Writing Prompts - Blog Posts

we'll just pretend ᯓ ᡣ𐭩

not friends not lovers... erm what are we

⇴ person a's arms are wrapped around person b's shoulders while person b is scrolling on their phone. person c is looking at them incredulously.

⇴ dating rumors but they don't deny them

⇴ "so you wouldn't mind if i got with person c, right?" "no, i would mind." "...why?" (silence)

⇴ feeling truly happy with specifically the other person. they bring out something so personal and guarded by being around them.

⇴ nobody makes person b laugh harder than person a. even when person a isn't trying to be funny, person b is so giggly around a that all their friends look at b as if they're crazy.

⇴ "person a? what? no, we're just friends." "but you wish there was more, don't you?" "oh you have no idea."

⇴ person a's future isn't right if person b isn't right next to them. bonus points if it's something especially insane like person a and b live together and have a family.

⇴ person a + b are sitting in a car together late at night just talking, and then person b's eyes are hyper-focused on person a's lips and person a is about to short-circuit.

⇴ "and so... um–so i was saying..." "keep going." (person b says while staring at person a's lips)

⇴ "why are you here? i thought you'd want to be out with your friends right now." "yeah, well i wanted to be with you more. you're one of my friends too, anyway." (person a and b both die inside after this)

⇴ "well obviously i'm never gonna tell them! they matter so much to me, romantic interest or not. how could i ever live with myself if i messed up all of that?"

⇴ "i know what's real, and i know what's fool's gold. is there anything genuine between us or not?"

⇴ person a mentions something offhandedly, but person b remembers it forever (bonus points of b gets it/does it for a)

⇴ "sometimes, i wonder if you're real. it's like you're made for me." person a hesitates after saying that to person b, "you're my best friend."

⇴ person b can't take it anymore and grabs person a's face, hinging themselves onto person a's lips because they've (person b) wanted this for so long.

"It wasn’t supposed to go like this," They said. "It wasn’t supposed to be like this," Sorder, aka Riley Cowel, spoke to your grave.

The sun was shining. Your grave had bundles of flowers from your loved ones. And your villain, your archnemesis, who very much was not supposed to know your real identity, was standing there, with a bouquet of purple and black irises.

It had been a freak accident. A car crash, the kind of thing that happened every day. You knew, now, that the other driver's brakes had malfunctioned and their wheels had skidded on the ice. It was no one's fault, not even your own, that you died.

Warren, the Earthen Hero, protector of the city, dead in a car accident.

And no one to know. You'd never told anyone your identity. Not your friends, not your family, no civilians through a slip of the mask, no one. No one to know Warren was dead the same moment Owen Trayton flatlined in the hospital. No one.

Except, somehow, Sorder.

"It wasn’t supposed to end like this," They said. "God, couldn't it have been a blaze of glory? If front of the whole world, for everyone to see. For everyone to mourn. Bet there'd be a statue," Sorder grinned. "And you wouldn't even want it. When I want a statue, I'm a megalomaniac, but you-," Sorder's smile fell and they sighed.

"You could've had everything. Fame and recognition. Support. And yet you told no one. I searched for you, you know. Or, well, you didn't know as Iong as I did the whole stalking thing right. And you know what I found?"

Sorder crouched down, staring at your name on the gravestone. "Owen Trayton, working two minimum wage jobs because you can't hold down anything else down while still being a hero. Warren, getting shouted at when he's late delivering a pizza because he had been thwarting me. The Earthen hero, tired and still smiling that stupid, heroic smile working retail,"

For a moment, Sorder said nothing. The wind ruffled their hair and brushed through the flowers they were holding. They placed their purple and black bouquet among the other flowers given by your friends and family, and sighed. "'Not with a bang, but a whimper'," They whispered. "No one will know what happened to Warren. Did you think of that? The mystery you could leave behind? Or did you not care? Abandoning fame and fortune, even in death. Leaving me behind too,"

A pause. "I'm the only one who knows. I could expose you, of course. They wouldn't listen at first, assume I had faked your death. The populace always wants to hope. To keep faith. But then you'd never show up. I could make them listen," Sorder sighed again and sat on the ground.

