Playing with her in my fantasies

Hmm. A bit dead in here lately, isn't it? XP <3

Mon, 14 Jul 2008 11:03:05 GMT

Lolol-- since no one has seemed to be posting anything as of late, I present you all... with THIS! Voila: *insert trumpet fanfare and mad confetti here* But be warned - it's a prompted series, oOoOoOoOoOoO!! XP Read and enjoy, loves :)

***

Title: Bare - Epilogue
Author: Angela (broadwaybaby718) [also posted to sa_fans]
Pairing: Implied Melchior/Wendla
Rating: PG?
Summary: A "what if"-- None but a week after Melchior and Wendla's fated night within the hayloft, the two survive and are forcibly swept into marriage. They manage to flee while Melchi attends university in New York... However, something occurs the night of childbirth that haunts both them - and dear friend/noted professor Seymour McGinnis - even now, several years later...

Notes: This was definitely the most challenging - yet most FUN - idea I've received. A new SERIES (yes, that's right!) prompted by stars_inthe_sky!! Shifting POV's, this first through the teacher's eyes-- sort of a... flashback/remembrance (idk) to set the scene. I apologize for it's lengthiness!! Comments are loved and appreciated. I hope you all enjoy!! :D

A “Perfect” Creator?
Essay Compiled by Melchior Gabor
Prof. Seymour McGinnis, Metaphysics

***

Is It Possible for a Perfect Creator to Exist?

Two qualities often attributed to God are perfection and being the ‘creator‘ of the universe (if not more). Are these qualities compatible or incompatible? There is a singular good argument that they are, in fact, incompatible; and to the degree that they are valid, the existence of such a god is improbable at the very least, if not impossible.

The following argument is based upon the ideal that a perfect being has no need to create anything at all:

1. God is perfect. (premise)
2. God deliberately created the universe. (premise)
3. Perfection entails the lack of needs or wants. (premise)
4. Being perfect, God does not now nor ever has nor ever will have any needs or wants. (from 1, 3)
5. Deliberate creation entails an effort to satisfy some need or want.
6. Being a creator, God at one time had some need or want. (from 2, 5)
7. It is impossible to have some need or want and also to never have any need or want.
8. Conclusion: God, if it exists, is either not perfect or has not created anything. (from 4, 6)

If God is perfect, then God can’t have any needs or wants; hence, God wouldn’t bother creating something! If God deliberately creates something, it must be because of some need or want — even if it is as simple as curiosity, or the mere, though sickeningly twisted, fascination of young grief.

Theists may reject premise #3 — the idea that perfection means not having any needs or wants. One debate is that God was simply so full of “love” that it wanted to share its love with others and thus created other beings — but this example of a want does not give a reason why the premise is wrong, it merely denies it.

And yet another contention against premise #3 is that perfection is compatible with having needs or wants. In light of a more personal dictum, I myself don’t see any merit to this, as it goes against the basic understanding of what “perfect” means: lacking nothing essential to the whole. If God needed something, then God obviously lacked something essential.

However, perhaps God lacked nothing essential if creation merely resulted from a want of something. This might be effective, but its logical conclusion is that, as far as God is concerned, this universe is rendered trivial and unessential — even irrelevant. A child’s ant farm would serve more purpose and use!!

Theists might also challenge premise #5 and argue that the creation of the universe was not deliberate but instead accidental. If an accidental creation were in fact accordant with a perfect God, this argument would render the existence of the universe even more trivial than the previous argument. Because perfection is adverse to fault, any being that can do something accidentally is unlikely to be perfect.

Though, however many, none of the above critiques are very effective and I would reject any claims to perfection made by or on behalf of any god that either needed something - or wanted something. Both seem to signify a lack of something — one objective, the other subjective — and neither fit with any conception of real perfection to which I can manage.

It is still possible that a believer might argue that, because we lack an understanding of the “big picture” that God has, we also cannot see how things here really are “perfect.” This argument cannot be refuted, but it entails that we cannot logically argue that what we have here is not deliberately imperfect and that God is really a sadistic monster having fun with us! Thus, the theistic position ends back relying upon faith: they have faith that their god is good and this, then, is the only reason to believe that our world is perfect. So their objection to the above argument is based on the mere ignorance of faith, not logic.

As well, a theist could more plausibly argue that everything was created “perfect” for us in the beginning, but we humans have merely destroyed it through that of our own error. This ends up being a repetition of the Argument from Evil, with nonbelievers arguing that the existence of suffering and evil is immiscible with the actuality of a good, “moral” god, and believers arguing that human free will allows for the objective of evil.

Theists might also dare to suggest the following counter: why shouldn’t a perfect god deliberately create an imperfect universe or world? It is unclear how this argument can manage to be sustained — there is, for example, a valued issue to consider. Isn’t a possible world with nothing imperfect better than a possible world with one imperfect thing?

***

Manhattan, NY, 1894

It was with an increasingly heavy heart that Seymour pried his most page-worn fingers away from the young pupil’s work, sighing deeply.

His most prized of all pupils.

His theories had seemingly grown all the more passioned, not they hadn’t been the very moment he strode within the aged and hallowed halls of New York’s most prestigious university. There was an even deeper base brimming behind each argument, individual, unique—and yet all too familiar, connected. The same raw power, rage… hunger laced throughout his, already, “radical” (one could dare to call them) ideals. However stronger.

And all as but a cause of… that night.

Rubbing his temples in exasperation, the withered man’s dark orbs flickered swiftly back and forth – between that of window and parchment - behind the obscurity of his thin wired half-moon spectacles, both required and used only in light of grading assignments. Sliding them quite meticulously from the bridge of his nose, his gaze now locked firmly upon the condition of the weather just outside that of windowpane. The clouded skies, forewarning what now appeared to be something of a monthly rainfall (for winter, at least) only forced said hauntings to swim freely within his sub-conscience yet again.

How Melchior had approached him (all but just 3 years prior), drenched head to foot, damp curls falling loosely to obscure that of his dark orbs. His swollen orbs, you noted. The thin quilt of a newborn hanging life-lessly from his arm, splattered in a most exuberant ruby – as was both his shirt and trousers.

How much his words had stung, barely audible over that of the wails of a young girl nearly several houses over. His girl. Nevertheless, he managed, choking on a sob as he spat out his sentiments, accent still thickly German, however improving:

"There's a reason why I don't believe in God..."

***

Fanfic - Pain - Melchior/Wendla

Tue, 17 Jun 2008 01:16:51 GMT

Title: Pain
Author: Sarah
Rating: PG?
Words: 394
Pairing: Melchior/Wendla
Summary: When it was all over, Wendla hurt. Wendla-centric angst post hayloft scene.
Disclaimer: Not mine.

( Pain )

icons

Mon, 16 Jun 2008 06:02:32 GMT

Hi, everyone! New poster here :)
I'm pretty new to this community and to the fandom, but I have like Spring Awakening for quite some time now.
Anyway, I did make some icons:

{20} Jonathan Groff & Lea Michelle
{80} Spring Awakening Icons (OBC)

Teasers:

Here @ my journal :)

Mod Post: New Layout!

Thu, 12 Jun 2008 10:26:30 GMT

First of all, I know I've been an absentee mod and for that I really apologize. To make up for that, I've finally fixed up our community layout!

melchior_wendla

I also added a banner to our user info. I hope no one minds that I used Lea and Jonathan as Melchior/Wendla? :D Forgive the simpleness of the banners, I'm afraid I don't really have any Photoshop skills. If anyone has other headers/banners we can use, or any other suggestions for the layout or the community in general, please comment here. Or contact me via PM if you'd like. :)

Discussion:
Now that Kyle Riabko and Alexandra Socha have taken over the roles of Melchior and Wendla, it seems that the Producers (or whoever) have decided to slightly alter the direction of the hayloft scene. What do you think of this? Do you think they're gearing their relationship to be more like the play? Is the sex scene less ambigous now and more like actual rape? Does this change your perspective on Melchior/Wendla?

15 Spring Awakening and 4 bare: a pop opera icons

Thu, 29 May 2008 02:46:36 GMT

I made a bunch of Wendla and Wendla/Melchior icons for fanfic50 and there's also a few bare: a pop opera text icons.
[15] Spring Awakening
[4] bare: a pop opera
Teasers:

(A summer's day...)

A New Chance: Part Two

Fri, 16 May 2008 00:15:45 GMT

Title: A New Chance
Author: Megan (thegirlsmiles)
Rating: PG 13 for Adult Themes
Pairing: Melchior/Wendla
Summary: This is part 2 of maybe 3. Wendla & Melchior reunite.

She could see that Melchior was distraught. Wendla immediately felt bad about being tardy. Melchior was sitting by Moritz’s grave. It seemed like he was talking to himself or perhaps to Moritz. She heard him talk about the baby and it made her smile. Her body felt strangely warm and only then did she notice the butterflies in her stomach. She remained hidden from his view.

