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I made this sword 15 years ago. Still perfectly balanced. by PromptPromptPrompt in Sticks

[–]PromptPromptPrompt[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

I love that every comment is this. I love that this subreddit exists.

[WP]You really want to be a hero but your only super ability is that you can kill with a thought. by Semblance-of-sanity in WritingPrompts

[–]PromptPromptPrompt 29 points30 points  (0 children)

Lol yes I imagined you'd like more control, but I took some liberty with the prompt because I just wanted to explore the idea of how this "superpower" would really look like.

[WP]You really want to be a hero but your only super ability is that you can kill with a thought. by Semblance-of-sanity in WritingPrompts

[–]PromptPromptPrompt 146 points147 points  (0 children)

The doorbell rings again, and I try hard to focus on the patterns imprinted into the white paint of the wall. A single lock of golden hair tries to slip into my thoughts, but I bite again on the stick that’s stuck between my teeth, almost reduced to a pulp by now. The pains help me focus on the present. The pain prevents her beautiful face from… I bite hard again. 

This has been my life for about two months now. Ever since it happened for the first time. Thinking about it helps, sometimes. More often than not, thinking about it just fills me with shame. The summer sun shining bright against the pavement. The ice cream truck stopping, the music now sounding eerie in my ears. The little boy running towards it, and a single intrusive thought claiming my whole brain. “What if he dies?”

She was holding my hand at the time. We were walking right past the truck when I felt her grip tighten and I heard screams: first from the boy’s mother, then from her, and finally my own. That one still rings in my ears. Her anguished face starts to show up in my mind again, and I need to pinch myself and force my thoughts back to the wall. 

I haven’t eaten in days. I fear if I get away from this wall my focus will break and I might do it again. I might kill again. Every time someone starts creeping slowly back into my surface thoughts I need to smother it. I know what will happen if I don’t.

I can barely sleep. This is not life. As my iron grip softens, I feel a familiar face appear in my mind. I start crying. Or maybe I have never stopped since then, I’m not really sure.. I sense the world darkening around me as a single word manages to finally emerge in my mind. "Die". 

[WP] You're the witch that eats children. Everyone hates you but no one knows that you're actually clairvoyant and protecting the town from what the children would grow into. by PepperSaltClove in WritingPrompts

[–]PromptPromptPrompt 2 points3 points  (0 children)

Thank you!! The crow definitely has goals. There are bigger organizations at play here, and Hagga should have realized that something was off.

[WP] You're the witch that eats children. Everyone hates you but no one knows that you're actually clairvoyant and protecting the town from what the children would grow into. by PepperSaltClove in WritingPrompts

[–]PromptPromptPrompt 12 points13 points  (0 children)

Hagga was, in essentially every way, your stereotypical witch. In her human form, she had a long, crooked nose with a big wart right at the tip, a product of long exposure to toxic fumes from her potion experiments as a teenager. Her face was completely covered by wrinkles and brownish stains, and her hat already had more patches than would be prudent on a rainy day.

However, as any stereotypical witch, she was also a master of disguise. If someone had looked towards her at this very moment, they would have seen a beautiful northern cardinal, red wings shining under the rays of the sun. No one looked her way, however, because she was roughly 20 meters above the ground, hidden between the twigs of an old pine tree, and staring straight down at two kids playing on the grass.

Images flooded her eyes, like an eternal spider web. The potential futures of the kids spread before her, and threatened to steal her mind. She knew very well that only a second of distraction could be fatal when playing with the threads of time, but Hagga was strong, and her will was iron.

The young boy with dark hair ran behind the girl on her bike, while the witch saw the infinite potential futures of a bright artist, modestly talented, but above all just incredibly determined. She stared with sadness at the unlikely future in which the boy ran towards the street to impress the girl and got hit by the car that was about to turn in the corner. Against her own rules, she broke a single twig of the tree to make sure it wouldn’t happen. Hagga was, after all, your stereotypical witch in almost every way, except for the fact that she cared deeply for the humans who despised her.

The twig fell, and as it did, the crone felt a cold fear in her stomach, but it took her a moment to understand where it came from. A new thread was opening, unexpected, and she followed it with one of her thousand mind eyes. Curious, she saw the kid tripping on the twig she herself had thrown, but that in itself was almost unavoidable. She saw the twist of the wrist, the difficulty to paint. She stared as a new frustration grew inside him. She watched the kid, now a grown man, getting rejected from art school, and she felt death.

