bakerstreet | the island of misfit prompts.

the island of misfit prompts.

(thank you

dyslexic for giving us this beauty)

Because sometimes you can't decide what meme to post to and you'd rather choose from a bunch of random prompts instead.

1. You're trapped in a McDonald's. It's only a matter of time until the McNuggets run out or the McFlurry machine breaks …
2. You're trapped in an elevator and it's like that M. Night Shamawhatever movie so the devil is haunting you in it and you're probably going to die.
3. You're trapped in one of those giant meat freezers and slowly freezing to death with the other person in the thread. Will you huddle together for warmth like Seth Green in that one move?
4. tfln. Every good random prompt meme needs tfln.
5. mpreg. See above. Aliens? Genetic mutations? That breeding stable meme redux? It happened, and now you've got to get your shit together.
6. You have a big secret to tell the other person and now is your only chance. You're probably on your deathbed idk.
7. You woke up naked in a hotel room with the other person and no clue how you got there. This is some The Hangover-type shit.
8. Kinky times. Because every random meme needs a smut prompt, too. Get your 50 Shades of Grey on.
9. Body horror. You and/or person b are mutating into a zombie/robot/vampire/furry/cthulu/etc. and it's freaky as hell.
10. Disney time. You and person b are now acting out the Disney movie of your choice.
11. Roadtrip! One car, one … cup?
12. Ghost, Patrick Swayze style. You or person b is a ghost, and now you're trying to communicate with them from the other side. (NO POTTERY.)
13. Human centipede. I'll leave this one up for interpretation.
14. Mr. and Mrs. Smith. You and person b are both keeping huge secrets from each other, but one of you is getting ~~suspicious~~!
15. High school AU. What it says on the tin.
16. ZOMBIES!!!!!! Were you bitten? Are you hiding out in a shack somewhere in the middle of a post-apocalyptic wasteland?
17. A raccoon is trapped in the house and now you and person b have to figure out how the fuck to kill it.
18. You're dying a slow tragic death so you better get those last words the fuck out.
19. You're possessed by a ghost/demon/yeerk/whatever the fuck. Fight for dominance or … don't, no one actually gives a shit.
20. You're connected by a red string of fate to the other person and you follow it and find them ~~and hook up?~~

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[There were the usual farewells, the exchange of brief wishes for a pleasant summer holiday, but Gilbert has few (if any) that he would truly call "friend" even if he does have several friendly acquaintances. All of them politely flee when Vincent comes into sight, though, especially when he looks as intent as he does now. It takes far braver people to stand against Vincent Nightray and the object of his attention, and so with hasty farewells the others scatter and leave Gilbert to wait.

He, on the other hand, only glances sidelong and gives a resigned sigh as he slouches farther onto the bench where he's perched himself.]

If only it would.

[Then maybe the train would be delayed. Maybe he could put off leaving for a little bit longer.

Certainly, he should be grateful that they'd both been adopted, and by the same family. But he didn't particularly like feeling so obligated, and especially not to them. Plus, that much close contact with Vincent....

Well, it makes him uneasy for reasons and in ways he can't really put his finger on.]

[ vincent cannot help the vague, triumphant smile that flickers across his face when gilbert's acquaintances dart away from him like so many scattering insects. ]

You can't mean that. Your socks would be soaked!

[ with a huff and a chuckle, vincent drops heavily onto the bench beside his brother, shifting close entirely by rote, because he cannot be close to gilbert without being close to gilbert, and he has long since grown accustomed to his brother's cringing.

he's so downtrodden, far more than usual, so much so that even vincent cannot ignore it, or explain it away, and he is keen enough to understand just why. like gilbert, vincent has no love of their adoptive family - their parents, distant and uncaring, their siblings, spoiled, cruel brats, all of them (he shall repay them in kind some day, some day.. ), but gil has always been far more sensitive, far more fragile, and vincent hates to see him so affected, hates that gil must return to these people who clearly do not see or understand his value.

a sharp smile edges at one corner of his mouth, and vincent glides his fingers over gilbert's wrist, gripping the back of his knuckles tightly, and his smooth voice drops as vincent leans into him. ]

.. don't make that face, Gil.