He moved on to look at another grave, still musing to himself aloud about how strange it was to be in a graveyard. He noticed the fresh grave … the grave of Herr Wernher Berger, the mason who had died the week before. “Wendla … Bergmann,” she heard him read and then subsequent sobbing. It was so dark, he only had the light of the moon and it was easy to misread the grave marker. This was a grave misunderstanding. She had to go to him.

Her nervousness intensified as she reached his side. In all the scenarios she had pictured, she had never imagined that he would confuse Herr Berger’s grave for hers! Who would kill Wendla? The butterflies in her stomach had transformed into the nausea she had been feeling for a month. She put a hand on his heaving shoulder. Melchior was still crying, yelling “No” over and over again. Her queasiness faded as love filled her. He still cared for her as much as she cared for him or else why would he grieve so?

Melchior was dazed with grief. He did not notice her hand on his shoulder. He honestly believed that she was a ghost. Exhausted, his perception was blurred from reality to the supernatural. Wendla realized that she needed a concrete way to prove her existence. Impulsively, she kissed his cheek. She tasted the salt on her lips and he felt warm lips on his cheek. Then and only then did he snap out of his trance. He knew that she was alive.

He hugged her fiercely, still weeping. Tears filled her brown eyes as she melted into the embrace. “I thought for sure I hadn’t gotten to you in time,” he whispered. She had no idea what this meant. “Melchi of course I’m still alive, whatever do you mean?” she inquired.

“Hush, don’t concern yourself with such thoughts. I have you and you’re safe. They won’t get to you,” he assured her and himself. He knew they should move away from the graveyard but he just wanted to hold her. “What do you mean?” she persisted. He could not answer. He waved her question away and took her hand. “Come away with me, we must leave,” he commanded. It was very late, they should be getting back … but back to where?

After some quick thinking, Melchior decided it would be best to return to his house. He did not want anything to do with his parents, so they could not go to his childhood home. Where could they be together, independent of their parents? He took Wendla’s hand and led her away. He also stole a glance at her stomach; she was very slim so perhaps she was showing already. She was not. Then the answer came to him … the hayloft! He would sneak into his house while his parents were still fast asleep and gather many blankets from the coat closet. Maybe his mother had even baked bread for their breakfast.

He led her back to the field closet to his house. Wendla was confused and a bit happy. They were going back to the hayloft? She did not want to rush or bother Melchior with her questions. She should be patient and wait for what he would say. When they got inside of the barn, he let go of her hand. She sat on a bale of hay, still waiting for his explanation. “I thought it would be best to stay here awhile, until I can think of where we can go,” he declared in a mature voice. “Here? We’re going to sleep in the hay?” she asked, a bit hysterical. “Yes, I will fetch some blankets. Moritz and I used to camp here when we were boys. It is actually quite comfortable,” he replied. She was convinced. He rushed out into the dark night and ran into his house. He grabbed the thick woolen blankets without incident.

Melchior came back into the barn; his arms piled high with blankets. Wendla took some from his arms and spread them on a pile of soft hay. They slept soundly with their hands entwined and neither worried about what the morning would bring.

Tue, 13 May 2008 20:37:30 GMT

Title: A New Chance
Author: Megan (lj user="thegirlsmiles")
Rating: PG for now ... will be PG 13
Paring: Lol Melchior/Wendla. Ilse makes a cameo.
Summary: What if Wendla had gotten the letter in time?
Notes: This fic is my first ever epic fic and will have multiple chapters. Do any of you know how to link the chapters to your personal journal? This is obviously a/u. I wrote it in kind of a tribute to Jon & Lea’s last few shows.

She had gotten the letter in time. Ilse had come, when the sun was down, hitting Wendla’s bedroom window with a rock. Wendla was delighted to have some company no matter the time at night in which she came. She invited Ilse in and told her to scale the drain pipe right next to her window. Ilse had done just that and scooted into Wendla’s room via her tiny bedroom window. She was clad in her pretty green frock Ilse’s features were hard, her lips pressed together to form a firm line. It was obvious to Wendla that Ilse was on a mission. Wendla was delighted to see her friend and expressed her joy quite loudly and hugged her fiercely. Ilse noticed that her friend’s normally warm brown eyes looked sad.

“Hush Wendla, you’ll wake your parents and you know I’m not supposed to be here,” she had admonished but returned the hug tightly. Wendla paid no mind. She knew that Ilse could not tell her what the other girls were up to but she was dying for some news about the outside world. Ever since she found out she was expecting Wendla had been holed up in her room secretly writing letters to her friends and Melchior. She hadn’t heard replies from any of them. It wasn’t like Ilse to be so serious but she was determined to get the letter to Wendla. Ilse had seen a lot in her young life, but she was unnerved at the sight of a pregnant girl. She furtively glanced at Wendla’s middle and didn’t notice anything, not yet at least.

She handed Wendla the letter and hoped that things would work out for the new couple. “Here … it’s from Melchior,” she hastily whispered. Ilse had another thing to do tonight; her attendance was required in Priapia. Wendla’s brown eyes light up and a smile finally reached the corners of her eyes. She hid it in her nightgown and would read it in the morning.

In the days that followed, Wendla anxiously waited for Wednesday evening, fervently rereading the letter and devising a plan. That was the night that Melchior would come at midnight. Wendla decided to scale the drain pipe like Isle did. She could creep out while her parents were sleeping. She could hardly wait.

The day had arrived. Wendla spent the day rereading any letter he had given her, and thinking of the sweet words he had said to her. It had been such a long time since they had been together and things were certainty different now, would they still care for each other?

She hadn’t intended to be so late. Her mother came into her room as she was getting ready for bed that evening. “Wendla, go right to bed. We have an errand to do and we have to leave before dawn. You need your rest, especially if you are to be a mother,” she said sardonically, shooting a sharp look at Wendla. Wendla paid no mind and kissed her cheek. “I’ll be ready,” she promised. The lie slid easily off her tongue. Wendla wasn’t sure what would happen when she met Melchior.

Wendla heard her parents talk and argue in their bedroom for a majority of the late evening. She didn’t know what they were talking about so fervently but she had a feeling it was about her situation. Wendla waited until their breath was steady and even. Then and only then did she scale the drain pipe. The activity made her very dizzy and tired. She wasn’t used to such activity after spending a few weeks in her bedroom. By the time she had reached the graveyard in the outskirts of town, she was at least an hour late.

Tue, 29 Apr 2008 01:40:36 GMT

New ad for Spring Awakening in the New York Times!

I won't lie- it made me cry a little. I'm completely in love with it. It's wonderful!

New Fic!!

Thu, 10 Apr 2008 19:19:59 GMT

Title: Drinking What Used to Be Sin
Author: Angela (broadwaybaby718)
Pairing: Melchior/Wendla, sliiiight Melchior/Moritz (if you squint a lil' bit)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The death of a friend brings the love of another - through grief... comes passion. A glance into Wendla's more philosophical side, the side (I think) Melchior truly fell in love with.
Notes: Inspired by many things - My first Melchior/Moritz inspired (and dedicated to) by </a></b></a>prosopopeya, for her Melchioritz fics are just so amazingly beautiful; the song "You Make Me Smile" by Blue October; by a dramatic monologue from The Diary of Anne Frank which I so happened to stumble upon in my Theater 1 class last week. All rights (considering I stole some points within the dialog) are to Frances Goodrich and Albert Hackett. XD

"I wish you believed in God, Melchior."

It was a silly thing to say, really.

However, her tongue had been dancing madly as if upon coals all throughout the day, longing, screaming in a way so lost and foreign for the chance in which the sentence could be uttered. Through the chill and stormy silence whence walking to the sermon beside family. Through the tears now plastered forever upon her fair, pallid cheeks as she gazed down within the soil's unforgiving and now patent mouth, consuming the dear, sweet boy which she had awkwardly grown to adore. Through each moment torn from Melchior's side, his eyes dry, soul detached, seemingly lying beside the frozen hades which now engulfed young Moritz; through his subtle (or so he had hoped) disappearance behind the serene solidarity of the church's tallest steeple - she knew her words must escape.

She gazed out upon him, his forehead as wonderfully magnificent as ever, despite the new woe which had now enveloped him, causing his hunched body to shudder and seize uncontrollably. It was quite clear as to why he had slipped away, quite simple, really...

He had come to cry.

As she spoke, her own voice thickening as though the deepest of molasses, (a strange, newfound tone for her) Melchior's hazel eyes flashed up at her, displaying a shame which was never produced nor exhibited to the menacing world about them.

