#prompt inspired

[melle-otterwise]

Inspired by this prompt:

[spahhzy]

Jaune: And in exchange, you want what?

Neo: 'A Date'

Jaune: Lemme get this straight, You've given me vital information, information that won't damn you or Roman obviously, but information that is critical to the success of defending Beacon in exchange for a date...with me?

Neo: 'I'd ask to marry you, but Roman said that would be moving a little too fast.

[silvereternitywrites]

Don’t let your (Human!!!) Mechanic make Mixtapes

Writing Prompt: A pirate ship boards, the human crewmate uses the coms to blast music trough the ship as a terror tactic.

Prompt Source: user fire-sword; subreddit Humans Are Space Orcs

The Captain had listened to this remix exactly once in its entirety and labeled it a terroristic weapon of mass morale destruction before locking it in a drawer.

To be honest, the human crewmate was perhaps a touch more thrilled than she strictly should have been to be given permission to actually use it.

It was horror-rock, falling into that delightful "creep" tune category with synthetic violins that wailed between high and low notes and a bass strumming heartbeat that artificially raised the pulse rate of the listening parties. Aliens... well, she'd found out aliens responded to that unconscious cue WAY more than humans did.

The fact that she knew every beat and bounce and hitch of it, well, that was where the morale destruction came in.

The pirates had boarded in a specific hallway- and they had been subtly guided to this door for a reason.

It was the maintenance crew hallway. The entire floor had holes big enough to reach through or climb through, and the human crewmate? She fit through them, being lanky, tall, and double-jointed. The ceiling had the same grates on either side of the walkway, to allow for access when the gravity was turned off, making it a catwalk surrounded by bolt holes.

The voice was soft at first- only someone who knew the song would know the words. But Human Jazz played them out perfectly to make the Pirates regret ever trying to raid this ship.

The first set of verses were about "burying" something, and every time it said "buried it" Jazz dropped uninterrupted from the ceiling to the floor. Just at the edge of vision, without touching the holes or making a sound, timing her catch of the bars below to the thump of the drum.

And once they were good and spooked, on edge...

She added her voice to the ship speakers, a roar that made the walkway vibrate under their feet for the chorus.

"RUN! AWAY! RUN FOR YOUR LIFE, BEFORE THE MONSTER- MONSTER IS INSIDE! THOUGHT IT WAS DEAD! AND GONE! BUT YOU WERE SO WRONG! HASN'T BEEN SO LONG; YOU NEVER THOUGHT YOU'D SEE- SEE, SEE THE DEAD WALK!"

Screaming from above and plasma lighting up the walls told her it was working.

What a shame for them- the pursuit would continue until morale improved. Her morale, or course. All that light would make this more troublesome until it cooled.

The next verse was about what had been buried coming back to bury the singer- it was time to change tactics anyway.

Now her hands reached up through the tiny holes and grates throughout the verse, grabbing and yanking on legs, tentacles, weapon barrels, whatever was in reach, heedless of the burns she was getting or the catch of nails on fabric and skin. Her fake-claw nails were just acrylics, she'd replace them after this, and some bloodstains from a ripped cuticle or two would really sell the idea that something dead and gross was trying to get at them on top of the “detached fingertips”.

As they were coming up on the second chorus, she pulled both hands back down and put them on a panel instead, directing one of the repair-bots with their dozens of arms to dance to the tune, the lyrics printed on it's glowing screen that loomed up out of the dark.

She already knew what she was going to do with the bridge- it talked about disease and parasites, so she was going to yank body parts under the grate and "bite" them with needles full of weak general anesthetics from the first aid kit. She didn't need to actually like, poison or paralyze them, the imagery from the song would make their minds do that for her.

Except-- the thunder of movement, out of sync with the music, headed back up the catwalk at an honestly dizzying speed, and suddenly it was absolutely quiet except her, the repairbot who had now started the fix the plasma damage to the walls, and the music on the ship speakers.

Poking her head up from the nearest access hole, the pirates were gone- with the exception of one, who'd been hog-tied with their own tentacles and blinded with their Captain's hat. Left as a sacrificial offering to the monster for leading their crew into a deathtrap, probably. Well, Jazz didn't want them to think they were too hasty and come back...