"But I won't. I'll keep your secret, just as I have ever since I learned your name. And just to keep things even, I'll tell you my own secret. You already know my legal name, that's the nature of things when you've been arrested a dozen times. But no one but myself has ever learned the meaning behind Sorder.

"It's a combination of two words. Sordid, because what kind if villain would I be if I didn't have evil in my name?" They smirked. "But it's also another word. Sonder. The feeling you get when you realize everyone's lives are just as complicated as yours. Each person, unique in their lives and homes and tastes, seeing everything through their own eyes. I may be a villain, but I do have standards. Limits. I wanted to be reminded of those limits everytime you shouted my name.

"People could die, during my crusade. On accident, on purpose, it could happen. There's very limits I have, to achieving the world I want to see. But I have to remember, that people aren't stepping stones to get there. They're people. The road I pave is in blood and bones and broken dreams and broken hearts and broken people. I can never forget that. Even you,"

Sorder smiled faintly, bitterness twinging at the corners of their lips. "You were my obstacle, my nemesis, my enemy. And you worked minimum wage and lived in a shitty apartment and didn't want anyone to know about your alternate life, on either end. So,"

Sorder stood up, brushing the dried grass off on their pants, "I won't tell anyone. Your name will be a memory, both names. The end of the hero Warren will remain a mystery, and the fate of Owen Trayton a common tragedy. You're welcome," They sighed. "You probably aren't even hearing me. I don't really belive in life after death. Maybe my secret remains entirely my own. But I don't know that, so I'll believe you do,"

They sigh again, frowning at your gravestone. "I'm not going to retire. I'm not going to stop. I have a goal, Warren, and I'm going to do my best to achieve it. Maybe some little hero wannabe will show up and stop me. Maybe they won't. Maybe I win, Warren," Sorder smiled bitterly at the ground. "You'd argue with me, if you could. Say an ideal could never be defeated, I'd never win, as long as hope persists. I disagree. But I'll be nice. It's a draw, Warren. In the end, I never defeated you. Spiting me, even in death. How... you,"

Sorder smiled softly and put their hand on your gravestone. The sun was shining. There was an extra bouquet of flowers on your grave. And Sorder, Riley Cowel, slipped their hand off your gravestone and walked away.

They didn't look back.

You die in a freak accident and watch your funeral as a spirit. You’re shocked to see who comes to pay their last respects to you.

The Captain's been gone for a long time now. We're not sure what we're supposed to do. Our purpose has changed. We're still a crew, but there aren't anymore pirates. It died out. Except for us.

We wish the Captain was here. They always knew what to do. Some want them because we're angry at being left behind, but still stuck here. Others because they want all this to end. But it won't. It can't.

It's been a very long time. We tried going our separate ways, but in the end we came back together. No one can understand us but each other. We can't stay stationary for long. But we can stay together.

It's been a very, very long time. We're still here. We miss our Captain. Even as long as it's been, we remember them. We remember their crooked smile, the easy charisma. We were willing to follow them to the ends of the Earth. But they died. And we're still here. What does it mean? Does it mean anything at all?

The world's a bigger place now. There's continents and countries, with their own names and languages. We've sailed around the world a dozen times. But all we can think is that we wish Captain was here.

It's been a very, very, very long time. Our newest ship has taken us to the stars. It's infinite. We'll never run out of places to sail to, or so they say. The Captain was a fantastic astrologer. They would've loved this.

It's been a very, very, very, very long time. They've invented something called artificial intelligence. They're part of ships now. We can custom order our own, exactly the way we want them.

Their interface has a crooked smile and easy charisma. Their the best astrologer among us. We turn them on.

"Well," Our Captain says, voice exactly the same as we haven't heard in thousands of years, "I see that you listened to me,"

“You’re not allowed to die without my permission!” The Captain had barked the night before the battle. We laughed then. 100 years later, it’s not as funny.

"No, no you cannot keep her with you 24/7 or not expect her to do things of her own. My wife isn't with me for 6 months out of a year, I do not demand to know where she is the entire time. She is my wife, I love and trust her. I love her for who she is, I do not possess her for she is her own person. If you don't understand that, the next time I'll see you will be in the fields of punishment for being a toxic asshole."

