#custom prompts

[project-uberguard]

Happy 10th Anniversary, Patapon 3!

Today, 10 years ago (2011), this game was released in Japan. Other release dates in the same year includes  April 12th in North America, and April 15th in Europe respectively.

I’ve made a series of custom prompt packs for the entirety of the franchise for owners of Drawful 2 (and preferably who also play Patapon) to be able to host. Limited drawing space and skills in this game against Patapon-related prompts; Can you draw them from memory? 

There is one prompt related to a Patapon fangame, Patafour, which is added in one of these prompt packs. Good luck finding it.

[duraxxor]

WHATEVER WEDNESDAY!

Come on, don’t be shy! Ask us anything! It can be directed towards Dura as a whole or any of the Trio!

[matchstickforyourmuse]

Anything and Everything!

Hello to you all, to old followers and new, to complete strangers, and friends, too!

For those of you that do not know, I accept any and all requests for customized prompts. (Assuming that your query is clean! PG-13 or below, if you’d please.) From any genre, any topic, any little word, I’ll write for you a dozen or more. Prompts on fantasy? Check. Realistic prompts? Check. Original character prompts? Check. Prompts on rogue kitchen appliances, slathered in war-paint, that have teamed up with a band of gypsies to take over the world (and then some)? Check. 

Just send me an Ask (if you want your prompts to be posted to my feed) or a Message (if you want me to privately send your prompts to you) with your request(s)!

By all means, don’t be afraid to be vague, and don’t be afraid to be detailed! Send me a single word, or send me a thousand! And if you’re not satisfied with what I give, ask me to give you something else! (Honestly. I absolutely love doing this. Go ahead and ask for a hundred separate prompts, and I’ll provide.)

Don’t have a prompt? Just want to talk? I’ll lend you both ears (for writing advice*, or if you want to vent about something, or if you’re just looking for a friendly chat)! Go ahead and bounce your own ideas off me, as well, for characters or plots or plot twists or anything of the likes! I’ll give as much input and feedback as I possibly can. 

Have a fantastic day, dearest writers!

*You can also ask me for writing advice in the form of an Ask.

[notori]

My Inktober Prompt List

I decided I wanted to make my own set of prompts for Inktober based off of classic Halloween monsters along with common nightmares!

Scarecrow

Being Trapped

The Mummy

Spiders

Frankenstein

Skeleton

Haunted House

Monsters

Creature from the Black Lagoon

Injury or malformation

Graveyard

Partner leaving

Dracula

Seeing the dead

Ghost ship

Drowning

Axe murderer

Werewolf

Witch

Zombie

Devil

Losing teeth

Invisible man

Being lost

Carnival

Apocalypse scenario

Black cat

Falling

Ghost

Being Chased

Jack-o-Lantern

[freshjuicywriterstuff]

Hi! Do you have any ideas for a small town conflict? Thanks in advance! ♥

I have a few ideas that you might like.

1. If the town has an industrial focus such as a specific type of farming or some kind of factory production, perhaps there are rivalries between two or several participants. Maybe two rival farmers become violent with each other or something happens between them that causes others to be concerned about it.

2. Perhaps someone in power within the town (a mayor or official) has gotten away with a crime, but some of the townspeople know the truth. This could lead to a complicated struggle, as someone with connections is concerned. In a lot of small towns, power dynamics can be amplified.

3. Maybe, similarly to the classic witch hunts, a string of events or crimes occur. Despite constant efforts to solve and understand them, there are no initial leads. This leads to paranoia and scapegoating (blaming those that you already do not like). This would make for a lot of confusion and tension.

4. Maybe half of the town are members of some kind of secret group / society / cult. Some of the others are starting to uncover their secret, so they have to do something about it. This is difficult though, because the others who are not in the group / society / cult must not find out either.

5. A member of the town has been falsely accused of a crime, but proven innocent. Many choose to stand by them in support, but a select and vocal few do not believe the verdict. they hold a violent grudge against this person.

If any of these help you, just let me know. These are just the ones I was able to come up with.

[matchstickforyourmuse]

A fantasy prompt for 'green' plz?

Certainly! What a delightful request!(Only now, going back up to add this little response, do I realize that you asked for ‘a prompt’, and not a million. Oops.)I hope you like these. They’re a bit wordy- I got carried away. But they’re prompts nonetheless! If you would like some shorter, more to-the-point prompts without as much context-content, or whatever you want to call the lengthy bits of writing, pray tell! Or, if you just want more/less of one kind of prompt (more dialogue, less setting, etc.), or if you just want more prompts in general, I’d be happy to write you up a dozen more.