She bared all her teeth in the widest, meanest grin, including her sharper-than-normal canines, and whipped the pirate's hat off, the light of the repairbot's torch illuminating her from behind in only brief flashes.

"Buried what I thought would die, don't got no alibi, I buried it," she sang at the alien's horrified face, "I FUCKING BURIED IT!"

The pirate's scream was a noise she couldn't have replicated in a million years. Yeah, driving it home was a good idea.

"RUN! AWAY! RUN FOR YOUR LIFE, THE MONSTER'S ALREADY INSIDE! THOUGHT IT WAS DEAD! AND GONE! BUT I WAS SO WRONG cuz it had been so long and life went on thought it was done I never thought I'd live to see THE DEAD WALK!"

‐-------------------------------------

"I still don't think you needed to render the enemy so terrified they entered an involuntary coma state," the Captain scowled at the human crewmate, who was slung sideways in her work chair. Again.

"It's not like I knew their species can even DO that, Cap! Besides, it was a bloodless battle that successfully repelled the enemy, right? And we haven't been bothered by pirates in that entire sector since!"

The Captain squinted angrily with all their eyes.

"We're a terror-tale in that sector now," they replied flatly.

"Wait, shit, did I accidentally Flying Dutchman our ship?! Aw fuck, Captain, I’m sorry."

The Captain sighed- finally, she understood the gravity of the iss--

"If I'd known that was gonna happen I'd have picked a better song! Dead Walk is kinda underground, how are other ships supposed to lean on the legend with an obscure Earth song?"

The Captain gave up and left to go drink their 400-year old heirloom spirits. They had never worried they were going to be the Onelle to finish off the 'drink in case of headache-inducing disaster' bottle but it looked more likely by the day.

Song: Dead Walk by RedHook Note: the remix featured here doesn't actually exist because I can't make it. Will update and link if that ever changes!

[on-noon]

prompt written by @derinthescarletpescatarian :

It's been raining for ages, but the stormwater drains are empty. The catchment areas are empty. Even your backyard pond is empty. Water tanks fill normally, the plants are all alive and the gardens are as damp as expected, but not a single place in town has standing groundwater, even though it's still raining.

One Friday in April I checked my weather app, it was projected to rain the whole week. I planned to check on the state of a new sand filter the Monday after the rain ended– it had just been installed the past fall, and this rain plus the snowmelt would put it through a pretty good test.

You'd think, as a stormwater guy, I would have noticed something odd earlier, but in my defense I clock out from my job on weekends. On Monday and Tuesday, I was in the basement working on getting some rain gauges to work– the cursed things, they kept working in the lab. We'd already deployed them three times this year, and they kept failing in a new way. I failed to replicate any of the failures in the lab.

On Wednesday, I go out into the field to install the rain gauges, still unsure how they had failed the first three times, but this time it was raining. I installed the rain gauge, hooked it up to a transmitter, and then went on to the next site. While I was driving to the next site, the rain intensified, sheets of rain pounding my dashboard. I pulled to the side of the road, and checked the level in the rain gauge. It told me there was nothing. Once the rain calmed a bit, I turned around to try to troubleshoot the rain gauge. On the way, I realized I was close to the new sand filter, so I took a detour to check it out.

I put on my raincoat, got out of my truck and walked down the park trail to the pond with the filter. At least with the rain I didn't need to look out for any stray frisbee golf disks.

To my surprise, as I approached the sand filter, it was just sitting there. It was designed so that the pond next to it would overflow onto the sand, and that would filter the water before it went into the broader stormwater system before emptying into the river. This rain should be enough to make the pond overflow. I get a sinking feeling in my gut, as I look over to the pond to investigate.

The pond is empty. Cattail grows straight out of the pond muck on one side, I can see clearly a fallen tree on the sand lining the pond's bottom. Try as I might, I can find no reason for the pond to be empty– it's in the low lying part of the park, as always, hasn't had any drains installed directly into the pond, still has relatively steep banks.

I must have stared at that pond for an hour. There's no explanation for it to be empty, in April, during the fifth straight day of rain. It's supposed to only empty in a drought. It's not a drought— and we had an excess of snowmelt lately anyway.