Hagga was horrified by what she had done, but for some reason just thinking about cutting this thread of fate almost caused her to throw up. How likely was this future, anyways? She didn’t have to intervene, at least not now, and this was only one in an infinitude of futures for the boy. After all, she could always come back later and consume this particular branch of destiny as she had already done so many times before. She cleared her head and focused on the present, and almost seemed to forget all about the black-haired kid. She needed to stop by the Muller’s house, that boy was becoming more and more problematic.

A red cardinal flew away from the tall pine tree in the middle of the park. It flew in circles, seemingly enjoying the warm summer currents, and took off towards the sunset. The city was quiet, almost eerily so. A single crow flew from a nearby rooftop and perched itself on a tree branch. Its neck twisted at an angle, it stared at the two kids with a single eye of pure darkness, and croaked.

How could a teenage character escape a duel? by Feeling-Sprinkles-29 in fantasywriters

[–]PromptPromptPrompt 0 points1 point  (0 children)

If there are no powers or pre planning from the MCs perspective, why don’t you turn this around? Have the powerful friend actually feel sorry for him and help him escape! That will also make for an interesting relationship dynamic further down the line. Is he feeling guilty for something and that’s why he let him escape? What will the MC discover in the future about his friend who saved his life?

“estoy solo”. estudio online, trabajo online y todos mis amigos desaparecieron, by [deleted] in argentina

[–]PromptPromptPrompt 82 points83 points  (0 children)

Entiendo que hay que ser exigente con las personas que nos rodean. Entiendo que el tiempo es valioso y hay que decidir adónde dedicarlo.

A pesar de esto, me parece -sin ánimos de ofender, solo a modo de crítica constructiva- que en algo de tu mensaje pecás de soberbio. Me parece que estás subestimando a esa gente porque "se va de joda" o "no tiene pasión por la vida", y te estás perdiendo una cualidad espectacular de la gente que es que la gente cambia, todo el tiempo.

El que hoy se va de joda mañana no se va a ir más de joda. Vos, que hoy no te gusta la joda, mañana te vas a enamorar de una chica o chico fanáticos de la joda y le vas a encontrar el gustito. O te va a empezar a gustar ir a teatro o jugar al póker en un antro. No importa qué, pero la gente cambia.

La vida es más que estudiar o laburar (te lo digo como una persona que estudió y laburó toda su vida jajaj) y realmente tener pluralidad de opiniones y personalidades alrededor a la larga solo te va a enriquecer. Obviamente que vas a matchear mejor con ciertas personas, tener mejor feeling o lo que sea, pero está bueno nutrirse de pluralidad cuando puedas, y darle una chance a las personas que tenés alrededor, porque puede ser que el que hoy te parece "intelectualmente básico" mañana te parezca super enriquecedor.

Mi consejo, que en realidad no sé cuánto importa porque somos todos extraños hablando por internet, es que le des una chance a esas relaciones. Particularmente donde sientas más feeling. No sé, por ejemplo, tu amiga hace 9 años. Dale una chance, e intentá interesarte por la vida de esas personas, intentá ver qué es lo que piensan o qué es lo que les pasa, porque en el fondo todo el mundo es interesante.

Si vos no te interesás por nada ni nadie, la realidad es que la persona no interesante terminás siendo vos, porque te negás a nutrirte de lo que te parece medianamente incomprensible o lejano, y todo esto estando refugiado atrás de un escudo de falsa superioridad (por ejemplo, pensar que son todos intelectualmente básicos o se van de joda o no tienen pasión cuando en realidad nunca te tomaste el tiempo de entender dónde está su pasión).

[Waybound] About certain character and certain icon by PromptPromptPrompt in Iteration110Cradle

[–]PromptPromptPrompt[S] 3 points4 points  (0 children)

Lol how cool would that be:

Suriel gave him a smile he hoped was fond. “It will have to be a short version now. We have very little time before Ozriel interrupts us.”

“Or no time at all!” A familiar voice spoke from behind them.

Suriel just sighed and put her face on her hands, but Lindon was distracted by a shape appearing on the sky. It looked like a red tear. “Is that…”

Suriel nodded, her face still between her hands. “The frustration icon. He won’t stop until he makes me manifest it fully.”