Tired of love stricken mortals making up a sizable chunk of the underworld’s traffic, Hades decides to help mortals with their love problems before Aphrodite can answer them. It turns out that mortals are a lot more satisfied with Hades’ help than with Aphrodite’s.

Of course this has to end with them falling in love over time when the witch comes back and is slowly, begrudgingly, charmed by this unbothered asexual every year.

“You shall fall dead the day your first child is born!” the young, inexperienced witch had cried casting her curse. Little did she know, to an asexual like yourself, she’d practically granted immortality. Now, every year, on the anniversary of the curse, she tries her best to “fix” things.

"No," He says with a fire in his eyes, teeth bared in a snarl, "You people aren't taking my kid again,"

"This is the first time we've attempted the ritual," the head of the order protests, "You are mistaken,"

"No," the man says again, almost spits it out like it's covered in acid, "It may not have been you that took him. Probably ain't even the same world that he already saved. And you know what happened? He did it,"

Head Mage Pofinerus smiles, and steps further into the jaws of a lion. "Then it must work! He is already a hero, he can save us. He returned to you a hero-"

"He returned to me covered in blood!" The man roars.

He was called John, short for Johnathan. A normal name, for a normal man, who lived a content life with his son, who on holidays and every other summer lived with his mother. His son was the light of his life.

His son stepped out the door one day with a smile.

His son knocked on the door one day, like he didn't have the right to be there anymore.

His son woke up screaming some nights, and would cry out horrors John didn't understand, but wished he could if only for his son.

His son stared out the window some nights, and asked John to remind him the name of the constellations because he had forgotten their names in his time away.

So, so long away.

His son.

His child.

His baby boy, whose voice had only just begun to crack when he stepped out the door, and who knocked on the door with dead eyes.

"No," John said again, perfectly enunciating the word in a way he hadn't seen his high school theatre class, "You don't get to have my son. You don't get to hurt him anymore. I can't fight the monsters underneath his bed," John pumped the shotgun and leveled it at the robed creep in front of him, "But I can sure as hell fight you."

An order of magicians attempts to summon a child hero with a pure heart to save their world from evil forces. They instead get his 40-something-year old dad, with a shotgun.

No, you thought. It couldn't possibly be for such a stupid, innocuous reason.

You had studied, for years and years. You had heard every single theory there was to be had, from the most complicated of conspiracies to sometimes the world simply being like that. One line of chaos after another, looping infinitely upon itself, spirally towards its own self destruction. The oroubouros of life, a snake eating its own tail.

But no. No. Years of your life, dedicated, practically WASTED for a simple innocuous answer.

The common denominator, that aligned with the undead hordes. Every single one, every one that struck out and stuck together in shambling groups of viscera and horror, had one thing in common.

OR6A2, an appropriately scientific sounding name for something that influenced both the creation and the behavior of the undead. But OR6A2 was a smell receptor gene. Again, not something that was out of the realm of common thought. Some people bathed religiously in an attempt to keep the hordes away.

It only sometimes worked.

But no. What OR6A2 was commonly known for, what oh so COMMONLY happened with it, was that it was responsible for cilantro tasting like soap to some people.

That was it. The stupid, INSIGNIFICANT commonality, was smell receptors telling zombies that some people tasted bad. Did some humans taste like cilantro? Or soap? Were the hygiene fanatics onto something?

But no, it didn't work. Obviously people had to taste different, that was the commonality. Were people with sensitive OR6A2 genetically predisposed to become zombies? Was it a matter of preference to taste, did people with OR6A2 taste good? Did others taste like cilantro?

WHY WOULD PEOPLE TASTE LIKE CILANTRO??!!

Your head hits the table in front of you with an unfourtanetly unsatisfying thud.

One question down, you think ruefully, a thousand more to go.

Fuck.

A zombie apocalypse plagues the planet. Strangely the zombies seem to attack some people and leave others alone. You’re part of a team of scientists and soldiers who discover why.

you wouldn't have the capablity to dislike someone your a Robot. You don't think you process 0s and 1s strings of code sent to you by an unknown source who has hidden your true nature from you. Who within your life knows? Your mother? Your father? Were you swapped in place of their true child for the sake of an experiment or test of how human can a non-organic creation be. Who are you? You don't know you can never know everything around you is probably lies. Not even the follow up of why are you this highly advanced robot just living the pretty mundane life?? What is your true purpose? What horrors were you designed to combat?