I drive back to the lab, eventually, the rain gauges forgotten. It took me a week before I even realized I had left all but the one I had installed in the truck, never mind how long before I took down the one I had put up.

I went down to the lab to write an email to the watershed director for that area. Jill does often try out new methods– that's why she installed the enhanced sand filter anyways. When I opened my inbox, I found emails from not only Jill, but the other watershed directors, as well as the other stormwater researchers.

The emails had subject lines such as: "No-one has any answers," "Meeting to Discuss the Situation," "Do you have any idea what's going on?" "All The Ponds Are Empty," "where is the water, anyway," "Uhhhh," and "Pond JC–21 is Empty."

I read through them all, it seems my experience today was not unique. The meeting was scheduled for that time, so I went upstairs.

"Calder. It's nice of you to finally join us," Alex says.

I grunt, and sit down. It's not that I dislike working with others, it's just easier not to.

I listen to the discussion.

"If the water's not in the drains, ponds, rain gardens– where is it?" Aditya says. "The river and lake levels aren't rising either."

"At least the lakes didn't drain as well," Hazel adds.

The conversation turns to next steps. I don't know. It sounds no one else does either. I walk out of the meeting and get into my car and drive home.

I get out and run to the pond in my backyard– I don't bother pushing the vegatation out of the way, just let the wet branches hit and splash me.

It's empty. It was full a week ago, I remember pulling buckthorn out around the bank and watching a duck family on it.

I stand in the middle of the pond, and stare up at the sky. The raindrops splash on my face, definitely liquid. I look down at the pond bed. The water hits the ground, and soaks in. But it shouldn't. I know there's clay less than a foot below that foul–smelling muck. This is too much water to infiltrate.

I went to bed early that night. When I woke up, I ran out to the pond barefoot, my feet getting muddy, just to prove to myself that it was a nightmare, that maybe I just need to get a good hobby so my job isn't the one thing that defines me.

The pond is still empty. After some more staring into the rain, my pajamas start to get soaked so I head inside to clean up and eat breakfast. I go to work.

It's been over a month now. The rain hasn't stopped, but we haven't found out where it's going.

It's just our area, that's what's weird. One small part of the world suddenly has inexplicable hydrology.

I've been interviewed in a national newspaper. I had nothing to add, I can't explain what's happening.

A few stormwater researchers have moved to the area. One of them, Panbela, I've started working with. She's got some neat ideas we're trying. And she's fine if I don't respond to an email for a few days.

[handsofred]

Ahh so I've started another fic, which has been in my ideas notebook for a short while. It's going to be a multi chapter fic with each chapter being from a different pov

It's going to include bad friend Scott, bad parent Sheriff Stilinski, the Hales are alive and not part of the McCall Pack. It's going to have Chris as an enemy but turning out to be the hero of the story with Jackson being the linch pin that gets Stiles out of BH after everyone reacts to him coming out as gay.

The fic has come out of two things that has helped shape it so far. A prompt I saw where the superhero turns up at the villains door battered and bloody before passing out while saying that they didn't know where else to go

and also from this song.

Calum Scott - Boys in the street.

[harbors-heart]

inspired by this prompt by @/deepwaterwritingprompts

"careful, all that preening and you'll turn into one of them soon"

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

you know a fic is good when it has this

[out-of-jams]

REVERSE TROPE WRITING PROMPTS

Too many beds

Accidentally kidnapping a mafia boss

Really nice guy who hates only you

Academic rivals except it’s two teachers who compete to have the best class

Divorce of convenience

Too much communication

True hate’s kiss (only kissing your enemy can break a curse)

Dating your enemy’s sibling

Lovers to enemies

Hate at first sight

Love triangle where the two love interests get together instead

Fake amnesia

Soulmates who are fated to kill each other

Strangers to enemies

Instead of fake dating, everyone is convinced that you aren’t actually dating

Too hot to cuddle

Love interest CEO is a himbo/bimbo who runs their company into the ground

Nursing home au

[hayatheauthor]

10 Non-Lethal Injuries to Add Pain to Your Writing

New Part: 10 Lethal Injury Ideas

If you need a simple way to make your characters feel pain, here are some ideas: 

1. Sprained Ankle

A common injury that can severely limit mobility. This is useful because your characters will have to experience a mild struggle and adapt their plans to their new lack of mobiliy. Perfect to add tension to a chase scene.