"Wendla!" he croaked in surprise, rubbing fruitlessly at the salty scars now laden upon his own cheeks. His face seared from the sensation of them swimming tauntingly against his skin, a cruel, ignorant, unimportant reminder and excuse for grief.

"I don't mean you have to believe in heaven and hell and purgatory and things," she continued, her tone hollow even echoing wildly back against her own eardrums, "... just to believe in something! When I think of all that's out there... the trees... the flowers, the woodruff... and seagulls... When I think of the dearness and passion of you, Melchi... and the goodness of the people we know... Martha, Georg, Thea, Otto, Anna, Ilse, our parents... When I think of these good things-- I'm not afraid anymore; I'm not hurt anymore... I find myself, and God, and I..."

"Please, Wendla," Melchior spat coldly, arising from the muddy puddle of his own sorrow to stare out upon her for the first time since she began to speak. "Truly, if their were a God... he wouldn't have brought such suffering upon us. He wouldn't have pulled my best friend along his own personal path of damnation and bitterness if he were one to exist, to 'LOVE'!!"

Wendla's saucer eyes slowly searched his handsome features, now disheveled and alienated as he screamed out upon her in furious debate.

"We're not the only people that have had to suffer." She retorted softly, licking her chapped lips, which were now an identical purple to that of his own. "There have always been people that have had to... sometimes one... sometimes another... and yet--"

"Exactly then!" Melchior shot, suppressing the growing urge to yell out upon the world in fury. His pupils had suddenly twisted, dilating almost madly before her, burning from both tears and heated animation.

"What's the point in even the slightest effort of obtaining faith when your all loving, all forgiving God seems to enjoy lashing out wicked adversity upon the good and innocent?!!" His voice cracked, his heart pounding angrily against the empty shell which had now substituted itself as his chest.

"I know it's terrible, trying to have any faith... when people are doing such horrible... but do you know what I sometimes think?" Wendla continued, tears now pouring as freely as the rain about them, deepening the conviction of the martyrdom hovering between the two. She stepped towards him, cautiously at first, pulling his head compassionately against her breast as they had proceeded to do merely a single full moon ago.

"I think the world may be going through a phase, the way I was with my mother," she whispered, his arms - which had previously been constricted, almost protectively, along his sides - now wrapped around her, melting softly against her curves.

"It'll pass, maybe not for hundreds of years, but some day... I still believe, in spite of everything, that people are really good at heart."

"Your ignorant bliss is less than endearing, Wendla," Melchior half-heartedly chuckled, conversing more to the sweet, hypnotic lull of her heartbeat than to the girl herself. "Explain to me, then, if people are so pure, so virtuous beneath their masks of disloyalty and abuse... why does tragedy still continue to strike us? Day by day, why are loved ones ripped apart by their most vulnerable of seams? Shattered, then gone...?"

"Melchi, if you'd only look at it as part of a great pattern... that we're just a little moment in life--"

However, Wendla's words were soon lost beneath the wretched sobs of Melchior within her arms, searching desperately for compassion, for solace...

Several virginal tears arose in a most pained attempt within her own eyes and, through what seemed a most heart-breaking eternity, the lovers wept. They wept for the loss of their dearest of childhood friends, for their classmates still within a human touch, for the future, for each other. And, found only once before within the deepest confides of the Gabor's hayloft - their was peace.

The rain grew even more fierce with each passing tick of the clock tower looming above them, with each passing breath, and yet the two clung to one another - bodies, clothes sticking against the other due to both sources of adulterated remorse. Suddenly, they found their lips brushing together in comforting innocence, erupting in a most familiar pleasure - drinking what used to be sin.

The taste of her was now renewed, staining the curves of Melchior's mouth in a sweet, passionate instant. As he pressed his lips harder against her own, images of Moritz furiously flooded his mind, strangely invading and consuming entirely the portrait of the tree nymph now running her long, delicate fingers through his soaking curls.

It was then, and only then, that he began to intensify their kiss, parting his mouth ever so slightly and entering his tongue into her own. They danced playfully against one another, tangling in a fury of rapture. He moaned slightly against her lips as her hands escaped his auburn locks to run along his sides, tracing each strong contour of his body through his Sunday best, the doused trousers upon him now warming, constricting tightly against both himself and her. His eyelids fluttered open as he drew his mouth along the edge of her skin, ranging both kisses and nips from gentle to rough.

And all the while, Moritz stood before him - other times behind him, his breath whispered forever along the back of Melchior's neck. It was hauntingly romantic, stuck wildly within this spin. Stoned, forgetful...

It was just how he had always liked it.

Wed, 02 Apr 2008 01:37:42 GMT

[2] Spring Awakening icons
[10] Sutton Foster icons (including The Drowsy Chaperone)

Teasers:

(Show off!) at graphicocity

Fan-Fic: REPOST AND CONTINUATION

Mon, 17 Mar 2008 05:17:59 GMT

Title: The Letter
Author: Angela (broadwaybaby718)

Fandom: Spring Awakening
Pairing: Melchior/Wendla
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Wendla writes the infamous letter to Melchior, expressing their blessing of a child as her imagination dances before her...
Notes: Love and loss - hope and horror.

Wendla gazed out through her bedroom window, the roaring sunset before her painting each cloud a most glorious purple - the trees swayed within the fresh chill of air, singing out in a most heartbreaking hope, truth... beauty. The first few stars of night winked down at her from above, whispering their blessings as though lost souls of the past... she smiled up at them, several virginal tears falling softly down her fair cheeks and upon the parchment beneath her, waiting eagerly for the press of fresh ink against it's skin. With trembling fingers, the young beauty delicately released her quill from within it's dark confides, watching numbly as a handful of ebony drops splashed back into the womb of the jar beneath them... So playful, they seemed, swimming about in such a manner - so free...

Pulling her tender stare away from the brimming sea of raven, Wendla's maple eyes fell instead upon it's newfound home; within this crisp tablet, her ink - every individual bead of it - would flow as one, caressing and connecting together, until, finally, a family of words bore from them, her soul bore from them...! Her heart danced in both nervousness and sheer excitement, pouring, screaming out the sentiments from within her bosom as she pressed the feather's charcoal blood upon the parchment, gingerly careening into letters - words...

My dear Melchior,

I only pray this letter reaches you. I have written so many, and heard nothing back. When I think of your life in that terrible place, my heart aches... If only I could be close to you now, and talk to you - I have such remarkable news! Something has happened, Melchior. Something I can barely understand myself--

Her fingers froze, baffled as her mind searched madly for the proper clarification of their act, their one simple moment of paradise - her intellect collapsed in frustration. The press of skin, the movement of lips and tongue, the pound of heart, the... th-the... the love, that had somehow brought this?! Without marriage, without-

Her muscles tensed, pleading with her to go on; her heart cried out in agony - oh, how to describe such an instance, such news which baffled her own true spirit?!!

-- Our moment within the hayloft... our heaven, lying beside one another in such - a hypnotizing peace, well... something deeper conspired within me. I trust you'll not be cross, Melchi, with all my heart; I know, whatever the challenge we may face with such a gift, you shall be there beside me. If ever I'm not strong, I can rely upon your kiss to build me up yet again, and, though Mother speaks of such as sin, well... I believe we shall experience a deeper happiness alongside this newfound blessing... In my bed each night, I have so many dreams: of the better world that we will build, together - with our child--

Our child... a son, perhaps - strong, piercing emerald eyes, like his father... the hair of them both, soft, brown, and curly... Through the closing of her eyes, Wendla drifted further within the depths of her imagination, her body sighing as softly as the echoing summer breeze - her heart giving way, coursing sweet serenity through every individual vein of her being, vulnerable...

Suddenly, the tug of her dress. Peeling her long eyelashes apart, her eyes fighting against them in protest, Wendla glanced down, the hand of a small boy clutching the hem of her dressing gown. He glanced up at her - he couldn't be none but a year old, his spiral, auburn locks falling just above his saucer, apple eyes. With a giggle, he staggered to his feet, turning round to waddle towards a figure hunched within the corner of the room, buried in a book.

The child fell within the shadow's lap, causing his book - Faust, it seemed - to scatter across the floor. Melchior chuckled, grabbing the boy tightly in his arms, tickling his side. Their son squealed in delight, his eyes swimming warmly with a smile; Wendla laughed beside herself, weeping at the sight of them.

Melchior... her dear, beloved pirate, gazed out at her, smiling broadly. In a blur, he stood and raced towards her - babe still in arm - and pressed a light kiss upon the base of her neck, a mad tingle shooting up within her legs. Pressing his forehead warmly against her own, their beautiful boy now twirling his fingers within Mommy's locks, Wendla's sobs deepened, her eyes now truly ripping open to uncover the cold loneliness besieging her.

The sun had now engulfed itself in a most miserable shadow, the diamonds above revealing themselves, passing through to guide her spirit as though by the hand, urging her to write on...