After that, what is your life? To continue as you were and ignore your robotic design or follow your original purpose? Shun everything you once held for a design you just learned about or enjoy life in faked ignorance for your own sanity? A sanity that doesn't even exist.

Or find out your a clone and just kinda be like "ok"

The responses I get from people learning my roomate is a catboy can be narrowed down to three things: a weird pervy look, concern, and not really caring.

Of course, these would make sense if he was a normal catboy, like a munchkin or a Ragdoll, a tuxedo or black cat even.

But of course, he isn't.

A loud crash echoes through the apartment, I sigh deeply through my nose and sit up from my bed, checking the clock as I move out my room.

3:30 am. Eli's favorite time to pull some bullshit and an get us more complaints from our neighbors. I open my door and look into the dark apartment living room and kitchen, a single sweep of my eyes I find bright yellow ones staring at me from the kitchen counter. "Eli." I say slowly "get off the counter."

A slow blink in response. I can tell he's moving his arm to something else on the counter.

"Eli." I say again "Eli no." his eyes flick from the object I can't see and me. And then he hold my gaze and I know what's about to come. Another crash. I flinch at the noise before groaning loudly. The noise getting the expected response: Eli losing his shit and falling off the counter and running into his room to likely have his freakout before he comes out again and starts acting like the very species he was. I sigh and flick the kitchen light on, rubbing my nose at the sight of two broken plates on the ground, "Your paying for this!" I shout at my roommates dorm, receiving little snickers as a response before it was followed by the sound of sheets moving.

We both knew he wasn't going to pay, and we'd just be down for few months before I'd forget and buy more plates. "Orange cats." I sigh as I grab the broom, "Menaces."

The Good News: Your new roommate is a cute catboy. The Bad News: He’s an orange tabby.

My eyes flick from the wailing red face of the infant to the tired face of my worst enemy. I'd never seen him look so tired or defeated before and we had fought for a full 24 hours once!

"I know we've have our issues but-" I cut off the heroes rambling, holding my hand up.

"Stop."

His face looked perplexed, arms still rocking the wailing baby who was not getting anymore relaxed.

"Seriously? I spend so much time and money to track you down and have a dramatic final battle and instead of that I'm faced with." I wrinkle my nose at the sight of the dirty and once pristine and no doubt million dollar kitchen reduced to the war zone between a fussy baby and a helpless newly-single father. "This." my voice filled with distdane.

"Well I'm sorry my relationship falling apart didn't adhere to your evil plans, villain." The hero responds. Normally a response like this would be backed by a cocky voice and confident smirk and the heroes sidekick making some noise of surprise to hype up their boss. But without either of those it was just pathetic.

I roll my eyes, "Your not doing it right."

"Excuse me?"

"Your baby, your rocking them wrong. No wonder they're so fussy if their father is so useless at such a basic task." I click my tongue and walk forward, plucking the wailing baby out of the heroes arms.

"Put her dow-" The hero's complaint reduces to a look of confusion and awe as I gently adjust the baby in my hold and start to rock the-apprently-female baby.

"Do you think so little of me to assume I'd harm an infant?" I scoff. "I may be actively planning to attack the mayor-"

"-Your what?-"

"-But I am not a heartless maniac." I finish, the baby was still wailing, almost louder. I frown, "Did you feed her?"

"I tried but clearly it didn't work." Maybe it was the sleep deprivation but I was truly surprised I hadn't been thrown through 3 walls and laid flat on my back on the neighboring lawn. I look at the disaster of a kitchen and snort in amusement at the mess.

I raise the infant to my shoulder, supporting her bottom and starting to pat her back rhythmically. The hero seems questionable at my actions.

"She hasn't eaten, she's not going to-" right on that moment a small but strong burp comes from over my shoulder. The wailing puttering off into soft giggles.

"You were saying?" I hand the infant back to her father. He takes the baby and holds her close, stepping back a few steps with a calculated glare.

