#writing-prompts

[acim-ed-ortsac]

The Necromancer and their Minion

Inspired by this prompt Second POV Gender-neutral Necromancer Reader Fluff and Fantasy Wordcount: 547

When the leader of the Hero party killed you, you were certain you were gone forever, to walk in this eternal darkness until you reached the afterlife. You were certain you were going to the Underworld, for you were one of the people who went against the laws of nature and raised the dead. It was no surprise, yet you will miss your minions. You wonder how they will function without you, their master?

Perhaps they’ll live out their lives or possibly find a new master.

So regaining sensation to your beings was the last thing you expected. Nor was the sudden air that filled your lungs that had you coughing and heaving. Nor was the sudden sense of sight as light flooded your eyes and blinded you for just a moment. You were in your body. You were breathing. You were alive…

You were alive.

Panicked confusion had you choking at the revelation before you blink your eyes to adjust to the light. That’s when you notice the things before you, the creature that resurrected you from the void. An Elder Lich, you realized when you caught sight of its bony limbs and face, a white robe that’s torn at the ends of the seams. Pearls adorned around its neck and wrists, buzzing with magic and power. In one of its skeletal claws was a book, jewels embedded with elegant swirls carved and engraved on the cover, the pages were worn yellow yet the leather was still put together. But what caught your attention was, amongst the hauntingly majestic outfit of the Lich, was a nametag that stood out like a sore thumb. Old and torn, yet still stuck on, and on it was the faded ink writing.

Bob.

…This was BOB!?

You looked at the Elder Lich in immense shock and surprise. “Bob!?”

A nasal rasp from the Lich confirmed your suspicions. You scratched your head as you looked around, noticing the crumbling stone pillars and ceiling, the torched banners, and behind your minion was an army of the dead and the night. Lycanthropes, goblins, undead warriors, and even a few wyverns flying above. The army crowded the hall. And around the altar that you were resurrected on were blood-written runes scrawled on the floor, a ritual of resurrection. But to do that, you would need a human sacrifice…

A glint of steel caught your eye behind you and you turned to meet the eyes of the lifeless head of the Hero and his party. Brown hair is dirty and matted with blood, hollow green eyes stare at you, and deathly pale skin.

Your minion killed the Hero and his party to resurrect you…as revenge…

An overwhelming sensation of warmth as you turn back to your minion. “Bob, you did this for me?”

Bob nodded.

You couldn’t help the chuckle as you attempted to stand up, the elder lich assisting you. The army in front of you watched curiously as the leader helped you onto your feet. You couldn’t believe how loyal your minion is; getting stronger to defeat the Hero and to bring you back to life. You almost felt like crying. After releasing a shaky breath, you looked at Bob with a smile. “It’s good to be back.”

[eibeeseedee]

Stories I'll never write #1:

The broadway stage, the standing ovations, the big screen, million-dollar brand deals. That was your motivation to the life of acting and theatrics. You vividly remembered what happened to yourself.

You were going home from an improv gig, when a car struck you down. The last thing you saw was the car running away from the scene.

And now, not one, not two, not even three, but an audience of gods stands before you. They all chanted "Act for us!" As if they brought you here for their enjoyment. And you will act, as they wished, and you will play the Fool that they want you to be.

[thereyvan]

plot twist: you are an eldritch abomination, but you just don't know it yet

After mistakenly transfering to a high school for monsters, you try to tell them that you’re just a regular human. However, because of bizarre coincidences creating apparently inexplicable situations, the school population and teachers come to believe you’re actually an Eldritch Abomination

[knebellindemann]

[prompts-in-a-barrel]

"You don't know me. I'm not the same person anymore."

"That's okay. I'll get to know you again."

[super-ion]

Concept: cursed blade rehabilitation center. Destroying a sentient weapon is expensive and highly unethical, so adventurers bring them to the center where highly trained staff can care for them and eventually find them forever homes. It turns out most cursed weapons are products of trauma and are not strictly evil themselves. Some blades turn out to be fiercely protective companions. Others don't even want to be weapons at all, finding joy in simple work like blacksmithing or farming. Most blades just need to be loved.

[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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[write-on-world]

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

you know a fic is good when it has this

[theaftersundown]

*writes two paragraphs after months of literally nothing and it took three hours*

[sergeantsporks]

"Aro/Ace person gets given a love potion" story but instead of them being immune or whatever, it DOES work, and they realize IMMEDIATELY that they've been fed a love potion because this feeling is so wrong and foreign but everyone keeps laughing off the idea of it being a love potion because "they were probably just a late bloomer" or "no, you just finally found the right person!" and it's just a horror story about how no one believes them even though they know, they KNOW this isn't right and they can't stand it.