--Yes, Melchior... it seems we find ourselves parents! I never imagined I'd be blessed with child so young, and, indeed, it shall be rather difficult... though, as frightening as it may seem now, it is most magnificent!! My only hope is that our child is brought up within your knowledge, and that, with him, we may change the cruelness of the world of which you speak. Our babe... I can truly feel it to be something beautiful - a new chance. Even now I can hear it's whispering, your hand upon my own, leading me through my nightmares and into the most lovely of daydreams. I only wish to see you soon... my heart truly does pain without you, Melchi. I shall wait; no - we shall wait. Perhaps even Mother shall see the light and help me in your absence! Until then, my vitality, my warmth walks beside you always...

Yours Truly and Forever,
Wendla, and young Baby Bergmann-Gabor

Her heart now laden with both hope and slight grief, ceasing it's foreboding cries of anguish, Wendla laid her quill beside the parchment, her pale cheeks feverishly pink, her eyes longing to burst in dolefulness. The trees outside now whistled a different tune, a song of longing - wailing - his name resonating loudly within her ears... almost as steady as the beat of his distant heart.

Melchior... Melchior... Melchior...

Without another glance at her soul, now stained before her, Wendla's fingers danced about foolishly, stuffing it within the abstruse white sheath beside it. In a swift pain of heart, the newfound mother raised her feather yet again, allowing it just one last time to swim within the sooty lagoon; it cried out in euphoria, briskly absorbing the precious black brew.

Once finished scribbling out the final details upon the envelope's seemingly vast surface, Wendla sighed, collapsing upon her chair. Her soul was now at ease, her longing now packing away it's sorrow as hope flooded from within. The thought of Melchior - receiving the letter, returning, watching as her stomach grew - it was truly enough... she smiled--

However, her grin quickly evaporated as her mother entered the room, eyes stern. Wendla could feel her heart breaking as she stared into them, shoving her letter to be sent away into the pitch confides of her dresser drawer.

"Come, child," her mother said coldly, her body and soul detached. "We have an appointment tonight with Mr. Schmidt..."

Title: The Shadows Bring the Starlight
Author: Angela (broadwaybaby718)
Fandom: Spring Awakening
Pairing: Melchior/Wendla
Rating: PG-13, slight R? I dunno'...
Summary: Wendla reminisces on past, fonder memories with Melchior through, though unknown to her, her final hours...
Notes: A continuation of "The Letter" - I dunno' really what to say... I've just been feeling so terribly sad and angsty lately!! Lol.

Wendla cried out hoarsely in protest, tears dancing wildly down upon her fair cheeks as Mr. Schmidt proceeded to bound her tightly against the large, and deathly chill, operating chair in the center of the room.

"Mamaaaaaaa!!!!!" she screamed out once again in desperation, watching as the terror of a man before her closed the door swiftly behind him, her mother lost from outside as they submerged deeply within the clouded shadows...

Suddenly - a flash of light, pouring down upon her delicate features, blinding her as though they rained from the heavens themselves, warming her dewy face unpleasantly. Her soft brown eyes, now regaining focus, glared fiercely past the glow, the hollowed outline of Mr. Schmidt just barely visible before her. She listened intenly, the dishevelled hands which had been gripping her arm merely moments ago now fumbling through countless cupboards and drawers, the clashes of metal ringing, tearing through the silence about her.

"Please, Herr Schmidt," Wendla managed to choke out, the echoes of his feet shuffling past opposite her, "what are...?"

However, before her lips could dare to part and utter even another syllable, Mr. Schmidt's unforgiving hands pressed against her body once again, this time clenching her knees within them and pulling her fragile limbs wide apart. Wendla's voice raised in shock, her heart screaming madly from within her bosom in horror.

"Herr Schmidt, truly!! What is--"

Yet, a surge of pain erupted abruptly from within her, silencing the terrified beauty - the fields of joy where Melchior had once graced her before in ecstasy were now torturously ripped apart through the metal's cruel embrace, fresh tears springing from her eyes--

Melchior... How she longed to call out to him, for her voice to sing across the highest mountaintop and reach him, to know her pain, to return, to comfort her... to love her! The mere thought of him was enough to keep her grounded, just barely enough to subside the ache now boring between her legs...

How she had missed him since his departure... even now, facing the horrid affliction of such tools within her most tender of places, her heart pained for him in sorrow, reliving distant childhood memories as though they could suddenly appear in spirit before her - a paradise in her newfound hell...

The summers along the river... even then, at what Wendla considered to be a most mature age of twelve, she was terrified of swimming further along into the water's darkened depths. But, taking her hand firmly, yet compassionately within his own, Melchior had sworn not to leave his fellow pirate behind. His lips brushing gingerly against her ear in a whisper, he had made a most true and simple of promises--

"I'll be with you every moment... always."

Just as her own mother had uttered mere moments before... only Melchior had kept true to his word. Together, they swallowed the last dregs from their goblet of courage and dove beneath the murky waters, never releasing the other's grips. They explored new lengths, as true heroes must have done, both within the water - and within each other. Splashing to the surface for air, Wendla's head swirled in dizziness and relief, her dress clinging to the blossoming curves of her body in the most inappropriate of places. Yet... around Melchior, to gaze into his searching, and nervous, emerald eyes... it felt natural. There was no shame, no insecurities - just the strange new sensation of being beside him, fingers interlaced. How her heart pleaded against all her mind had known of before, to press against him, to hold him, to--

Another tear of agony lifted Wendla from her precious, heavenly memories, her head now leaded down with the cruel reality still unfolding about her.

She wailed, her dear, pallid face now swimming beneath sweat and tears. Her chest pounding uncontrollably against her eardrums, Wendla pleaded loudly for her mother once again, her last attempt - however, the distant echo of her response was all that sounded from within the ghastly confides of the hellish, yet frighteningly calm, atmosphere.

Mr. Schmidt shushed her sternly, his abhorrent, fiendish contraptions digging deeper within her. Such fire that had seeped up throughout her by Melchior's sweet, vulnerable touch was now strange and long forgotten as the walls of her silver castle were broken down, crumbling beneath the strength of the frigid, metal army rising inside her in mad uproar...

The many "excruciating" scrapes to which Melchior had kissed and tended throughout their childhood were now seemingly nothing compared to such agony - not even when he had beaten her with his own two fists... How he had frightened her then - no! She refused to think about it... not now, at the brink of eternity.

Instead, she turned her head with thoughts of their many secret gatherings within the forest, reading, basking beneath the smiling summer sunlight! Ice skating upon the river whence the blue wind of winter fell upon them... watching in autumn as the leaves grew orange against the purple of the sky, his breath flowing steadily upon the base of her neck, his hand running gently through her brown, wavy locks... the endless hours scouring the brush for "treasure", trying hard to relive past childhood games, only to end up locked within the other's embrace, kissing each other terribly, terribly--

A sharp intake of breath as Wendla's unveiled Jehoshaphat was gouged even further open before the shell of the man above her, seeming as though he were an omen of great horror through the unnatural starlight shining down upon her--

And then... there was light no more.

Wendla screamed his name against the night, her hands clutching at the seat beneath her, pain shooting throughout her whole being - through to her very soul!!

Her hopes shattered, her heart weary, Wendla's grip loosened, her muscles falling limply before Mr. Schmidt. A fluttering of the eyelids - and she was gone...

And, no matter how hard he tried, he could not wake the fair girl from her eternal sleep, images of her sworn beloved - and their unborn babe - now whispering their farewells as darkness submerged her entirely, contorting round her spirit as her final breath gave way...

Amsterdam

Tue, 04 Mar 2008 04:38:18 GMT

Title: Amsterdam
Author: mahrie_is
Characters/Pairing: Melchior, Melchior/Wendla references
Rating: PG
Summary: Insanity and escapism.

( Amsterdam )

x-posted to sa_het, safans

Farewell Books

Mon, 03 Mar 2008 02:37:11 GMT

I'm sure all of you know (and if you don't know, you should!) that Lea and Jon are leaving on May 18th, and it's speculated that Blake Bashoff will be leaving then too. I wanted to post information on the books for those of you that don't frequent TGO :)

The books for Jon and Lea will be made by QuoteGirl, and she's got a fantastic website with information about submitting your messages http://www.freewebs.com/jlfanbook/

The book for Blake B. will be done by Lauren (aka spring returning). She wants messages sent to tommytwister13@ hotmail.com by May 10th.

Sumbit your farewells and spread the word to all your SA friends!

Awakened.

Sun, 02 Mar 2008 05:26:31 GMT

Title: Awakened
Author: Megan(thegirlsmiles)
Pairing: Melchior/Wendla
Rating: PG (some adult themes)
Summary: Set after Spring Awakening. Melchior deals with his grief and moves on to the future. Shoutout to Wikipedia for research.
Notes: Okay, I'm really sick but I decided to write a fic. Probably not the best time to post it, but I've been sleeping a lot so I have energy.