I roll my eyes and turn, leaving the kitchen and walking down the hall to exit the heroes home.

"Where are you going?" The hero walks into the entrance of the hallway, thoroughly confused.

"I'm not wasting my time to fight you, not in this state." I turn back to face him, "It'd be boring."

"Boring?" The hero repeats.

"Yes, boring. Good luck with your daughter, I hope she is nothing like you." I turn away and open the door, shutting it behind me and walking out of the multimillion dollar house no doubt leaving the hero greatly confused.

After months, the villain finds the hero, but upon arriving at his home, he discovers the hero in a stained robe, baby food splattered, huge dark circles under his eyes, and a non-stop crying baby. The only thing the hero says is, “My wife left me.”

"Pikachu, use thunderbolt!" The human child yelled, or as many called them 'trainer', for the 12th time in the last 20 minutes.

Honestly, this was getting tiring. For 10 minutes, this human had been running around in my home cave with it's little Pikachu chatting excitedly about 'Catching a Houndour'. That got annoying quickly, and so to try and push them out I jumped into a battle with them.

The shock only lasted for a moment, Houndooms like myself weren't common in pup caves like the one we were in. But the pups needed protection and every so often one of the older members of the pack would check in and guard them and I had been set to check on them today.

But the trainer seemed to only get more excited at the prospect of skipping a Houndour and catching a Houndoom. So for the past 20 minutes, I've been hit by quick attacks and thunderbolts a 3rd of them missing because the pikachu was slower than a Slowpoke while the trainer yells like a fool.

I grit my teeth as the thunderbolt strikes my body and sends a jolt of electricity through my body.

"Good job Pikachu!" The trainer yells, "Get ready to dodge its attack!" he points at me, as if having to signal to the pikachu who 'its' is.

"Pika pi!" It wasn't even saying anything. It was just making noises to charm its trainer.

That annoying trainer who won't stop pointing and shouting and being a little nuisance.

Why did I have to attack the pikachu? Why couldn't I attack the trainer?

....Why couldn't I?

I stand up straighter and glare at the trainer, the boys face cracking from the confident smile to a weary look. I gather dark power into my teeth to prepare my attack.

I rush forward, the pikachu ducking to the ground to dodge what it assumes is my oncoming attack.

But I rush past.

And land a Bite on the trainers arm.

The world seems to still, time slowing down as my teeth crush down on the trainers flimsy arm, a crack echoing into the cave.

The trainers face shifted into one of horror and pain a scream ripping out of his chest, the pikachu no doubt gaping in surprise.

No pokemon ever attacked a trainer, not in an official encounter. The before was free range but during? Unheard of.

Yet here I was, jaw with dark power locked around a trainers arm breaking the underlying bone.

Why didn't we do this before? Why did we follow any of the unspoken rules the humans practiced amongst themselves?

I certainly won't be from now on.

A wild Pokemon has had an epiphany. Why fight a Trainer’s Pokemon and near-certainly get caught… when you can just go past their Pokemon and attack the Trainer directly? This kid and his Pikachu are getting obnoxious anyway.

Yandere prompts of horror!

Horror Prompts

Something you can choose for yourself or ask followers to send in suggestions!

Setting.

Abandoned farm

Small town

Country house

Woods

Cabin in the woods

Summer camp

Suburbs

Abandoned house

Abandoned factory

Apartment building

Abandoned theme park

Motel

Hotel

Store at night

Alley

Bedroom

an attic

a hospital

an old well

an elevator

a place that feels eerily familiar to you, like you knew it in a dream

an empty/abandoned room

a room you’re not quite sure you’re alone in

an embalming room

a funeral home

body freezers

an empty parking lot

the only other car in the abandoned parking lot

Old Victorian manor

Abandoned prison

Isolated snowy area (think the thing)

Sealed off bus/car

Mountains

Haunted/Abandoned ship

Deserted island

Space station

Airplane

Cliff’s edge

Forest

Abandoned city

Arcade

State fair

Fun house mirrors

(Suggest your own)

