I Made Me!!!!

Prompt #21

AU where when two people fall in love with each other, they are stuck together forever and can’t fall in love with anyone else after.

(Character A) fell in love with (Character C) a long time ago, but (Character C) was only pretending to love them. Unaware of this, (Character A) ends up breaking up with them after finding (Character C) cheating.

Heartbroken and lonely, (Character A) runs to their best friend, (Character B), who, unbeknownst to (Character A), is in love with them.

As (Character A) recovers, they begin to fall for (Character B), but is in denial, as they believe they already had their love. (Character B) is in denial for the same reason, but soon start to suspect something is up after (Character C) claims to have found their TRUE love.

Prompt #16

(Character A) is a rebellious teen, and when they get together with the goody-two-shoes (Character C), everyone warns (Character C) to be wary.

In the end, it’s (Character A) who gets their heart broken, and nobody knows how...

Except maybe (Character B), who’s been with (Character C) before and knows exactly what they’re like. As an empathetic person, they become friends with (Character A) to try and mend their heart, and fall in love a bit in the process.

As (Character A) has just gotten out of a bad relationship, (Character B) doesn’t want to rush anything, but little do they know that (Character A) is just as enamoured.

Cue the ‘I don’t want them to be a rebound’ and ‘I’m not gonna rush anything’ and let the story begin.

it went to voicemail

“I want you to understand that I’ll never be sorry for doing this,” he choked out. He couldn’t cry now, not now, when he was already so close. “Remember when I said that there’s probably only one thing in my life that I’ll never be upset about messing up?” His eyes were shifting now, across the moonlit skyline that showcased about five percent of the stars in the sky and the skyscrapers edging higher and higher in a desperate attempt to reach them. His phone, clutched tightly in his white-knuckled grasp, was shaking from where he held it.

“This is the one thing.”

He closed his eyes, staring at the backs of his eyelids flashing a billion fireworks.

“I want you to know that this isn’t your fault. It will never be.” There were tears falling now, falling to the near-empty pavement below and not even leaving a dot on the concrete to remember. He was a fool to think he could keep them in. His free hand clings to the railings and he leans back. His feet are almost dangling off the edge.

“I always loved you, you know? I was so stupid,” and now he was laughing and soaking in his own saltwater tears, as if he came straight from the ocean. “I was so stupid.”

The neon billboards were just as bright as the backs of his eyelids, and now he couldn’t tell if his eyes were open or closed. “I know you will probably delete this voicemail. I know how you hated to listen to them. I know, I know, I know,” and he was near hysterical now.

It had been three weeks of drinking straight vodka and not even recoiling, two weeks of experimenting with drugs he’d never heard of just in case he could finally learn what it was like to forget, one week of crumpled up paper balls because he couldn’t write his own suicide note correctly, how pathetic is that?

Every minute since the Words has been the worst minute of his life. They weren’t gone yet, not even close, and he didn’t know what to do to get rid of them, so he did the next best thing.

“I’m in love with somebody else,” had never been words he would expect from his lover’s mouth, never ever ever. Not a single nightmare had brought up this terror, not a single time had he woken up in a cold sweat thinking of the possibility.

And maybe that’s why he was so affected.

“I still love you, and I hate that. I don’t know how to hate you. I don’t think I have the ability to.” He was talking so fast, so brokenly and so close to a sobbing mess that he could taste the salt lingering on his tongue.

“I… The thing is, I don’t know how to be without you. I never have. And that’s not your fault.”

He can’t blame him for anything, no matter how much he wanted to be able to shout what he’d done wrong and shriek to the high heavens that he had been wronged, no matter how much he wanted to scream at anyone who walked by that he wasn’t okay, no matter how damp his pillow was and how parched his mouth always was nowadays.

“This is the best for me. This is the best for you. This is the best for us, for everyone!” He was smiling too now, and he had to remind himself to hang on for a little longer because his grip was getting loose.

“So, sayonara. I don’t know if we’ll meet again in another life. I don’t know if either of us will want to.” Only a little while longer. “Just… Know that I love you. It’s not your fault-“

And the voicemail crackles and muffles the last words. His last words.

No one knows what he said. What his final goodbye truly was. Nobody could hear him, from twenty-five floors above the ground and wind howling like a banshee. And so nobody will know what his last tears sounded like when the hit the ground, whether or not the left a mark, or whether or not he was still smiling or laughing through the tears, or what he even had to say.

“I still love you. I’m sorry.”

His last words echo across the starless skyline, around the neon signs, through the desperate skyscrapers, away from the roaring sirens and boisterous lights, and never reach anyone’s ears except his own.

He was still smiling.

You’re walking through the woods. It’s so quiet here, so much more quiet than it used to be, and you know it. You’ve never been here before, never seen these trees before, and they look strange, but you can’t exactly place why.

Never has nature been this demented, and you can’t explain the chills running down your spine, cold water streaming down your back and never losing its consistent shock. The colours of the plants are darker here. Still, it’s simultaneously empty and grey. They’ve lost their verdant glows, and you have the sinking feeling that you will lose your own.

It’s both nostalgic and horrifying - you can feel the leaves crunching, and suddenly you are struck by the realization that it’s late spring. The river flows silently, and the leaves and water are the only sounds. You shiver. There are no birds here. They know better than to linger here. They knew better than to dissipate into the wood.

You miss the sunshine, and the familiar feeling of home. There is no light here, but you can still see, and home is so far away, and you don’t know if you can ever return, because this world is all-encompassing and you can’t shake the thought that even if you escape, this place will never truly escape you. You may never get away, you may never tear the shards of this from your mind completely.

Is this home?