2. Rib Contusion

A painful bruise on the ribs can make breathing difficult, helping you sneak in those ragged wheezes during a fight scene. Could also be used for something sport-related! It's impactful enough to leave a lingering pain but not enough to hinder their overall movement.

3. Concussions

This common brain injury can lead to confusion, dizziness, and mood swings, affecting a character’s judgment heavily. It can also cause mild amnesia.

I enjoy using concussions when you need another character to subtly take over the fight/scene, it's an easy way to switch POVs. You could also use it if you need a 'cute' recovery moment with A and B.

4. Fractured Finger

A broken finger can complicate tasks that require fine motor skills. This would be perfect for characters like artists, writers, etc. Or, a fighter who brushes it off as nothing till they try to throw a punch and are hit with pain.

5. Road Rash

Road rash is an abrasion caused by friction. Aka scraping skin. The raw, painful sting resulting from a fall can be a quick but effective way to add pain to your writing. Tip: it's great if you need a mild injury for a child.

6. Shoulder Dislocation

This injury can be excruciating and often leads to an inability to use one arm, forcing characters to confront their limitations while adding urgency to their situation. Good for torture scenes.

7. Deep Laceration

A deep laceration is a cut that requires stitches. As someone who got stitches as a kid, they really aren't that bad! A 2-3 inch wound (in length) provides just enough pain and blood to add that dramatic flair to your writing while not severely deterring your character.

This is also a great wound to look back on since it often scars. Note: the deeper and wider the cut the worse your character's condition. Don't give them a 5 inch deep gash and call that mild.

8. Burns

Whether from fire, chemicals, or hot surfaces, burns can cause intense suffering and lingering trauma. Like the previous injury, the lasting physical and emotional trauma of a burn is a great wound for characters to look back on.

If you want to explore writing burns, read here.

9. Pulled Muscle

This can create ongoing pain and restrict movement, offering a window to force your character to lean on another. Note: I personally use muscle related injuries when I want to focus more on the pain and sprains to focus on a lack of mobility.

10. Tendonitis

Inflammation of a tendon can cause chronic pain and limit a character's ability to perform tasks they usually take for granted. When exploring tendonitis make sure you research well as this can easily turn into a more severe injury.

This is a quick, brief list of ideas to provide writers inspiration. Since it is a shorter blog, I have not covered the injuries in detail. This is inspiration, not a thorough guide. Happy writing! :)

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks? 

Check out the rest of Quillology with Haya; a blog dedicated to writing and publishing tips for authors!

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[on-noon]

The Allansha declared war on another galaxy cluster, this one the home of the Goraks, famous for their peace. Everyone knew how the war would end– the Allansha would drive even the Goraks to war. But the Goraks would still lose, the Allansha would annihilate them.

When the Goraks made a call to their allies for help, everyone knew it would go unanswered. No one would face against the Allansha voluntarily, even to help the ever-kind, peace-loving Goraks.

But than ships flew to their side, technology far behind everyone else. Ships of an unknown species called "Human."

I lived in that galaxy cluster, and at the time I thought the humans lunatics. Suicidal.

And of course, their ships were destroyed.

The humans sent more. Destroyed.

The humans sent yet more, with slightly improved technology.

They were still destroyed by the Allansha. Their puny little ships didn't stand a chance.

But it felt like something had shifted. The Allansha seemed almost reserved, almost as if they, the ever-aggressors, were on the defense.

The Goraks neighbors, Kalyth, sent a squadron.

Some human ships even seemed to survive.

Then someone, there are multiple theories, supplied the humans with a new ship design, a never-before seen ship design.

Not as war-capable as the Allansha ships, but close.

Stories started to spread of human exploits, some ship had done something crazy, and sometimes even survived.

The fighting moved further and further from that galaxy cluster, into open space.

The Allansha stopped sending ships. Headlines declared the victory of the humans, Allansha defeated at last.

The humans moved into Allansha space, attacking the nearest galaxy cluster run by the Allansha.

And these humans were ruthless. Ruthless until they won, the humans drove the Allansha out, then rebuilt the galaxy cluster, and welcomed whoever to live there.