[And cringe Gilbert does, also almost entirely out of habit— he cannot edge too far away, not without sliding off the bench, but he still stiffens and glances around with furtive discomfort in the hope that no one is watching. Their names are in the mouths of the school gossips far too often as it is, and every time Vincent decides to get so close Gilbert is convinced that he'll never hear the end of it.

The present situation does, at least, distract him somewhat from what is to come, the heavy awareness of the inevitable misery of the near future; had he stopped to consider that perhaps his brother's antics were perhaps to that end then Gilbert might have been grateful. But he does not, would not even entertain such an idea, for it is completely foreign to him that anyone would value his existence so highly. He loves his brother and yet at the same time does not, at least partially for fear that he doesn't believe the emotion would be returned in kind. At least... not the same kind.

But any retort he might have made regarding rain and wet socks dies immediately in his throat, his spine stiffening as he freezes in place like a light-struck deer at both touch and tone. Everyone is watching. Everyone must be watching. Why won't the train arrive and save him from at least the public view?]

What face?

[Discomfort makes his tone somewhat sharper than usual, his expression settling into a mixture of discomfort and irritation.]

[ yes, everyone might be watching, but vincent does not mind, not in the slightest. if anything he revels in it, encourages it. this is mine, he says with every sharp, knowing smile.

mine.

though vincent would not deny gilbert his friendships, his companions, still he feels he must demonstrate this, because they must know, they must know how special he is, they must know what ill might befall them should they ever, ever think of harming gilbert in any way. imagined paranoia, perhaps..

but that is neither here nor there, for vincent. ]

That pouty face!

[ his grip tightens, vincent's slim fingers lacing through his brother's, his chin perched atop his shoulder and his smile plays at hellish innocence. ]

As if the very world is crumbling around your ears. You can be so dramatic, Gil.

As if you're one to talk about dramatics.

[It's not so much a snap as it is the verbal equivalent of a sullen pout, though, thus lending more credence to Vincent's description of his brother's slouch. Gilbert can hear it, and that as well as his own awkward uneasiness at the way Vincent is sliding closer still when he has nowhere to go to escape it, only serves to make him all the more annoyed.

He wants to stand up, to push away and storm off down the platform. To find someone to sit with who won't leave him so flustered and childishly angry. And yet he does not. He only sits, tense and rigid as a statue in a posture leaning away from Vincent as much as possible, face set and cheeks flushed.]

And I'm not pouting.

[The sound of the train's engine as it pulls into the station saves him from having to make further reply, at least, though it's an uncertain salvation at best. It only brings the inevitable closer to hand, adding to his misery.]

I have no idea what you're talking about!

[ with a mournful howl, the train careens closer, steaming and churning as it pulls up to the platform and all at once vincent is detaching, untangling their fingers to pull away and stand, to heft his messenger-style carry-on bag onto his shoulder. it is always with such casual ease that he does these things, as if such closeness is entirely natural, entirely normal, though for vincent it surely is. he knows no other way to exist. ]

Don't get left behind, big brother.

[ though by the look of him, gilbert would prefer nothing more.

but at any rate, vincent turns from him, hiking his bag comfortably higher, and striding toward the hissing train with purpose. surely gilbert could use this time to escape, to slip into another car, another seat, but somehow vincent knows that he will not. ]

[Gilbert gives an irritated, almost disgusted grimace at Vincent's response, but chooses to hold his tongue. It's rarely worth the effort to try, especially when his brother is skilled at twisting words around (much as he does other people) to suit his own purposes. He is quite aware that he isn't nearly so clever, and so concedes the battle before it even begins.

Instead he only rises a second or two after Vincent, dragging the strap of his own bag up and over his shoulder as though it weighed several tons, watching his brother's retreating form. He could very well just walk away now. There are so many people milling about on the platform, climbing onto the train, making a confused racket, it would be simplicity itself to feign confusion of his own and end up sitting with someone else. Nobody could fault him. Nobody.

Nobody except himself, perhaps.

It isn't until the train is beginning to pull away from the station, though, that Gilbert finally joins his brother again. He doesn't even look directly at Vincent, however, as he first lets his bag drop and then heavily flops into his own seat with an air of resignation. In the end, there really is no other place for him to go but this one, and he knows it.]