It could've been hours or it could've been days that Melchior sat by Moritz and Wendla's graves. He could've sworn that they were there with him, encouraging him to go on and yet there he sat, paralyzed with grief. He knew it was irrational but Melchior felt if he just sat there then they would appear again. "Enough" he said to himself, he should be getting home. All the brooding would never bring them back. As he exited the graveyard, Melchior no long cared where his feet stepped in, he just wanted to sleep in his bed.

His parents were happy to see him. He managed to shrewdly explain that he was allowed to leave the reformatory because of good behavior. It didn't register that he did something illegal by leaving. All he cared about was getting home to Wendla before it was too late. Melchior's dad saw him first. He gave him a hug and gruffly said he was glad that his son had returned. This was the most emotion Hermann had shown in a very long time towards his adolescent son. His mother's face light up to see her son. She gave him a big hug, tears forming in her eyes. She said she would make him his favorite meal. Melchior didn't want to say that he had no appetite. Fanny didn't want to share the news that Wendla had died, but the look on her son's face told her that he knew. He must've stopped by the graveyard before coming home.

Melchior greeted them, managing to limply hug each of his parents back. He thanked his mother for the offer, but Melchior just wanted to sleep. His parents had let him go upstairs with the promise that they had a lot to discuss in the morning. Melchior was exhausted and he mercifully fell asleep as soon as his brown curls hit the pillow.

His mother made a hearty breakfast when he woke up. Melchior filled his plate, but pushed food around for the entire meal. He could not bring himself to eat. He knew it was irrational because not eating wouldn't bring them back but he just couldn't do it. Melchior's father was at work, but his mother shared that they hired a tutor so he could complete his studies. Fanny shared that they were outcasts in the town. They planned to move once Melchior and his brother finished their studies. Upon learning what Melchior did to young Wendla, the townspeople took great pains to avoid the Gabor family. Mr. Gabor planned to move to Munich and start his business there. The boys could attend university there.

The family moved within the next spring. Both Melchior and his brother finished their studies in record time. They were exceptionally intelligent. The Gabor family business prospered in Munich. Melchior was still bereaved, but the change of scenery helped his mood considerably. He blamed himself for Wendla's death. He knew that sharing their love could result in a baby but he didn't think that would happen to them. Life went on. Melchior had his own apartment and lived independently. He finished university, with an emphasis in journalism.

His brother had married and the wife was expecting their first child. Melchior didn't feel bad about leaving his aging parents. He informed the elderly Gabors that he was moving to America. Hermann and Fanny were sad to see him go, but they knew it was the only way he could heal from the years of angst that he felt. No matter what they said they knew that Melchior still felt responsible for his young friend's tragic deaths.

Melchior took a steamship and landed in Ellis Island. The journey was very long and overwhelming. Melchior didn't have the foresight to learn the language before departing Germany. He stood in lines for days, vaguely listening to all the immigrant's noise. Finally, Melchior was cleared and settled in Little Germany. People were kind, the girls were pretty, but Melchior preferred to live alone still brooding about his lost love.

He obtained a job working with the New York Times. Melchior picked up English quickly but he still had a thick German accent. People enjoyed his columns and insights, Melchior was most critical of the bourgeois society that was prevalent even in America. He would frequently walk to Tompkins Square Park and watch the children run around. During the weekends, Melchior's mind would drift to the child that he and Wendla would've had. He could imagine her chasing after their little boy in the park, her stomach rounding with their second child. Or maybe they would've had a little girl, who was the carbon copy of her mother. Melchior shook his dark curls out, as if to clear his head. He knew he shouldn't be punishing himself further with what the future would've been like, but he loved her too much to move on.

If only he had gotten Ilse's letter in time. Then they would've been together. Melchior could've rescued Wendla from her mother. He had money saved up. They would flee to America, just like he did by himself. It wouldn't be an easy journey, especially with her being so pregnant but they were young and in love. It would've worked. Try as he might, Melchior could not move on. He would be destined to be alone for his life, but this was his own choosing. He loved Wendla too much to move on. He knew he couldn't possibly fall in love again. He still felt her, when it rained and his heartbeat, or maybe hers, throbbed in his ears. Wendla was haunting him, but he could deal with that. Wendla was still with him, and he loved her fiercely.

Strawberries

Thu, 28 Feb 2008 12:24:13 GMT

Title: Strawberries
Word Count: 657
Characters/Pairings: Wendla, implied Melchior/Wendla
Genre: General, Romance
Summary: Wendla watches the morning awaken and as she fantasizes about a possible encounter with Melchior.
Chapters: 1

“When the stars are gone, we’ll race to meet the dawn.”
-White Horses, All About Eve

On early mornings, when blue and green and yellow streaks across the hazy pale sky, Wendla creeps out of bed and wanders outside. Her nightdress, long and linen, flaps in the gentle dawn breeze. Cool air and mist greet her face. In the distance, the horses graze- the fat white one munching wet grass and the underfed palomino licking at the dew hungrily.

Wendla adores mornings- the quiet colours, the dampness and light green shadows that rest across the ground. She watches the sun rise slowly, burning away the mist and clearing the fog that floats across corn fields near the horizon.

She dreams too. Dreams about people and maybes, dreams that tickle her mind. But she doesn’t tell these dreams to Ann and Thea and Martha because they are private dreams. Thea tells the girls all of her dreams, but Wendla thinks Thea is silly, and still thirteen (as opposed to Wendla’s worldly fourteen.) Thea won’t keep anything to herself, not her grades or her opinions, or which boy currently makes her fair skin turn red. There are always girls like these, Wendla’s mother has told her. Girls that let their dusty wool skirts drift in the spring wind, who let the older children catch glimpses of their petticoats.

Ilse was that kind of girl, thinks Wendla as the dim white moon fades in the morning light. Ilse played pirates, yes, she played with us and Melchior Gabor and Moritz Stiefel. But Ilse is gone now- off with those strange artists, carrying on and such.

Melchior doesn’t believe there is any difference between girls like Thea and Ilse and the others. He won’t believe in anything he is told to believe. Perhaps that’s his allure…or maybe just a youthful foolishness. But Wendla likes foolishness, for she is foolish and inexperienced and she still doesn’t know why the mother goose near her pond lays eggs after the snow melts and that will be her downfall.

Some girls glow with exuberance, and some are dull. Martha knows this, Wendla ponders, for Martha is dull and not pretty. Not like Thea is pretty, or Marianna. I am pretty, and I know, because Melchior Gabor told me this while we picked apples last autumn.

“Your eyes are very dark,” Melchior had said warmly. “You have lovely eyes.”

Blushing, Wendla had averted her eyes and picked a rotting, wormy apple off the ground, studying it so she would not have to look at Melchior.

“Your skin is turning pink!” he laughed. “You’re as crimson as the leaves.”

She giggled and let the worm, brown and moist, crawl out onto her palm. It slid over her thumb and she tossed it to the ground.

And now the morning’s awakening lights up the dusty road and bales of hay by Wendla’s house, and she is dreaming again of Melchior. Melchior, who believed she had pretty eyes. Melchior, who carried her textbooks on the way home from geometry last week so he could tell her all about Aphrodite, and his book on mythology- Wendla lets the soft wind tangle her hair when she thinks about him.

“I brought a basket of fruit,” she imagines telling him, “So that you might read to me from your novels, and perhaps we would eat strawberries while I listen. And afterwards we’d walk by the river, and toss the leaves into the water, and perhaps we could watch them float away.”

Wendla is entranced in her fantasy, because she enjoys strawberries and she thinks Melchior would tell her “Wendla, your cheeks have gotten as rosy as the berries,” or maybe “Those strawberries you’ve brought are as sweet as you,” and Wendla would blush and look down, but secretly be pleased.

Melchior might say those nice things to her, if she tried very hard to please him. He might.

He just might.

Sun, 17 Feb 2008 17:41:38 GMT

Title: Hours
Author: Angela (broadwaybaby718)
Pairing: Melchior/Wendla
Rating: PG

Summary: A description of the mere hours Wendla and Melchior shared both together and apart; alternating POV’s - a small experiment of mine.
Notes: Takes place during several different moments in time: youth, adolescence, and death... (I must admit -- I cried when typing this). Hopefully this does better than my "Denial" fic! Lol. XD

Tick... tock... tick... tock...

A glance at the clock. Sunday School drags on endlessly... Hour after hour of meaningless drabble to a mere child; what made it so pure, so worth while?

Suddenly -- the sight of her. Soft brown eyes, innocent grin, bashful manner...

How the hours grew more torturous.

Tick... tock... tick... tock...