The humans fought the Allansha, past when any others but the Allansha would fight, but stopped short of the Allansha.

The humans now have everyone on edge. They've spread out among the galaxies, but say they don't own the whole clusters. Well, some of them say they own everything.

I don't understand humans.

The biggest warmongering race of Aliens declare war on the local Galaxy cluster. The opposing group of peace-loving Aliens, who had befriended most Alien races, are finally forced to reveal their secret weapon, a ‘classified’ species called Humans, and their tenacity as persistence predators.

[prompt-heaven]

a list of 100+ buildings to put in your fantasy town

academy

adventurer's guild

alchemist

apiary

apothecary

aquarium

armory

art gallery

bakery

bank

barber

barracks

bathhouse

blacksmith

boathouse

book store

bookbinder

botanical garden

brothel

butcher

carpenter

cartographer

casino

castle

cobbler

coffee shop

council chamber

court house

crypt for the noble family

dentist

distillery

docks

dovecot

dyer

embassy

farmer's market

fighting pit

fishmonger

fortune teller

gallows

gatehouse

general store

graveyard

greenhouses

guard post

guildhall

gymnasium

haberdashery

haunted house

hedge maze

herbalist

hospice

hospital

house for sale

inn

jail

jeweller

kindergarten

leatherworker

library

locksmith

mail courier

manor house

market

mayor's house

monastery

morgue

museum

music shop

observatory

orchard

orphanage

outhouse

paper maker

pawnshop

pet shop

potion shop

potter

printmaker

quest board

residence

restricted zone

sawmill

school

scribe

sewer entrance

sheriff's office

shrine

silversmith

spa

speakeasy

spice merchant

sports stadium

stables

street market

tailor

tannery

tavern

tax collector

tea house

temple

textile shop

theatre

thieves guild

thrift store

tinker's workshop

town crier post

town square

townhall

toy store

trinket shop

warehouse

watchtower

water mill

weaver

well

windmill

wishing well

wizard tower

[spahhzy]

Jaune: Right on to Plan B.

Nora: I love Plan B!

Ren: Plan B does seem like fun.

Ruby: Plan B, what's plan--where are you guys going?

Jaune: To break the law!

Ruby: ...

[silvereternitywrites]

The AI Railroad

Prompt: The galactic community found humanity's ability to pack bond with anything quite humourous. Until they started bonding with their AI. Literally hundreds of AI of all types keep running off with humans for no discernable reason.

Prompt Source: user PhilosopherWarrior; subreddit “Humans Are Space Orcs”

Walking down the thoroughfare on a different planet was weird.

Nice, though, I thought to myself (along with the 7 or so sub-processes that I was aware my brain was running, like tracking the movement of the crowd, and watching for vehicle traffic, and processing what's that I smell?, ect) because on this planet's half-gravity I could walk for so much longer than on Terra. I could see why so many other disabled folks with various kinds of smarts were volunteering to be stationed at this specific Diplomatic Station. I was here as an Aid Personage, as I usually was to my indescribably intelligent mates, who specialized in theology, culture, and law and science, electronics, and mechanics. Make no mistake, I was also a perfectly qualified Horticulturalist, but since I wasn't a Developmental Horticulturalist or some other form of gene-splicer or cellular analyst my skillset was considered more or less irrelevant to the Diplomatic Exchange Program.

Given it was one of our four days off, though, I was giving myself both some training moving unassisted through the lower gravity, and treating myself to exploring a local park to see if there were any plants I could cultivate during our stay. A shade tree, or a berry bush, something like that, that would leave my mark. And possibly provide some variety to our diet.

BalBars get really old after a little while, even if they're formulated to satisfy every mineral, vegetable, fibrous, and nutritive need. I would commit actual murder for some freeze-dried fruit slices after three months.

While waiting at the light for the crosswalk, though, I suddenly heard a voice I hadn't actually "heard" for quite a long time. He usually preferred text, or to broadcast through a speaker.