[ by the time gilbert finally trails into their car, vincent has already made himself comfortable in it, his bag strewn open beside him, his thick, wild hair pulled free of the ribbon that binds it to fall free around his shoulders and back. he is currently scratching his fingernails against his scalp in joyful relief when gilbert at last drops heavily into his seat, his shoulders heavy with defeat.

not for the first, and most certainly not for the last, vincent wonders just how much better off gilbert would have been without him. what a life he could have lived, how peaceful it might have been, how loving and warm, had vincent simply never been born. how much better might he be now, if vincent were to simply .. disappear?

such dark thoughts.. they are hardly infrequent, always scratching at the back of his mind, especially at times like these when gilbert seems especially forlorn. soon enough, he will.. he will..

ah.

a warm smile tugs at his mouth, and vincent stretches his long legs before him, lacing his fingers to stretch them, too. ]

One might think you were being paid, to frown. [ a tilt of his head, and vincent's eyelids lower over his mismatched eyes, and there's an eerie sort of forewarning in his words, though perhaps it might be entirely imagined. ] Don't worry, Gil. It'll be over before you know it.

[No matter how he tries to pull away, Gilbert always finds himself being drawn back to his brother again. It could be simply that Vincent is and always has been the one familiar thing in a world where he was set adrift, disconnected from his past and hardly able to connect with his present— for all those he knows and is in contact with, he has formed bonds with very, very few, and those only the most tenuous.

Perhaps there is something in that empty space in his memories that would tell him exactly why. Perhaps not. But his instincts always tell him that it is his duty, as elder brother, to keep watch over the younger. And he has always tried to keep up with Vincent, the perfect, the prodigy, through unending work and effort, so that he may do so.

He slumps into his own seat much as he had the bench on the platform, frowning even more deeply at his brother for a moment before closing his eyes as though to shut everything out for at least a brief time.]

Some of your friends asked me to pass on greetings.

[Among... other comments, some of which still make him blush slightly at the memory.]

You could have joined any of them instead.

[ vincent watches his brother's face with attentive curiosity, trying to read his expression, to find what lurks beneath his golden eyes but sometimes.. sometimes gil goes to a place that even vincent cannot follow, where the darkness pervades, and obscures. when he falls into these black moods vincent can only guess at why, and generally he is correct, but sometimes he is not, sometimes gilbert buries himself away in it and cannot be broken free.

he hates it. gilbert being out of reach is a thing he cannot abide, it's enough to make his chest tighten with panic, with the urge to grab, to grasp to keep. gilbert is his anchor in life, the point at which everything converges, his single,absolute reason for living. ]

.. I could have.

[ breathe. vincent sits back in his seat, drops his hands into his lap, his eyes still fixed on gilbert's face. ]

But I would rather be here, with you.

[For several heartbeats there is no response, almost as though Gilbert hadn't heard, or perhaps dozed off in his seat. Silently he turns those words over in his mind, examining the tone, the content, everything about them, wondering if some meaning lies behind him that he doesn't understand. There is so much that he does not, after all, especially when it comes to Vincent and the family and history he doesn't remember.

Finally his eyes open just a crack, just enough to let him see his brother's expression— though as soon as he notices that Vincent is watching him so intently he shifts, glancing toward the window uncomfortably.]

...why?

[What is it about him that interests Vincent so? He simply doesn't understand, and that only adds to his unease.]

[ why..

as if it isn't incredibly obvious, as if it isn't so, so simple. simple enough that vincent does not need to lie about it, does not even need to embellish. it is the one and only pure feeling that he has ever known in his life. ]

Why?

[ how can he possibly ask why; it all but makes his heart ache to hear. vincent's expression evens out, his expression strangely tranquil, almost sad, though his smile remains fixed. ]

.. because you are my brother, and I love you. Why else?

[The words are entirely logical, certainly. It's the kind of thing that one might expect brother to say to brother, and yet— somehow Gilbert didn't expect such a thing of Vincent. Not Vincent, not toward him. There's no reason for him to be considered important in anyone's eyes, much less his so-popular and talented brother. There is nothing about his company that could be of interest, especially when he's in as foul a mood as he knows himself to be today of all days.