You’ve been here so long. So so long. Has it been years now? Minutes or months? How can you measure this with the simplicity of time?

Would it be escape or leaving?

Somebody once said to you that the world is your oyster. What is this world? If you don’t know where you are, what do you make of it? What can you make out of nothing? Something is tugging at the edge of your consciousness. The world is swaying under your feet, dancing to a rhythm you’ve never heard before, and pulling you with it. You can feel the pieces of yourself slipping away, and it could be your vitality. It could be your colours. It could be your awareness. It could be you.

All you know is what is taking away from you.

“Mr. Sandman,” you smile deliriously. You’re so close to being gone.

Finally.

“Dream me a dream?”

You know he is what takes you when you leave.

I know I said I wouldn’t make any more sandman edits

but

I need someone to describe the exact feeling this one evokes because words are kind of failing me right now

john watson background!!!!!

(picture not owned by me, btw)

He doesn’t know what to make of it.

It’s ugly and it’s not, it’s beautiful and it’s not, it’s simultaneously everything he could have wanted and everything he dreaded.

She was leaving him.

She was leaving him, and wasn’t that fantastic? Wasn’t that horrible? Wasn’t that everything he could think of, alone but together with himself and a bottle that he could’ve sworn had fused to the callouses on his fingertips, had been superglued there and never ever left.

She was leaving him.

He still had his wedding ring, stuck to his finger in a different way than when you try on a ring and have to take it off with soap and water and time. It was stuck by the adhesive of his own mind. Trapped. He couldn’t take it off, couldn’t bare to pry it away.

She had taken hers off long ago, so why was his still stuck, like the bottle to his callouses and to his lips and permanent streams of saltwater that clung to his cheeks for days and days and days? Why?

All of his breaths were shudders and all of his thoughts were endless strings that never had a conclusion, an essay with an infinite word-count. He could still see the amber spilt on the floor through watery eyes, and still found it ironic that he was back to crying over spilt milk and spilt Jack Daniels and spilt tears and he was crying over everything and nothing and whatever was in between, so why did it matter anyways?

He clenched the bottle even tighter in his hand, and he wasn’t sure how much of it was alcohol and how much of it was his own tears at this point, and he knew he had to stop.

He had always known he needed to stop. He knew he needed to stop the first time he took a secret sip from beer in the fridge and the first time he had a serious hangover and the first time and the first time he met her and the first time she left him and the first time she came back and the first time she left a second time.

So many firsts. To him, the milestones didn’t matter a single bit. To him, all that mattered was that he didn’t have to care about what really did matter. And he was incredibly proficient at that in particular.

So he was good at knowing when to quit, but he was never quite as good at quitting. He was still stuck on that one time she smiled at him and she had looked so genuine, so real, and how she had looked just as real and tired when she said that she wanted a divorce and that she had had another.

She had another, didn’t she? Of course she did, she was always good at back-up plans and back-up-back-up plans. He knew it when she had a beer spilt on her shirt that neither of them liked (like the Jack Daniels on the floor and the milk knocked over to the ground and his heart to hell fires). He knew it when she came home with her lipstick smeared and with her eyes wild, he knew it when she stopped looking him in the eye and started looking at the wall behind him.

(The last time she looked him in the eye she told him straight to his face that she had another.)

(The last time he looked her in the eye he didn’t say a word.)

He stood up and slipped on the whiskey and prayed to whoever was out there that he wouldn’t be able to get up. It didn’t work.

It never worked, did it? Whoever was out there doesn’t care much for people like him anyway, and he could hear in the back of his head the whisper screams of ‘alcoholic’ and ‘acute mania’ his own screams weren’t loud enough. The shards of the bottles scattering everywhere when he smashed them to drown them out hid under his couch and beneath the coffee table to escape him and he understood why, because he was running from himself too, like her.

He didn’t know if there was a God anywhere.

Prompt #15

(Character A), who is a peasant, accidentally saves (Character B), who is royalty, from an assasination attempt. However, (Character B) thinks it was purposeful, and thinks they are indebted to (Character A).

(Character A) is unaware of this, and wonders why the heir to the throne is so interested in them all of a sudden.

I like weird, funny fics, like My Immortal. I assumed that fics such as the Chair Fic and the Milk Fic were crack fics, again, like My Immortal. They were not.

Ever read a story that is so bad you can’t even look at written word until you’ve cleansed your body and mind with something as potent as bleach?

Writing Prompts?

I have a lot of Spotify playlists with unnecessarily long and weird names.

I make them up on the spot most of the time, and I don’t even have a reason or story for most of them. I thought that maybe they could be used for writing prompts, or at least inspiration.

So here you go, have some prompts. If you use them, then please reblog or message me. I would love to see what you make of them.

‘do you remember my name or the way i said yours?’

‘yellow + purple = grey’

‘catch me on the next ‘snapped’’

‘water, carry me down the drain’

‘here we are, at my hundredth funeral, and we should really stop doing this by now’

‘the catch to dying is consciousness’

‘necklaces of the gold star stickers i never got’

‘happy tears of pity and envy’

‘consequences of the consequence’

‘purple prose’

‘did you love me or were you lonely?’

‘lack of love is the new hatred’

‘i’m sorry you thought i was sorry :/‘

‘make orange juice from lemons’

‘our house, their home’

‘perfection is relative’

‘the fork in the road’

‘close we hold the fallen’

‘wonder where my mind goes’

Prompt #25

(Character A) and (Character B) are best friends, so of course, when (Character A) goes on Who Wants To Be A Millionaire, they use a lifeline to call their best friend. They don’t need it, but they just wanted to talk to them before they won.

So, of course, (Character B) accidentally confesses their long-time crush on (Character A) on live television.

... Shit.