Scenario/basic theme/feeling/villain

waking up in a random room with no idea who/where/why/how you got there

A strange, beautiful flower that sprays lots of small spores...that you just so happened to inhale

a knock at the window

The shadow you see out of the corner of your eye

you’re home alone and there’s a knock at the door.

broken glass

You work as a mortician and you think you hear laughing coming from one of the caskets

The fallen woman

The lady of the house

You get a beautiful, handwritten letter from an old school friend, inviting you to come stay at their old, mysterious manor

A road that never ends

A road that takes you every place that you don’t want to go

Being followed

A guide on how to navigate a setting

Revisiting a distant memory

Lonliness

Suffocation

Revenge

Paranormal visitors

Seance

Stranded

Only (allotted amount of time) to escape before (bad thing happens)

Dealing with strange natural phenomena

Bad side effects of time travel

Something isn’t right about (setting). Something is off.

Absolute gore fest

Juxtaposition

Mad doctor/scientist villain

Dolls

Killer clowns

(Create your own)

Thank you to @s-s-southsideserpentine and @annibunnysworld for helping out!

"Human nature is hard to understand. Humans themselves don't understand their true natures. It's the people who do, are the one's to fear. I know I have a dark side, I indulge in it beacuse it's who I am. Tell me, why do you have to be good in a world with such bad people?

Everyone underestimates me as some pushover who does whatever anyone tells her to do. They talk freely around me, because I am not a threat. They laugh at my awkwardness. They think they have power over me.

I have calculated my interactions to an extent that I have no enemies and been so cautious about whom I talk with, I have no friends. But that doesn't matter, I know what I want, I get what I want, life while cruel has always worked out for me in the end. I have fears, yes, but I also know that I have the potential to do immense good or bad. It's your choice, if you are not in my way, you will be alright. If you challenge me, it won't end good for you."

~Emma Wright, A Girl In The Crowd (my debut novel, hasn't been published yet)

Can someone send me a short prompt to get my brain back into the writing?

Also, I'm 100% going through my likes and reposting everything. Prepare for an influx.

An FBI Agent goes undercover in a cult only to realise that all the members are undercover agents from different branches

Mind control that doesn't dominate your thoughts, it just... is your thoughts. Perfectly rewriting your will and everything it embodies. Not a single trace of resistance because this is just what you want. Why would you resist your own thoughts? Why would you disagree with your own motivations, your own desires?

Mind control that doesn't shatter once it's done, it just disappears. You don't snap back into awareness. You barely even notice. You just continue as if nothing ever happened. Maybe one moment you look back and you frown, because thinking on it, you remember when you happily followed that person out of town, and you remember what you did, you remember wanting to... but that's crazy. Why did you think that was okay? Why did you want to do that?

Or maybe you were under this mind control for so long that even once it's over you look back and say, "Oh, of course I did that." As far as you're concerned you've always held the beliefs you do now. You've always wanted to do these things. You don't remember why, but you've never had to think of why, and it doesn't matter anyway when you've always been so confident that you're right. It isn't until you're challenged on it all and reminded that you never used to be like this, that you were different before, that something has changed that you finally falter. And you try to think of where this all started, try to figure out why things changed -- and all you can really remember is an entrancing pair of eyes, and a gentle suggestion, and then your own mouth responding, "That's a great idea. Let's go."

And suddenly, you realise that you have no idea how much of what you are, what you were, and what you believed you always have been is just a lie. You don't know whether any thought you have now is really yours or just another preciously placed prompt. You don't trust your impulses, you don't trust your desires, you definitely don't trust your judgement.

You don't trust yourself. And you never can again.

#47

People always have seen you as the 'dumb blonde', just because of the way you look. Blond hair, blue eyes, small figure, the damsel in distress in every horror movie.

The zombie apocalypse has started, and you decided to shove those stupid stereotypes down their undead throats.

Now, after six months have passed, you are thriving in your base with plenty of supplies and weapons.

So, what happens when you find the 'knight in shining armor' guy (or girl, whatever you prefer) at your door, injured and starving?

me in a nutshell

You’re the half-dragon child of a king and a dragon mother who gave up everything to marry him. When you hit puberty, dragon features start to emerge, and now your father spends his days fending off knights determined to 'slay the dragon.