the doctor always has a huge phobia of the thing that killed them in their previous life. five fucking hates heights. four doesn't like spiders. ten is the exception because he is weirdly fond of kissing girls
“Sorry you have reached a number that is disconnected or is no longer in service.” -falsettos fanfic
Authors note- uhhh this is kinda trashy because I made it in like 15 minutes without editing
Word count- 1.149k
Warnings- angst, canonical character death, Marvin needs a therapist that isn’t Mendel, post act 2, implied character death, Marvin’s giddy seizures references, suicidal thoughts, seriously someone get him a psychiatrist
Summary- Marvin thinks about him and whizzer, he comes to the realization that his memory of whizzer is fading.
Fic below the cut
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It had been two months.
Or exactly 1460 hours since whizzer had left permanently. 840 hours since he saw his lover lowered into the ground, buried underneath hot soil. It was sunny that day, the sun beamed down on the back of his neck causing sweat to form and trickle onto the inside part of the collar of the white button up.
Marvin hated the Sun, he always preferred the rain. Cold wet rain made him feel less alone, the pitter patter as the rain hit the ground or the window brung him comfort. The sun didn’t. But whizzer liked the sun; he liked both actually, but above all weather conditions he loved the sun. He remembered asking him about it once, said something about how the heat from it gave him a dopamine rush. He remembered whizzer sounding-
His thought ended there. He searched for words to describe how he sounded on that day, but he could barely do it. The sound of his voice was faint like a memory from when your three. Marvin stood still. Completely frozen as he tried desperately to remember.
“C’mon…c’mon…”
Whizzer, whizzer, whizzer, whizzer.
He searched his mind desperately for every memory he and whizzer had to remember what he sounded like. It hadn’t been that long had it? No no, whizzer wasn’t gone. Whizzer was still here in memory, he had to remember or else whizzer would be gone. He would’ve lost whizzer forever. There would be no salvation for it.
Marvin’s body started to attempt to move, but he couldn’t. In fact, when he tried to, he immediately lost his balance and almost fell if it wasn’t for the wall. He’d been like this for a while, he’d been used to the muscle atrophy at this point. It had been happening even before whizzer got hospitalized. He did what he normally did, dragged his foot, forced himself to move desperately the tingling sensation and numbness.
He slumped to the ground as soon as he reached the small wooden table that his phone sat. He reached up, his hand searching for the familiar shape and started to push it off. He caught it as it feel and he quickly dialed.
xxx-xxx-xxxx
He held the receiver up to his ear. His breath heavy with anticipation as it rang. It was only maybe 15 seconds but it felt like 15 years of waiting. 15 years of waiting for whizzer to answer, for him to ask Marvin howworks going, marvin would answer that he’s working late, that he’d be home soon. Marvin would be nice, say that he’d bring takeout on his way home. Whizzer would say okay. He’d come home to see whizzer. Everything would be alright that way.
Finally the ringing ended and Marvin gripped the reciver like a frightened hold with a knife.
“Hello this is whizzer brown, I’m out right now. Call back later, unless I’m ignoring you. In that case fuck off.”
The line went dead and Marvin called back again.
“Hello this is whizzer brown, I’m out right now. Call back later, unless I’m ignoring you. In that case fuck off.”
And again, and again, and again. He started laughing. It was kinda like whizzer was ignoring him huh? Like he was two years back when they’d first broken up. Marvin remember a couple days after the incident he had called whizzer seven times, one time sober where he left him harsh words. Called him a money hungry slut that couldn’t keep his legs shut that just leeched off of rich men. The other times he was drunk, completely hammered. Begging, apologizing like a pathetic loser. Whizzer only answered once. With the help of the voicemail he remembered the exact tone and cadence of his voice.
“Marvin.”
He paused and Marvin began his drunken apologies, whizzer cut him off after a sentence though.
“Marvin, lose my number. Never call me again or else I’m changing it.”
He sounded tired, angry, a little bit pained too. The line went dead after that and as much as Marvin was pissed that day that whizzer dared had the nerve to ignore, he ultimately obliged. He didn’t call him or see him until two years later.