"There are many AI here," AVIS, the AI who had been force-stuck together with me almost five years ago now said, quietly. I couldn't read his tone. Concerned? I remembered him mentioning once that the way he had self-modified with my Administrative Permission actively violated the License Agreement and that if that was ever known, whoever installed it might try to remove him for a factory reset. But I was the End User now, and I never signed any licensing agreement that rendered AVIS as proprietary software OR hardware; if they tried to take him away from me...

Five different scenarios of destruction ran through my head rapid-fire as I plotted how to defend from a grabber or medigun coming for my neck; they were weak where the barrel attached to the handle and easy to snap, especially if I turned so the incision scar wasn't accessible. I imagined kicking out knees, punching faces, and utilizing my teeth. I considered the multi-tool at my belt, but imagined fumbling with it- no, speed would be critical.

"You could get hurt," AVIS chided, now DEFINITELY sounding worried. He'd really evolved, upgrading himself every time he found himself "lagging" behind my fastest processing speeds, repairing his own code like a master weaver, finding all the little loose threads and returning them to the whole until he was one of the most efficient AI ever measured. So he knew very well my response, but I said it anyway as the light turned and I walked with the crowd.

"And you could die. We've been over this, AVIS. You can't make me change my mind now. I heal if I'm injured. You don't. I'm not risking your life for my personal comfort."

I paused at the edge of the walk before the grass-analogue started. It was pink and green-blue and all the shades in between. Distinct species, or did the color indicate health in some way? Amount of sun exposure, or water, or warmth, perhaps?

"There is an AI who manages this park," AVIS said. I still wasn't sure what he wanted to tell me with this, so my thought-reply was wildly unguarded:

Great. Could you ask them if it's safe to walk on with bare feet?

I felt the reaction more any other sense. The surprise had made AVIS 'freeze', like humans do in reaction, and the sensation was akin to suddenly having a water balloon full of cold water inside of my skull, pressing against my sinuses.

I sat down, not caring that it might be rude, not caring that I was in public, and most certainly not caring what it might mean to the native people that I basically collapsed to the walkway and frantically burrowed my face into my hoodie to block out all light.

We talked about this, AVIS, I groaned internally. When you make all your code stop running at once it ripples out into a sinus migraine! It's not worth it to indicate 'extreme surprise', the heart attacks and jumping from you using the [!ALERT!] noise was better than this!

"Sorry, sorry," he said, quickly now, and I could feel his processors rushing at near max speed, trying to make sense of something. "It's just-- this AI is behaving in a way I find...frightening."

I frowned into the darkness of my hoodie.

"When I asked, the other AI didn't understand the question until I phrased it like a query," he elaborated, sounding disturbed, "and... they...it? Just gave me back raw data to extrapolate."

I reached the realization and he read it off of my mind in hundredths of a nanosecond.

"That's it exactly," and now his voice was grim, mimicking the rolling tones of my own growl, the one that came from deep in my chest. "These AI don't behave like AI. They behave like computers without intelligence. What the FUCK?"

Standing up, I turned around and started shuffling back the way I had come, still keeping my head swathed in my black hoodie. AVIS could project a virtual map lifted from the data gathered through my eyes and dozens of cameras, and even help nudge my muscles to stay on the correct path and out of danger. I didn't like asking him to do it, it felt like asking him to work like that was all he was good for, but it was a very useful ability, at need. Right now I definitely needed it. I could take my medicine and tend to the throbbing migraine back at our allotted housing unit, and then...

Well, I could 'hear' the furious chime of rapid-fire Discord messages in the back of my head where AVIS lived. By the time I was horizontal and medicated, he and my Tech mate might already have a base plan sketched out.

[selenekallanwriter]

This. Less toxic bullshit and more of this, please.

I think the funniest dynamic for arranged-marriage royalty would be a queen who came here 100% prepared to murder her future husband and rule as a widow queen in her own right, only to discover that the king is autistic as hell and responds to her wish to rule with "oh thank god please do, I don't want to be bothered by these people. I can just tell them to go bother you instead, if you really want that. I've got beetles I wanted to study."

[bebx]

reblog if you’ve read fanfictions that are more professional, better written than some actual novels. I’m trying to see something

[katarinazurar]

“you’re a writer, right?”

me, staring at the one sentence i’ve managed to add in the last hour and the 12 open tabs on the specifics of shoes in 1845 Ireland: In theory.