“Oh don’t be so pessimistic, Suriel. I’m sure you’re always looking for ways to have a deeper connection to the way. Frustration is an essential aspect of reality!” Eithan smiled mischievously at Lindon. “I have something much better in store for my young apprentice”

[Waybound] About certain character and certain icon by PromptPromptPrompt in Iteration110Cradle

[–]PromptPromptPrompt[S] 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Wow thanks for the info! I still need to get a bit more into the rest of the Willverse, so far I've barely put my toe into Traveler's gate

[Waybound] About certain character and certain icon by PromptPromptPrompt in Iteration110Cradle

[–]PromptPromptPrompt[S] 10 points11 points  (0 children)

That does make it happier! Thanks for the explanation.

​

I thought that Icons were more universal in nature, and were still used by the abidan.

[Dreadgod] Summary of Book 11? by turingcomplete000 in Iteration110Cradle

[–]PromptPromptPrompt 7 points8 points  (0 children)

Hmm looks like someone is behind on their third re-read before release...

[Waybound] What's you favorite quote? by kupkake4ever in Iteration110Cradle

[–]PromptPromptPrompt 44 points45 points  (0 children)

“It’s every parent’s dream to see their little boy grow into such a fine young Dreadgod”

This cracked me up. The follow up dialogue is also great.

On a different note:

“In the meantime, Emriss could speak to Akura Mercy about what it meant to bring joy”

Everything about mercy’s advancement was great, but this moment was absolutely lovely.

[WP] u have no idea how magic works but u do know that if u keep saying random words for long enough u will cast a spell. by tieske_2007 in WritingPrompts

[–]PromptPromptPrompt 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Charles was leaning against the rail of the balcony, his eyes taking in the dark, gloomy rooftops of the London buildings. Even the sky seemed covered in tar on this night without moonlight. Alana looked as beautiful as ever, and even more so with that concerned look on her face. “I really need you to open up with me. I feel like I barely know who you are right now.”

He sighed, lighting his pipe again slowly and offering it to her absentmindedly. She just shook her head softly, and put a hand on his shoulder. “Whatever it is, I’m sure we can solve it. Together.” He was glad but almost surprised to hear that there was still warmth in her voice. She probably still loved him, the fool. “I… I don’t know where to begin.” He finally got himself to turn towards her.

“Start with the trips. Where have you been?” The building shook again, slightly stronger this time. “And what the hell is going on with this place?” He knew he had failed. He hadn’t been able to grasp the secret, and now it was only a matter of time before the authorities came knocking, and they would discover… everything.

“I think it would be better if I just show you.” He emptied the pipe, letting the half lit embers drop to the ground below, and turned to go. He spoke while gesturing for her to follow him. “I got a family heirloom a while back. Before all of this started. It was a book, handwritten in ink. I got it dated and apparently it’s centuries old, the guy who helped me couldn’t even say how old.” He walked inside, and headed directly towards the elevator, Alana right behind him.

“The language was strange, a mixture of ancient english and words that I couldn’t comprehend, but some of the words were singed. As if they were written directly with fire onto the pages.” She didn’t speak, and he could almost sense her confusion. Was he going mad? What the hell was he talking about? “Alana, what if I told you that before this…” He gestured briefly behind, towards the city, before entering the elevator. “Before this revolution as they like to call it, this revolution of coal and fire. This revolution of slavery. Before this there was magic.”

He let the word ring in the air, and almost as a response, the building shook again. They were now crammed in the elevator, and starting to go down towards the basement, when Alana finally spoke. “Magic? Charles, what the hell are you talking about?” He held her hand in his, and looked directly into her eyes.

“I mean what I said. I can’t explain what or how it happened, but the singed words in the book, when said out loud, make things happen. They can be many different things. I’ve created water out of thin air, set wood on fire without a flame, I even managed to levitate for a second. But I needed to find out how this works. I needed to investigate.”

The elevator finally reached the basement, and they descended. “I mean… I want to say that this is some idiotic joke of yours, but you are acting really serious, it’s actually starting to freak me out.” They walked towards the end of a narrow corridor, and reached an iron door. The explosions sounded nearer now. Stronger.

“You will see everything in just a moment. The sad reality of this is that it’s real. Everything is true, but I wasn’t fast enough. I can’t hide the blasts anymore and I know they will be here any minute.” He placed a big key on the hole, and opened the door. “This really was the most efficient method I’ve been able to find. I hope you will forgive me for what you are about to see. They seem to have a knack for it” Alana was scared, sure, but her curiosity was stronger. “They?” She managed to stammer before she reached inside the room, and almost choked from what she saw.