[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

[talesofallure]

Dorothy Delgado's Divine Devices. The letters were printed in bold black writing over the shop door. From the street you'd think this pop-up shop was nothing much out of the ordinary, and in truth you'd be right.

Some fifteen years ago, when Dorothy was still a girl who believed in such things as the Tooth Fairy and the Baba-Da-Gan, she'd come across a small shed down by the brook behind her mother's house.

Her mother had told tales of imp-like creatures that lived in small sheds similar to this, tin can contraptions with leaky roofs and blacked-out windows, covered in rust and mould.

There were markings on the door of the shed, ritualistic symbols (Dorothy had etched these same symbols into the frame of her pop-up shop door, it was all about appearances you see). Despite her mother's warnings -- about sheds and imps and strangers by the brook -- Dorothy had been curious, too curious not to take a peak inside. It was ironic really, that same curiosity is what now sent customers flocking to her store.

"You're shorter than I expected," a boy half her height, wearing a bright yellow hat and sporting a beard the same colour that ran to his knees -- odd for a boy to sport a beard that long -- was sat on stool playing with his tail.

"You were expecting me?" Dorothy asked despite herself, forgetting yet more of her mother's wisdom.

There's trouble in asking questions.

The boy had smiled an awful sort of smile, all teeth and no lips. There was a flash of hunger in his eyes. They're like stones. Dorothy had thought to herself. Grey and hard, and I'll bet they don't bleed.

That was all it took, one question followed by another and the boy had managed to trap Dorothy in a sort of spiraling conversation that felt so much like a fever dream she'd have sworn it never happened. That was, had it not been for the curse.

"Little girls lie, don't they?" the boy had asked.

"Nuh-uh. Not this one." Dorothy had protested, just a little too much.

Of course little girls lie, but they get in trouble for lying, so Dorothy certainly wasn't going to admit to such a sin. Not to this stranger in a tin-can. What if her mother found out?

Back in the present day Dorothy sighed. That boy, that day, they held home in the very fore-front of her mind, a memory played forever on repeat, just like that Christmas special her mother had loved, the one about the boy who never did as he was told.

She gave a short laugh, unlocking the door to her store, the bell above her head ringing as she stepped inside. Her mother would have loved this, the veritable mountain of antiques displayed on table-tops, and on shelves, and hanging from the ceiling, some larger oddities standing of their own right on the wood panel flooring.

But her mother was no longer of this world. A tragic accident that could have been prevented if not for this Gods forsaken curse.

To tell the truth was to be spat at in the street, no matter how hard she tried, no matter how hard she pleaded, no one would either again believe the words of Dorothy Delgado. But to lie, to lie was to speak gospel that no ears could ever deny -- little girls don't lie, nuh-uh, not this one.

The only problem was the inevitable visit some days later when Dorothy's divine device failed to live up to expectations.

She could handle the authorities, all she had to do was lie and they'd bid her a good day, apologising for having wasted her time. But the customers, oh dear lord the customers. You could lie and send them packing, but word would spread, yet more words would be written, scathing reviews left online making Dorothy Delgado's Divine Device's the one place in town you gave a very wide birth.

Oh how she missed the days before the world and her wife carried computer's in their pockets.

So she'd move along, find another town, come up with some other clever name under which to sell her fabled goods. And ever on the cycle would repeat.

If she'd had the choice, she might just have gone back home, to her mother's that is, the little cottage by the brook. But the boy had taken that took, hadn't he.

Ring.

The door came open and with it entered Dorothy's first customer of the day.

"Interesting place you've got here," the man offered.

There it is. Dorothy gave a short but pleasant smile, just enough to invite the man in further, but not so friendly as to lose all sense of mystery. It was an art. One she'd mastered over the years, she'd have you know.

The man picked up a feather pen and pot of ink, squinting at the tag. There was no price, just words and a promise, "this is a joke, right? You don't really expect me to believe..."

"That this pen can make you a world famous novelist?" Dorothy put a hand on the man's shoulder, and whispered in his ear, "this pen was once owned by Dickens, by Orwell, by Virginia Woolf. It can make you world famous alright, but at a cost."

The man drank up every word, he swallowed and asked, "what cost?"

"Thirty-four ninety-nine," Dorothy grinned, "plus taxes."

You have been cursed so that nobody believes you when you tell the truth. But you find people will believe you when you lie. So until you can find a way to undo the curse you make do as a very successful merchant.

[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

[bebx]

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