MJ: Do you ever sleep? Peter: Define ‘sleep.’ MJ: Not texting me at 3 a.m. asking if grilled cheese counts as a personality trait. Peter: I stand by that question, by the way.
Imagine an older child—not even a child, someone in their 20s—and they have a younger sibling that they resent for committing no sin but one: being born.
That's their sin, their younger sibling's sin. It isn't a sin, to be born, but it is a sin for the older sibling. Because that child has the love of a mother—a different mother from the older sibling's mom.
Because the older sibling's mom was a tyrant, a monster under the guise of a beautiful woman. Her shadow had horns and a tail, a flame to burn the soul of the older sibling. They did everything for their mother: took care of her as a child as if they were the adult, they killed themselves trying to be the best of the best, straight A's and top marks. But it wasn't enough. They did everything, they even sold their body (in every what way you like) just to get to a point that they think their mother would finally acknowledge and be proud of.
It never came.
And years later, the older sibling meets a child with their mother's eye shape and nose and lips and cheeks and hair (maybe not in the way it was biologically structured, but in the way that was taken care of by their mother, the same techniques and mannerism). But in their eyes were kindness and love and care and perhaps every positive thing to exist. The eyes of the older sibling wasn't like that. It was tired, forlorn, miserable, empty.
This was a child from a different mother. A different mother who had the same face as their mother did, but with every positive thing poured on her. Their mother was abusive and neglectful, in all the ways one could be. The younger sibling's mother was a radiant 36 year old. That wasn't their mother. Even if she had her face.
Dialogue prompts:
"I want to hold on to the resentment. To resent her 'til my last dying breath."
"I guess she still has me wrapped around her finger."
"It's not fair, no. That I have to suffer the crossfire between the mom in your past and my mom now. But the world isn't fair, isn't it? I want my older sibling just as much as you wanted your mother."
"I have the mother you wished for, but I still long for the love of my older sibling like they wanted the love of my mother."
"I think it was brave of her; it was brave of her to let my younger sibling meet me, knowing that I was the sin of her past, the reminder of her mistakes, and the proof of her monstrosity. She let her youngest child see that, because they wanted to meet their older sibling, and she loved her youngest. She bore herself, risked losing what she loved, because she loved them."
"I wish you were never born. I wish you would kill yourself. But that wouldn't do anything. That'll just make me regret my words and make your mother grieve. So there's nothing we can do, but live and move forward, even if we can never cross paths again."
"Maybe, in the future, we can meet again and we'll be happy. But maybe, it's better if the two of you don't exist for me, and I don't exist for you."
"I hate you as much as an older sibling should love their younger one. I don't know how to stop hating you. I don't think I ever will."
"No, we don't. We don't have the same mom. Mine was a nightmare, yours was a dream."
"Even now, I don't think I could imagine a version wherein the circumstances were the same...and I'd have loved you as a mother should have."
"She's a great mother. Just not to me."
"Some people start dying before they learn to start living."
@dilemmaontwolegs you know I love you but if you do that I might just die of sadness
Hi! Uh, could i request some grief prompts? Like uh, A just lost B? If thats too dark you could just do villain x hero prompts instead fkksjs
It’s not too dark at all! I might do villain x hero prompts further down the line.
Prompts
A and B were very close but B was never open or affectionate to A. After they died, A goes through B’s stuff and finds a box of trinkets. The box is full of pictures of A and B, momentoes that A gave B, and other things from their relationship.
After B’s death, everyone is gathered together, shocked with grief. A joins the room, chattering happily about something B did earlier, unsure why everyone else looks so upset.
When B was alive, A and B had casual rituals that they would follow without a fault; A would bring B coffee in the morning and leave it on their bedside table, B would make A a sandwich at lunchtime, A would drop a towel into B’s room at 6 because they know that B always showers at 6:30, and so on. After B dies, A can’t help but unconsciously keep doing the rituals.
After B dies, A has to tell B’s much younger sibling. Unsure how to gently break the news to a kid who doesn’t know much about death, A paints a fanciful image of the afterlife.
Everyone knows that B was writing a novel before they passed. A finds the unfinished story, in the process discovering hundreds of ideas and short stories by B (some of them not-so-subtly about A).
(Building off of 5) A takes it upons themselves to finish B’s story. They pour over their notes, go to B’s favourite brainstorming places, and try to figure out how B would end their novel.
Oneliners
“If I knew that those would be my last words to you, I would’ve said something sweeter”
“You son of a bitch, you promised me we’d grow old together. You promised me!”
“I don’t know for sure if angels exist, but if they do, B is one of them”
“Aren’t you supposed to pour out some drink when someone dies, as a sign of respect?” “At this point, I’ll take any excuse to get hammered”
“If you’re still somehow here . . . can you send a sign? Anything?”