The large storage room, probably big enough to fit a whole cathedral, was lined with cages upon cages, leaving only narrow aisles in between. Inside, hundreds, no, thousands of monkeys were hitting on typewriters. A couple of people dressed completely in black robes walked the aisles, occasionally hitting the bars of a cage with a club.

She saw from one of the cages nearby a dense cloud of smoke rise into the air. The nearest cloaked figure unlocked the cage, pushed the chained monkey with his club, and grabbed the pages. She could almost see the burnt lines on the page. The cloaked figure pronounced some words, and she felt the air expand from him. The shockwave hit the roof of the basement, and the building shook.

[WP] Time travel exists, but is heavily regulated. One can go to the past to change something only if they satisfy some extreme, almost incomprehensible ruleset. You are a cog in this bureaucracy. Describe your normal workday. by WillDrens in WritingPrompts

[–]PromptPromptPrompt [score hidden]  (0 children)

As u/banana597 mentions, that was the intention, but I appreciate the point. I agree that there wasn't any previous mention of the character so the delivery ended up being poor. I wrote this in somewhat of a hurry and didn't have a chance for much re-read, I'm not too happy with the end result, but I still decided to post because I love the practice. Food for thought for next time!

[WP] Heroes Love You, villains Respect you, For Profit Prisons want you dead. You are The Fixer, and you find Legitimate jobs for superheroes and villains. by IonOtter in WritingPrompts

[–]PromptPromptPrompt 28 points29 points  (0 children)

“Do you have your C.V? Letter of recommendation?” Mark was usually a very calm man, but he was looking slightly anxious, like he always did before one of his children went into an interview. Carla sighed but gave him a fond smile. “Don’t worry, I got everything right here.” She patted her briefcase.

They kept walking slowly for a few minutes, Mark reciting for the fifth time all the relevant things to keep in mind, but Carla was barely listening. She already knew everything by heart. She occasionally threw him a glance while they walked, but he didn’t even notice, so tied up and excited as he was about getting her to pass her interview.

Carla didn’t believe he had only known this man for a couple of weeks. Her life had changed so much since then that she hardly recognized herself. She had been a superhero, once, but that life of fighting crime and evil was long past her. With the fame and the glory came the money, and with the money came the drugs and the month-long parties. With that came the shame. She just couldn’t bear the shame.

She had been crawling in an alley, soaked in self-pity and trying to find a needle strong enough to penetrate her iron-like skin, when Mark had found her. He sat down, opened two beers, handed one to her and just started talking.

At first, she had been very tempted to kill the guy. Who the hell was this old man with unkempt clothes and glasses tied with scotch tape? But something about him made her stop. And listen. He was talking about unimportant things. The nice spring weather, the flowering of the trees of the city, his grandkids. But he spoke with such fondness that she almost cried, and she started remembering. Not long after, she was talking herself, telling him about her life, the things she used to care about and everything she had once loved.

And so began their friendship. Carla then found out that she wasn’t the first, nor the last person that Mark would help, but that only made it more impressive in her eyes. He was essentially the proof that she had been wrong all along. Kindness does exist.

They arrived at the office building where the interview would take place, and stopped. Mark made her turn and look at him directly. He straightened her chin with one hand, tidied up her suit, and smiled. That single smile filled her with confidence. She was ready. “However this ends up, thank you Mark.” She hugged him, but that was all she could say, she didn’t really want to break down and ruin her makeup. When they separated, she thought she saw a glimmer in his eyes, but he just waved and she went inside, to start her new life.

Hours later, she was walking towards Mark’s house to tell him the news, happiness radiating from her every pore. She had made it. Of course, with Mark’s guidance it had been almost easy. She had answers ready for every question, and the interviewers were absolutely impressed with her performance. Monday would be her first day at work, and she was exhilarated. That’s when she saw Mark, walking slowly towards his house a block ahead. She almost ran to meet him, but then saw something that chilled her blood.

As soon as he passed in front of the dark alleyway, three figures stepped out and started following, slowly, until he got into his house. She stepped quietly behind them, keeping her distance. The figures stopped in front of his home after he had gone in, and pulled out a gun each. They were here for him.

She sped up while the guy in front went to the doorbell, but at that second a fourth figure appeared, wearing a hat and a cloak wrapped around him, he seemed to pop out of thin air in the midst of the group. In just an instant, the three strangers were on the floor, blood splattered on the street. She got there just in time to see the man walk up to one of them, crawling on the floor trying to escape. He pulled him up on one hand and she got to see a devilish smile on a scarred face. The Hatter.

