers out before he can vocalize anything and he’s left pouting over his shoulder. it’s childish, but he’d found the pout worked well on marvin; he hopes it still works even after all this time.

“that’s not fair.”

“it’s plenty fair. go home, sleep this off, endure a horrible hangover--”

“i don’t get hungover, marvin,” whizzer interrupts with a petulant frown, to which marvin just rolls his eyes.

“i’ve had to deal with a hungover you before,” he argues, and for a suspended moment in time they’ve found familiar ground, but something shifts in marvin’s face and it seems guarded and whizzer finds he doesn’t like it.

“just-- call me if you want to talk, but do it when you’re sober, whizzer. not at the crack of dawn when my twelve year old son is trying to sleep, drunk off your ass.”

whizzer squints, nose crinkling in defiance, but no argument formulates in his brain, lost in a sea of alcohol induced thoughts. 

“fine.”

“fine. goodnight,” marvin gives him one last encouraging nudge down the hall, hand already reaching for the doorknob to his apartment.

“next time i expect you to have a compliment ready, asshole,” slurred insult loses impact when mumbled through a smirk, but marvin just shakes his head with an exasperated smile and closes his door behind him.

heading home, whizzer decides that sober him will definitely hate his guts tomorrow morning, and for good reason: not only did he leave without getting closure, but he’ll have a splitting headache when he wakes up, and he’ll be short the money it took to grab a cab to marvin’s and back home.

at least sober him won’t remember any of it.