Marvin laughed at the memory. Not that it was funny in any capacity, but the idea whizzer was just ignoring him again. That if he keeps pestering whizzers line he’d answer, cuss him out, yell obscenities at him. He wanted nothing more than for him to do that actually. He wanted to hear whizzer again, he wanted to touch and feel his hair, his skin. He wanted to talk to him. This was the closest he could get. So he dialed again, and again, and again.
For the first time in months he felt happy it was Like whizzer was still here, like whizzer was going to walk though their apartment door and kiss him. Everything of whizzer’s was still here after all. His cameras, his clothes, his shoes, his film, his baseball bat, his mitt, his racket. all of it. Whizzers stuff was in their room waiting for him. Whizzers line was still active, so eventually he’d answer and complain about Marvin blowing up his phone, he’d come home and tear Marvin a new one about not taking care of himself and his disgusting choice of clothes. Whizzers still here.
He dialed his number again. The numbers on it started to become more faded than the rest, Marvin didn’t know how long he’d been at this. Marvin had began to loose the concept of time outside of his work hours entirely actually. He held the receiver up to his ear again, waiting for the next hit of relief at whizzers voice as if it was a drug. But was instead swindled and scammed, being met with the robotic tone of a woman.
“Sorry you have reached a number that is disconnected or is no longer in service.”
He threw the reciver down to the floor, the line making the rest of the phone follow. It was most likely broken but Marvin didn’t care.
Whizzer was gone. Marvin couldn’t hear whizzers voice anymore. Marvin wouldn’t ever see whizzer again, Marvin wouldn’t see his lover come home, his lover wouldn’t take photos of him without him looking, he wouldn’t tear into him anymore for his poor choice of clothing and style, they wouldn’t play raquetball anymore, whizzers camera would collect dust, so would his film, whizzer wouldn’t play and loose against Jason, whizzer wouldn’t help Jason practice for baseball.
Whizzer brown was gone, he wasn’t coming back.
Marvin laughed and laughed and laughed. He writhed and clutched his stomach tightly as he curled into a ball. Laughs eventually turned into choked up sobs.
Whizzer brown was officially gone, there was no salvation or saving grace. Marvin had gotten one of his worse fears to come to fruition. At least Marvin would reunite with him soon enough, apologize for everything. He was bound to see his lover once more, kiss him, hold him, talk with him. It’ll eat him, swallow him whole. Weather it be illness or the ocean, he’ll see whizzer once more.
hmm probably: queer varsity team baseball pitcher thats too pretty for his own good x freakshow daddys money theatre kid that has giddy seizures since he doesn't get enough attention at home
All I want to say is that attacking fans for still loving Good Omens and Sandman and what have you even after the allegations, is a pretty shitty thing to do and doesn't make you better than them. If you decide to step away from these fandoms, good for you, but you don't have any right to dictate how others deal with the situation.
Just a reminder that there are children on this app that joined a fandom they thought would be a safe space for them, all for you to attack them before they even had a chance to process everything that's been going on. Shame.
I know I might also get hate for this, but personally I still love Good Omens and nothing has changed for me in that regard. I still work on my WIPs and post/reblog stuff and I will rewatch it a million times until s3, which I'll also watch the second it's available. We need to separate the art from the artist and recognize that Neil is not the only one that worked on it.
Even if the allegations are true (and yes I want to believe the victims and I do, until proven otherwise), he did create something beautiful that's bigger than him or Terry or David and Michael. Two things can be true at the same time.
Are people forgetting that GO is not written by ONE PERSON BUT TWO. It’s mostly Terry Pratchett’s work. If you want to keep investing in GO, do it in support of him, who’s literal dying wish was to see it made into cinema.
Keep loving Good Omens for those like Terry, Michael Sheen, David Tennant, Jon Hamm, Douglas Mackinnon, and everyone else who helped bring it to life.
The show is a COLLABORATIVE effort. If you no longer feel you can support Gaiman, that’s valid. But don’t disregard the others in the production who did nothing wrong.
gracieabrams
origamiaround
baratheonpilled
turnnoffyourmind
amandla