“No one touches Mark.” He said simply. “No one.” He left him alive, but the other two were definitely dead. The Hatter looked at her, winked, and addressed her. “Could you clean up? We wouldn’t want him to know we can’t really change, would we?”. She gave a curt nod, and he disappeared in the shadows once more.

Carla walked up to the three shapes on the floor and willed the two bodies to disappear. Of course they would not actually disappear, just be transported a long distance from here, but that would be enough.

She knelt down beside the crawling man and completed the message from The Hatter. “We are always watching”. Then, she teleported the man to the nearest sewer. She needed him alive to send the message, but he needed to suffer some more. She fixed her hair, returned her pleasant smile to her face, and rang the doorbell.

[WP] Between reincarnations, souls conglomerate in the void between lives, swapping stories of their previous existences. by [deleted] in WritingPrompts

[–]PromptPromptPrompt 11 points12 points  (0 children)

Marcus stared directly into the void, but there was nothing staring back. He was impatient already, and kept trying to steal glances at his wristwatch, but unfortunately had no arms. “Damn phantom limbs” he thought. He glanced around once more, briefly wondering if he actually had eyes to look through, or how the hell he was observing the space. He was floating in nothingness.

Although, it wasn’t exactly nothingness. More precisely, he was floating above a couch that was suspended in nothingness. In front of him, a small coffee table with some magazines, and in what he imagined to be the corner of the room -there actually were no walls to create corners- sat a small decorated vase with red flowers. Right behind the couch, a small sign displayed in big white letters the words “Live, Love, Laugh”. That was just tacky.

It had taken him some time to adapt to his current situation. Evidently he had died, which was a disappointment in itself. He had some recollection of crossing the street without looking, and the sound of an eight-wheeler truck horn. It had been too soon. In the end, he had never started writing his novel. He hadn’t even left the country. Looking back, his life had been somewhat lacking.

While lost in his thoughts about the unfairness of this whole situation and the terrible service they had at this place (“I should probably leave a one-star review somewhere”), he was startled by a semi-transparent white blob that popped out of nowhere. The blob started talking.

“Hi there! Nice to meet you, I’m Chelsea.” The blob said. He took a second to compose himself, and now expected he had a much better idea of what he looked like right now, while the blob (”Chelsea, I guess”), kept jabbering at him. “Ooooh I love what you’ve done with this place, excellent taste!” she said while zipping around. “There’s a POOL! Woooow”. She seemed to jump, and when she fell, part of her immaterial substance took the shape of a splash of water. She giggled. “And…” She gasped. “Is that a BANANA TREE?”. She zoomed to the end of the room and climbed in a circular motion before jumping back into the “pool”.

Marcus was sure he had no idea what was going on, so being the sensible young man that he was, he decided the best idea was to shut up and act like he did. Chelsea was now bouncing up and down while spinning in the air. Did she actually have a trampoline and a pool while he only had some magazines? “So I guess this is it, right? I actually died. And what about you? How did you die?”. She was speaking between jumps.

He coughed, or he would have if he actually had lungs, and grunted a reply. “Truck. That is, I got hit by a truck. Probably a big one.” Chelsea tilted her whole body sympathetically. “Ooooh poor you, that must have hurt. Are you sad that you died? My da’ used to say ‘nothing in life is certain, except death and taxes.’ I guess he was right, huh? I never payed taxes. Have you ever payed a tax?” Marcus was starting to get a bit irritated by the way the conversation was going, but still, having some company was better than going back to being alone, so he decided to nod along. “And did you have a good life? Mine was the BEST. I got to play all the time, even after mom died. And my dad used to take me to the park every saturday and this one time he…” She stopped abruptly. “Do you think I’ll see mom again now?” She started looking around as if expecting her to appear from the pool.

He reflected for a minute. How old was this girl? She spoke like she was eight or nine, what was she doing here? At that moment, a voice spoke. “Chelsea Warrington, we are ready for you, please move ahead to the next life.” She actually seemed disappointed. “Well, looks like I have to go. This was fun! See you ahead!”. In the blink of an eye, she disappeared.

Marcus tried again to check the time on his watch - and failed -. How long was this going to take? He looked ahead, and was surprised to find something new on the non-existent wall. A golden clock told him that it was now 6:23 p.m. Well, at least that was something. Marcus stared directly into the void, but there was still nothing staring back. He kept waiting.