A squeal of laughter -- how he grabbed me!! Tightly round the waist, my treasure now unsecured. I awkwardly swung my “sword” at him, desperate to break free; yet he held me captive!

... And I didn’t mind...

How the hours of our spare swashbuckling grew dearer.

Tick... tock... tick... tock...

Banned. It was “for the better”, our parents had said. Boys and girls were no longer allowed to be alone together, to play together -- to dream together...

We made our goodbyes, never believing we’d “battle” again.

How the hours grew more painful.

Tick... tock... tick... tock...

I had found him. A clearing in the forest, his... “special spot”, his “private place -- for thinking”.

How he had grown through our time apart! His strong green eyes inviting, his intellect greater, his curly brown tresses softly falling upon his forehead... The sight of him made me blush, his bold words--

How the hours grew more intriguing.

Tick... tock... tick... tock...

I read to her. Chapter after chapter, her head resting softly upon my lap. How she listened, how she agreed, how she spoke -- and only to me.

The lull of her heartbeat... so strange, so entrancing, so fair... if only, with a deeper touch, we could--

How the hours grew within such fantasies.

Tick... tock... tick... tock...

A kiss. A caress, a... a pleasure I had never known! I hesitated, frightened... though all the more he stopped, the more I longed for it. Was this right? The elders had taught such was sin, but--

His hand across my breast. I consented, my heart taking over -- I now understood of what was known as “intimacy”... love...

How the hours blossomed.

Tick... tock... tick... tock...

Departure. I was to be sent to the reformatory, all for reasons I could not comprehend...

Couldn’t I say goodbye?! No, they mused... My ways may have been altered by the love of a single girl; my first true happiness, and they were now suddenly ripping all that away from me??

HER away from me?!

How the hours had now broken my soul.

Tick... tock... tick... tock...

Fear. Me, wi-- ... with child?! How could this have happened? Melchi and I had done nothing wrong, we merely... m-merely...

My God........ she had never told me. She still refused to. I swore to raise my OWN child within such knowledge, such respect and love that I had never received!!

My own child...

How the hours brought my heart true hope... and happiness.

Tick... tock... tick... tock...

A shocked glance upon her letter. Me? A... a father?! How... how -- indescribable!

A new promise; a new life, ours to raise and cherish -- ours to bring true change. I couldn’t imagine a better way to spend my days, couldn’t imagine a better LOVE than to share it with!

I would escape. To nurture my Wendla... my unborn babe... I must.

How the hours shed new light upon my shattered dreams.

Tick... tock... tick... tock...

Pain. How the doctor tore within me, -- so cruel, so... ah! How cold the tools of such misery ruptured within my body, my soul--

A sharp intake of breath; how could mother DO this to me?! ... No, NO! I want to keep it!!! I want to-- t... to...

Darkness...

How my mind flooded with images of him during those last, fateful hours.

Tick... tock... tick... tock...

A sob... My head resting upon her cold tomb, as she had once laid her own upon my shoulder. There was nothing there no longer, nor would there ever be...

Regret. I raised the razor upon my neck; I had no one. I wanted no one... Suddenly, the ghost of a hand upon my own.

Surely I was going mad?! However... beyond any explanation of my own... my hand slowly succumbed to the urge of releasing the glistening silver blade. The presence of my sweet had left as well, but that memory of a touch was all I needed.

I shall heal...

How the hours relived her memory... and how they showed me why life was truly worth living.

Sat, 09 Feb 2008 01:43:37 GMT

Title: Shadows Bring the Starlight
Author: Neko
Pairing: Melchior/Wendla
Rating: PG
Summary: 'Died of Anemia'
Notes: This is...an experiment of sorts and very stylistically different from anything I've ever written (in any fandom). I'm really nervous about this. :/

Spring 1891

Wendla Bergmann
1877 – 1891
Died of Anemia
May She Rest with God

You lie over the tombstone, the cold night wind biting at your skin through your thin shirt. You barely notice. You feel nothing but pain. It fills your soul, pushing into every cell in your body and radiating out of every pore of your skin. Your tears spill onto the cold, hard stone, your body shakes from the force of your sobs, guttural cries escape your lips. So loud it could wake the dead. Wake the dead. You almost laugh at the irony and then realize you might be going insane.

Wendla is gone, taking your unborn child with her. Moritz is gone. You’re alone now.

Hope. Love. Salvation. All of it buried in the ground beneath you.

What was the point of living now?

And then a whisper in your ear. A shadow of a touch on your shoulder, on your hands, pushing the blade away.

You’re broken but not defeated. You’ll go on.

Fall 1891

Wendla Bergmann
1877-1891
Died of Anemia
May She Rest with God

Your finger traces over every letter. A – N – E – M – I – A. Over and over. More anger builds inside of you after every pass.

It’s been six months.

You were welcomed home. Tears in your mother’s eyes as she held you tightly. You only felt numbness.
They hired a private tutor for you and you’ve completed your studies.

You can’t remember a thing you’ve learned. Maybe you didn’t learn anything at all.

You go by the cemetery often. Your first stop is Moritz’s grave then Wendla’s.

Is this what you’re supposed to be living for? You ask them. This half-life of numbness and mere existence?

They don’t answer.

Once a week there are fresh flowers on their graves that you didn’t put. It’s Ilse, you know it is. You wait but you never see her. She’s a ghost now too.

You see Frau Bergmann in town sometimes. Her body tenses when she sees you and she can’t look you in the eye. You’ve only seen Herr Bergmann once and the hatred in his eyes would make any boy quake with fear. You hold your head high and return his gaze. It was their fault Wendla was dead. Their fault that she was buried underneath a lie.

You leave for Munich in the morning. University awaits. You will take up law like your father wanted.

You came to say goodbye. The word never leaves your mouth.

‘Died of Anemia’.

You are a shell of what you once were but you still have purpose. You will right this lie one day.

Summer 1893

Wendla Bergmann
1877-1891
Died of Anemia
May She Rest with God

Your first night back in your hometown in over a year and the first people you visit are dead people. You almost laugh at that. Moritz is probably laughing, wherever he is.

It’s been easier, being away. You hate to admit it but it’s true. Just breathing isn’t as difficult now.

And then you sit here. And you see her eyes, her deep brown eyes. You wonder if your child would have had her eyes.

And you’re drowning again, gasping for air, fighting to get to the surface.

‘Died of Anemia’.

You stand up and walk away.

No, it still isn’t easy.

Spring 1894

Wendla Bergmann
1877-1891
Died of Anemia
May She Rest with God

Another grave has been added. Your father.

You weren’t prepared for the crushing blow you’d feel when you received the news. You
and your father were never close.

But now you realize there’s only one person left that you truly love who isn’t buried in this cemetery. And even her time was soon coming.

You look down at the tombstone. For the first time your eyes are drawn to the line ‘May She Rest with God’ instead of the one above it.

You’re still an atheist. But you read those words and for the first time you want to believe it’s true. True for all of them.

Time is passing. You’re never more so aware of it than when you’re here in this little town. This little town where the scenery never changes but the people do.

Your school friends were at the funeral. You hardly recognized them. You wonder if they recognized you.

How could they? When you look in the mirror and can’t even recognize yourself.

Is this the life you were meant to live? You want to ask them. All of them.

‘Died of Anemia’.

The lie still lives on.

And so do you. Somehow.

Summer 1897

Wendla Bergmann
1877-1891
Died of Anemia
May She Rest with God

You’re still not whole. But you’re healing.

You’ve graduated university.

It has gotten easier. That’s the truth now.

Your finger traces the letters of her name. You still miss her and you tell her so.

But holding onto regret hasn’t helped you. It was time now. Time to fight the lie and let go of the past.

You’re leaving for America. You’ll start a new life. A life that’s finally your own and not dictated by others. You know that if you don’t do this now, you’ll never have peace.

And then it happens. For the first time since that fateful night. A whisper in your ear, a shadow of a touch.

Just a split second but it’s enough. Another piece inside of you has healed.

It’s time.

You lay down the pink tulips and whisper your goodbye.

‘Died of Anemia’.

This may be the last thing you do here. You’re ready.

Spring 1898

Wendla Bergmann
1877-1891
Baby Bergmann-Gabor
1891
May They Rest with God

Question!

Fri, 08 Feb 2008 09:15:05 GMT

Does anyone know what year Spring Awakening is set in? If not the musical, then the play? :)

Mon, 04 Feb 2008 11:34:02 GMT

Due to my severe insomnia, I've decided to post another fic!! :D

Title: Denial
Author: Angela (broadwaybaby718)
Pairing: Melchior/Wendla, Melchi's POV
Rating: PG

Summary: After a few weeks of "special meetings" with Wendla, Melchior discovers his feelings for her are growing stronger with each passing day -- however, he refuses to accept the fact that he's in love. Though, he comes to a strange and sudden realiziation towards the end...
Notes: Sometime after their hayloft meeting -- the two have begun to enjoy some time as a couple...

