Prompt #14

Prompt #10

Soulmate AU where when you touch your soulmate for the first time, you see colours.

(Character A) doesn’t touch anybody, because of their fear of being stuck with someone forever.

One day, (Character A) accidentally touches their long-time best friend, (Character B) and sees colours. Since (Character B) doesn’t react, they assume (Character B) doesn’t see colours too, and is their soulmate, but (Character A) isn’t theirs.

(Character B) does see colours, but thinks that (Character A) doesn’t, and pretends they don’t see them.

Mutual pining and angst ensues.

Prompt #9

(Character A) and (Character B) are supposed to be rivals.

The story itself isn’t angsty at all.

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 #8

(Character A) makes a promise with (Character C) as a teenager that if they still aren’t married by 30, they will marry each other.

The thing is, (Character A) hates (Character C), and tries their hardest to get married to their significant other, (Character B), before their 29th birthday, which is fast approaching.

(Character C) is trying to make them break up, but (Character A) loves (Character B). How will it work out?

I made me!!!!

Picrew

Girl Maker｜Picrew

My tumblr is https://ummmmandy.tumblr.com/ If you use this for posting on other places I'd prefe...

i’m just gonna spend the rest of my summer making myself in these things i swear

anyway anti os should make themselves

Prompt #30

(Character A) is a typical teenage protagonist of a high school movie. (Character B) is the typical teenage love interest of the high school movie. Only, there’s a few things in the way of their relationship - their depression, anxiety, problems with authority, and their parents...

All of them teachers at their school.

Prompt #23

(Character A) is a witch, and (Character B) promised their firstborn to them. (Character A) was joking, but (Character B), who didn’t really want kids anyways, took it completely seriously. They soon became actual friends, but then (Character B) accidentally has a kid.

Now, they have to deal with the child, and the custody issues, as (Character B) decided that they now want to be in their kid’s life.

Prompt #17

(Character A) is a colourblind painter who loves flowers (they became a painter of modern art on accident, after they were scouted in art class for their ‘interesting colours’, despite their attempts to avoid their family’s business/tradition).

(Character B) is a florist with allergies who loves art (they became a florist because it was the family’s business and tradition) and is a new friend to (Character A).

One day, they decide to switch jobs by taking each other’s places and they find themselves loving it. As they grow closer by asking questions about their professions, they realize both that their families hate each other from a feud in the 1800’s and that they can’t keep the ploy up forever.

And, as it gets more complicated, they start to fall in love.

Prompt #5

“Where will we go after we win?”

“We won’t.”

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.