The simple sincerity in the tone of the statement, however, convinces him outright that it must be true, that there is no lie in what Vincent says. Instantly ashamed, regretting the impulse that made him question his brother's motives, Gilbert grimaces and closes his eyes again, somehow managing to slouch even more in his seat. Once again, he can do nothing right, no matter how he tries.]

...ah.

[ somewhere deep within him it stings to know that gilbert feels this way, to know that gilbert could ever, possibly think that vincent could want to be near him for any reason other than that he loves him but he cannot blame him, he cannot ever blame him.

vincent is not worth trusting. he is not worth loving. he knows it, he knows it entirely, profoundly. he accepts it. he is too filthy, too worthless, too damaged, beyond repair..

a beat, and vincent is rising to his feet, taking the two steps it takes to cross to the other side of the car before he's dropping lightly down beside gilbert, threading his arms around his brother's again, leaning his blond head into his shoulder. he thinks to say something, but opts for silence instead, and hugs gilbert's arm close to his chest. clinging to him will not work, it will never work, and yet.. ]

[He hears the rustle of fabric first, then the swift steps that bring Vincent closer, and automatically Gilbert tenses before he can even feel the touch. As soon as his brother leans into him, though, he exhales slowly and forces himself to try to relax. He doesn't understand, perhaps will never understand, but this much he feels he owes as a sort of penance and an apology he can never speak for his doubt.

Still, he cannot imagine why Vincent would feel as he claims (as he must, for it is difficult to doubt him now, though given some time Gilbert's doubts will no doubt return once more). What could he have possibly done to earn anyone's loyalty, much less admiration or love?]

[ what indeed, gilbert..

vincent knows, of course, vincent has always known, though he is disinclined to say. gilbert does not need to know, he does not need to remember. the pain, the beatings, the abuse, the brutality and oh, the blood, all the blood.. his brother may be miserable enough in his amnesia but it is for his own good. his brother, his sweet, sensitive brother, to know the truth --

it would unravel him. it would destroy him. it is better this way, better not to know, not to remember..

his grip tightens, and vincent breathes a quiet, easy sigh, pressing close and closing his eyes. this.. this is all he wants in life, all that he needs, and nothing else. gilbert's closeness, the warmth of him, the scent of him, the knowledge that he is here, right here, makes vincent feel safe in a way he never can otherwise. he will be content, to nap here, perhaps, against his brother, and it's as if they are children again. ]

[As time passes Gilbert's discomfort slowly eases along with the tension in his muscles; the monotonous sound of the train along the tracks lulls him, even as the even sound of Vincent's breathing and his warm presence peculiarly comforts him. Something about this, the posture, the drowsy huddle against his side, seems... familiar. And at the same time, the darkness stirs inside of him, whispers from the void of his past tickling fear along his spine to keep him from finding complete rest.

Moving on an impulse he doesn't bother to question, his usual restraint weakened by the nearness of sleep, Gilbert lifts his free hand to rest lightly against Vincent's hair.]

Sleep, Vince. I'm here. You're safe.

[ the last time...

vincent cannot remember the last time he felt this way, the last time he experienced this.. this warmth. this safety. this thing that is almost like acceptance. he cannot remember the last time gilbert said a word to him in kindness, in sweetness, not since before they were.. not since.. since..

all at once he tenses, only slightly, almost imperceptibly, and his grip on gilbert's arm tightens -- this is- he shouldn't- he doesn't deserve this much..

but he cannot pull away, he cannot, he can only turn his face into gilbert's sleeve to hide it, soothed by the gentle weight of his brother's hand against his hair, lost in an old memory, or perhaps a handful of memories of a time that was harder and yet in many ways warmer..

the train rolls and churns and blasts its mournful call and vincent allows himself to become absorbed in the memory of a time that he will never grasp again. he is lulled easily. i'm here. you're safe. the words swirl in his mind, painfully nostalgic, but he cannot resist the charm of them, cannot resist the black call of the promise of peaceful sleep. ]

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the island of misfit prompts.

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