"Melchi!" Wendla cried, racing from the brush and into the clearing of our "special spot". I glanced up from my book, my eyes no longer absorbing the cold script -- instead, drinking in the sight of her. She looked so... beautiful in the dazzling sunshine: her sheer, lavender dress fluttering in the breeze, her long, brown tresses flowing behind her... her eyes swimming with joy.

I grasped her hands firmly in my own as she arrived before me underneath my large oak; pulling her down delicately into my lap, I planted several soft kisses along her neck, causing her to shiver -- causing me to grin. She couldn't help but giggle as I did so, no matter how hard she urged herself not to, bringing me to smile even broader than I had before. Still seated upon me, she turned her head round, her cheeks flushed pink.

"You're late... again," I said teasingly, brushing a lock of her silken hair behind her ear.

"I'm so sorry, Melchi! I tried to come sooner, but Mama refused to let me leave the house without giving it a good scrubbing first, and I--" I listened intently, watching as each word fell from her lips; I hung on every syllable she uttered, staring deeply into her maple eyes... I couldn't help but smirk as she stuttered out the rest of her excuse.

"Just promise me it won't happen again, or I may just have to punish you, young lady!!" I said, tickling her gently along her side, causing her to squirm and bat my hand away.

"Goodness!" she laughed, falling back tenderly upon my shoulder. I took the oppourtunity to tighten my grasp around her waist, my heart light as I absorbed the very scent of her being against me. I rubbed my thumb across every inch of her as we began to chat, longing for the sunshine to rest upon us for hours. I answered each of her questions, I fed her my opinions, I teased her, and she responed all the same. We more than just "listened" to one another -- we swallowed each other's words, storing them within our own psyches. She more than matched me in her intelligence and passion, something no one else ever bothered to give her credit for. But not me... No, I knew her so much better, and I-- I.....

I closed my eyes as she spun me an anecdote of her days with Martha, Thea, and Anna at the river, her steady heartbeat resonating all around me. Such music to my ears, I felt... I -- I felt so in... such--

What was it?! "Love"?? No, i-it couldn't have been... could it? Was there even such a thing? With Wendla, we shared what seemed to be the strongest of bonds I had ever known. I always found myself devasted whenever we could not be close, and when we were -- my heart seemed to float on air, my head leaded with fantasies. Whatever I did never seemed enough to please her; I wanted to challenge her, but for her to accept me. I longed... I longed for such things that I had merely read in books, such theories that I believed boring intellectuals had reveled in to fill an empty hole within their lives -- to succumb to their own unexplainable passions because of the shallowness of their days, constantly feeding their own self pity and disgust...

And that's just what they were. Thoeries. Melchior Gabor is not one to admit he is wrong! I just... I couldn't have been, it... this wasn't love, it was -- it WAS--

"Melchi? Melchior?"

I slowly peeled my eyes open, broken out of what was becoming a most challenging self-debate. My brow furrowed, I gazed down upon Wendla, her saucer eyes staring through mine with such concern, such affection, such..... such love.

My God. Love.

Beyond my own bodily control, I grasped Wendla's delicate face firmly within my hands, pulling her into a most passionate kiss. As she wrapped her arms around me, confused, but in pleasure, I thought... perhaps I HAD been wrong. Gazing down into such soft eyes, warmly pressing such tender lips against my own... it seemed it couldn't be anything but love!

... I had been wrong. Wendla had proven to me... that, for once, everything I knew about such feelings, was wrong! And it didn't matter. As long as I always had her at my side -- nothing mattered.............

Mon, 04 Feb 2008 09:51:39 GMT

Can I just say that I am thrilled by all the fic that's been posted lately? We really do have talented people here. Keep it coming guys! :D

Here's a new one from me...

Title: Some Warm Delight
Author: Neko
Pairing: Melchior/Wendla
Rating: PG
Summary: Wendla surprises Melchior with a picnic and they talk.
Notes: This could be considered a companion piece to my fic, Revelations. It takes place in the same universe. And I'm really bad at coming up with titles. :/

Wendla hummed to herself as she walked down the path that led into the woods. The sun was coming up higher in the sky and she quickened her pace, wanting to get to ‘their spot’ before Melchior did.

She had rushed through her chores this morning so that she could prepare a picnic lunch for herself and Melchior that she was going to surprise him with. A now familiar warmth spread through Wendla’s stomach as it always did when she thought of him. She resisted the urge to giggle although she couldn’t help the foolish grin that spread across her face as she anticipated their time together.

She reached their spot underneath the tree, Melchior was nowhere in sight. She set the basket down and began taking everything out of it, spreading out the blanket and then carefully arranging the cartons of food.

Suddenly Wendla’s vision went black. Two hands covered her eyes. Two large, warm, and very familiar hands.

“Melchior! I keep telling you not to do that!”

He laughed. “I just want to make sure you know it’s me.”

“You’re silly. Of course I know it’s you,” she tugged at his hands. “Now off!”

Melchior removed his hands and pressed a kiss to the back of her neck, which caused a pleasant shiver to run down Wendla’s spine. Even after all of these weeks, Wendla still wasn’t completely used to the feelings that Melchior stirred inside of her. It was all so new and so very confusing.

“What’s all this?” He asked.

“I made lunch.”

She watched anxiously as Melchior opened one of the containers and sampled the potato salad.

“This is delicious,” he grinned. Wendla let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. She really wanted to please him.

“We learned to make it at school,” she said.

“Learning to cook at school? I suppose it’s better than memorizing Latin.”

“I wish we could do more reading at school. All we do is cook and sew. I’m not good at sewing. Fraulein Budendach always yells at me for not getting the stitches straight enough and then-” Wendla stopped, realizing what she was saying and who she was saying it to.

“And then what?” Melchior asked as bit into a muffin.

She looked down and played with the edge of the picnic blanket. “Mama said no man will want to marry me if I can’t sew properly,” she said in a quiet voice.

Melchior laughed. “It’s ridiculous what adults tell us, it really is.”

“It’s not true?” She asked.

“Wendla, if you take a survey of the boys in town, I assure you that none of them would rank sewing as high on their list of priorities when searching for a wife. And even if they did, I’d say your cooking skills more than make up for your lack of sewing skills. We find that far more important. Particularly if you plan to marry Otto, that would be very important,” he grinned.

“You’re teasing me.”

He laughed and fed her a piece of muffin. Wendla felt her heart start beating faster at the gesture.

Melchior suddenly turned serious. “Do you really think marriage is so important?”

“Of course! Don’t you?”

“I don’t actually. I think the whole thing is merely conceived by society in order to impose a social order. Think about it, a person of middle class will marry another person of middle class and breed middle class children. And the cycle goes on just like that, there is no movement. It’s why so many people in positions of power don’t really belong there, they just happened to be born into wealthy families.”

“You don’t think people should marry then?” Wendla questioned.

“I used to think that, yes. I thought marriage was just a sham but I’ve thought about it more and I think…” He paused and looked out into the distance. “I can see now that there may be a point to marriage, when done right…”

“What do you mean?”

Wendla enjoyed talking to Melchior. He really was as intelligent as they say and she enjoyed watching him get so passionate when he talked. And she liked asking questions because he never thought they were silly and he never got mad like her mama and her teachers at school. He was also the first person who Wendla felt really listened to her when she talked, the first person who didn’t act as if her opinions didn’t matter because she was just a silly little girl.

“I think people should marry for love,” Melchior said.

“I thought you didn’t believe in love.”

He stared at her for a long moment. “You read that in my journal, didn’t you?”

Wendla looked down and fidgeted with the hem of her dress. “Yes,” she whispered.

Melchior was quiet for such a long time that Wendla couldn’t resist glancing at him. He was staring out into the distance again, his forehead creased in lines.

“Please don’t be mad, Melchior. I’m sorry, I know it was private and it was wrong for me to read it. But I didn’t read very much, I swear I didn’t. That part just caught my attention and-I’m sorry…” A tear rolled down her cheek. She didn’t think she would be able to bear it if Melchior stopped meeting with her.

He finally looked at her again and frowned when he saw her crying. “I’m not mad, Wendla,” he said and gently wiped away her tears. Then he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his lap.

Wendla laid her head down his shoulder, reveling in the warmth of his arms. “You’re not?”

“No. I don’t mind that you read my journal, actually. I’m just thinking of how to explain…So much has changed since I wrote what I did. I’ve changed. I think I might have been wrong in some of my opinions.”

Wendla giggled. “Melchior Gabor admitting that he’s wrong?”

“Now who’s teasing?” He poked her side and she squirmed in his lap.

“Melchi, stop!” She squealed, batting his hands away.

She tried to stand up but Melchior grabbed her around the waist and kept in her place. “Okay, I’ll stop. Just don’t move, please.”

Wendla settled down and leaned back against his chest. They were quiet a moment as she tried to catch her breath. The sun was high in the sky, so bright that it hurt her eyes to look up at it. But they were shielded from its rays by the think leaves and branches of the tree they were under.

Finally Melchior broke the silence. “Let’s say hypothetically, Wendla, if I,” he paused. “If I…asked for your hand in marriage, your mother would not approve would she?”

Wendla felt as if her heart had stopped beating. “My-my hand…ma-marriage?”

“Hypothetically, of course,” Melchior smiled and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “What would your mother say?”

“I suppose she would disapprove,” she said honestly.

“Exactly and I think it’s preposterous because her disapproval would be based solely on hearsay in town. She wouldn’t even take into consideration that I love you and I would take care of you more than any other man ever could.”

Her eyes widened. “You-you love me?”

Melchior blushed and looked down, taking her hand in his. Wendla’s breathing came out in short gasps, her pulse was racing; she felt so dizzy, she thought she might faint.

“I do,” he said, laughing lightly. “Wendla, you make me feel…you make me feel things I’ve only read about in books. Things that I thought were simply made up by bored intellectuals, reveling in romantic fantasy. I know better now,” he looked up into her eyes, his gaze so intense that Wendla felt herself getting lost in the depths of his dark brown eyes. “You’ve taught me better. Being with you these past few weeks has shown me what love is.”

She kissed him. She kissed him with more force and passion than she ever had before, pouring out everything she felt in her heart and soul, trying her best to communicate what she couldn’t put into words. He kissed her back just as eagerly, until Wendla felt it absolutely necessary to break away for a breath of oxygen.

He leaned his forehead against hers. She lifted her eyes to look into his and she knew he understood. The connection between them in that moment was palpable, as strong as it was when they connected physically. And yet, she knew she needed to say it.

“I love you too, Melchior.”

He smiled, his eyes lighting up in a way that made Wendla’s heart swell. He kissed her forehead gently and lay back on the blanket, bringing Wendla with him so that she rested on top of him, her head nestled underneath his chin. His hands rubbed soothing patterns on her back.

“Melchi…what are we going to do now?” She asked.

“I don’t know. All I know is that I won’t let them separate us, ever,” he kissed the top of her head.

Wendla sighed contentedly, feeling safe and warm in Melchior’s arms. She closed her eyes and let the sound of his heartbeat lull her to sleep.

Mon, 04 Feb 2008 03:22:52 GMT

Title: Firsts
Author: Angela (broadwaybaby718)
Pairing: Melchior/Wendla, Moritz/Ilse sub-text
Rating: PG

Summary: Melchior and Wendla share their first "kiss".
Notes: Takes place several years before the musical; I'd say they're all around 11 or so.

"Oh, oh- AH!" Wendla cried out, her delicate feet fumbling beneath her as she swiftly chased after her four dear friends. With a sharp intake of breath, she fell forward, her knee scraping roughly against the forest floor. "Oooowwww," she sniffled, struggling to rise -- only to collapse back down upon the dirt below.

Melchoir, whom only seconds before had been laughing and running alongside Moritz and Ilse, now stopped, acutely aware of Wendla's absence; he had been planning a most superb tackle round her waist, but she was no longer in front of him. He spun around, his hazel eyes immediately falling upon her fragile body in a pained ball. "Wendla!!" he cried, his heart suddenly pounding at the sight of her injured. He rushed towards her, causing Moritz and Ilse to turn round as well, curious.

"Melchior, what - oh, no! Wendla!" Ilse cried out as well, fearful for her fellow pirate's well-being. Usually, she was the one whom was known to the others as "clumsy" -- it seemed quite a different ordeal now that Wendla was the one bruised, considering how frail she was at times.

"Melchi, is she alright? Should we--" Moritz began, ignoring his now falling socks to take several swift steps after Melchior.

"Don't worry -- she'll be fine!!" Melchior called to them, still making his way through to the clearing. "You two go on ahead. We'll catch up soon enough!"

Moritz swallowed. "O-okay..." he stuttered quietly in response, suddenly nervous at the thought of he and Ilse alone -- together... Still, the two continued to make their way through the forest as Melchior arrived at Wendla's side, his face flushed; his eyes frantic.

"Wendla," he panted, a strong urge to now cradle her hands in his own instantly overwhelming him. "Are you all right?"

"I... I think so," Wendla murmured, her sparkling brown eyes now dull and swimming with tears. She attempted once more to stand, but the pain of her knee caused her to fall back yet again; subconsciously, Melchoir reached out. He refused to let her fall again... and for reasons he couldn't describe.

However, Wendla was able to catch herself, though she cringed in pain as she sat back down slowly upon the clearing floor, several fresh tears now falling gingerly down her cheeks; Melchior frowned as she began to cry, her face flushed pink in anguish. His hands unable to resist any longer, he reached out and took her face firmly within them.

"Now Wendla, please don't cry," he said, his thumbs tenderly wiping away at her tears. His face was merely an inch from her own -- finding it now diffucult to breath, Wendla tried to focus on the swaying trees beyond him... though, her eyes were strangely fascinated by his lips, which had now curved into a half-smile.

"Please, Wendla... you're much prettier when you don't."

At his words, Wendla's stomach seemed to burst with the fluttering of a thousand butterflies... she furrowed her brows, unbeknownst to her as to why she was feeling such a way. Suddenly, he began to pull away, his strong fingers slowly letting go of her cheeks -- she didn't want him to, and the worst part was: she STILL didn't know why...

His eyes, now calm once more, seemed to dazzle before her; Melchior grinned as she composed herself, his dimples prominant. "Now then," he said, nervously gazing down upon her knee. "... Shall I take a look at it?" Wendla opened her mouth to speak, but could only manage a small nod in response.

Nodding his head as well, for lack of a better reply, Melchior swallowed; brushing his curly brown tresses from his eyes, Melchior reached down, his hands now strangely shaking. Gently, he pulled back her layered skirts, breathing heavily. Reaching farther upon her leg, he slowly began to unroll her stocking, a million thoughts flooding through his head - Why was he feeling such things towards one of his dearest friends? Would she think of this as a sin? Were the same thoughts racing through her own mind?! Was -- Oh God.... Oh God...

Once he had finally managed to remove her stocking entirely, he gazed down upon her bloody knee. His heart, which had just recently been light with feelings even HE couldn't describe, suddenly filled with a slight guilt -- and anger. Why hadn't he been paying more attention to her? He could have stopped her from getting hurt -- God, why did he hate seeing her hurt so?!

Glancing back up into her rosy face, Melchior couldn't help but smile. "You'll be fine," he said, reaching into his pocket. "It's merely a scrape, and I know the perfect remedy for that..." Still clinging tenderly to her knee with one hand, Melchior slowly pulled out a long strip of gauze with the other.

"Melchi, where did you--?"

"My mother," Melchior stated, answering her question before she dared to finish it. His eyes twinkled in the bright sunlight. "You know how she worries about us."

Wendla, again at a loss for words, simply nodded as he -- affectionately -- wrapped the gauze several times around her knee. With a slight rip and fumbling fingers, her knee was tightly bounded.

"Oh, Melchi," Wendla smiled, wiping roughly at her cheeks, " thank you! Come, we should--"

"Wait!" Melchior held up his hand in protest as Wendla began to stand, despite how much she longed not to. "The remedy is yet to be complete."

"Oh?" Wendla queried, slowly flopping back down upon the forest floor.

"We musn't forget the most important step..." Melchior said, smiling, his eyes brimming with both compassion... and slight mischief. Wendla gasped as Melchior leaned forward and pressed his lips warmly against her bandaged knee. His mouth lingered upon it for several moments -- warm, delicate.... Wendla gazed down upon him, light-headed with disbelief.

A boy? K-kissing her?! What in heaven's name would her mama think if she discoeverd that her precious girl recieved her first kiss today -- and how much she had liked it...

Melchior unwillingly tore his lips away from Wendla's fragile knee, his heart light, his body leaded. "There," he whispered, grinning broadly. "All better."

Wendla stuttered, her head spinning. "Th-thank you, Melchi, I uh..... we -- you and, um... we should c-catch up." Swiftly, Wendla arose and struggled to pull her stocking back up along her leg. With a small smile, she raced from the clearing, her footsteps equal with the pounding of her heart.

Melchior chuckled as she sprinted from the clearing -- he couldn't help but notice her skirt fly up as she did. Exhaling deeply, Melchior stood, his eyes glancing at the clearing around him; still lost in such strange new feelings, and, with a grin, he jogged after his "friend" -- unaware that this exact clearing would soon grow to become his escape. It would become his "Special Spot".......