________

- - -‘Blood of Tree’, they called it. A swirling mass in a jar that bowed and dipped and swayed to some silent waltz, luminescent with some brilliant, strange force. It gushed about in oozy rivulets one moment, and then kept aloft the next in a foggy murmur of a cloud, and then it would sit on the bottom of the glass in shattered fractals, jagged and wickedly sharp. I always thought the name was silly. It deserved its own name. It didn’t need to be compared to anything. Heck, it couldn’t be compared to anything.

- - -“They aren’t pixies,” the troll whispered. Fear fluttered over his eyes like some maddened moth. “Just keep your trap shut, and we’ll get out of this alive.” And it was then that I saw one of the shrieking creatures. Wee claws curling around the stone corner, a hissing warble, followed by another mind-stabbing scream. Verdant scales and the coiled muscles of an adder, lanced through with voidish black, the intensity matched only by their eyes. Oh, the eyes….

- - -The dull thrum that came from the marsh was deafening for some, but a lullaby to others. I used to tell my kids that it was the tupelo trees singing. That, if they listened closely enough, they could hear the crickets and the frogs harmonizing to try to brighten their sepulchral melody, but to no avail. They mourned for the slow world, the one full of moss and jewelish dragonflies and sweet dreams. The one that had been replaced with smoke and spilled business and the bustle of aching feet. I told them that they just didn’t understand the change. And I told them that that was okay. Because none of us did, really. We just didn’t talk about it quite as often nor quite as loudly as they did.

- - -The elf’s sigh was explanation enough. But he clarified anyways. “Here, they can’t get us.” I looked around at the mismatched tables and chairs. The threadbare rugs mixed with the plush carpets and the faux-fur bathmats that had been shoved under stools so they wouldn’t scratch up the floors. The walls, covered in paintings and claw scores and hand-drawn pictures and toddler scribbles and one or two scorch marks from when they still had stoves. And then I looked at the people. Despite the circumstances, they were smiling. Despite what was out there, they looked…. They looked happy. Even the kids weren’t crying, despite the bandages being wrapped around their wounds, despite the acrid smell of the old candles. These…. These people. They were far from home. And, heck, they were with other species that, on any other given day, they probably would’ve been trying to rip the heads off of. But no. It was calm. And it was…. It was good. “Here,” he continued, with a trace of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “we can heal.”

- - - “The creature will be the death of me,” the Lady sighed, delicately placing her elbow unto the table so she could properly lean her chin upon it. “He’s a genie, m'Lady,” a servant reminded, her voice choked with giggles. “He can’t kill.”They both turned their heads to the gaudy spirit, festooned in a garb of eye-straining greens and polished emeralds and parrot-feathers, his cape whirling as he turned on his heel to accept yet another noble’s quail-eating challenge. (They both had to duck to avoid being clobbered with his stein of ale.)“I know. I just wish I could kill him.” She cocked an eyebrow as she watched the grease and ginger-sauce in his beard simply whuhff away the moment it drizzled down. “He knows perfectly well what I wished for. But he’s just finding one loophole after another. I have half a mind to dismiss him.”“You wouldn’t…! I mean…. With all due respect, m'Lady! The genie is… an animal, surely. Riddled with crudity and a vile tongue. But what he’s brought to the courts surely outweighs the burden, m'Lady?”

- - -“You’re telling me you’ve never heard of Dragon’s Grog?” The vampire grinned, leaning against the wall as plumes of smoke lazed upwards to meet the haze of the city air. The neon sign above us flicked colorful shadows over his face. “Man, that’s not right. It’s perfect for everything. A night on the town. Weddings. Funerals. Parties. Any day that ends in a Y.” Somewhere in the distance, a Quik-O-Rail buzzed on its tracks. A single vwooiiiiif, and it was gone. He flashed his fangs once more before he slipped his headphones from around his neck up and over his ears. It seemed as though I could hear the blare of his electric, upbeat jam before he even hit ‘play’.

- - -“I’ll always remember the story of when the sea switched places with the moorlands,” my grandmother hummed, wiping her knife on the edge of the tablecloth. “Back when the pheasants and the rabbits slipped through the heather like fingers through hair. The breeze would tussle the grasses, and the flowers would dance reels with the mighty winds.” As she said this, she flipped the fish over and began cleaning the other side. I winced at the stench. “But sometimes, it was still. Absolutely, perfectly still. No rippling, no swaying, no nothing. Just… solace. Butterflies playing their strange little games, and sunbeams embracing the Earth. Birdsong was the only thing that broke the silence.”I smiled, and looked out the window. A chuckle escaped. The fields were roiling again, moving up and down as they swelled with the force of the Earth-tide. Even within the safety of the house, I could hear rocks grinding and turf ripping and mending itself back together, mounds of soil cascading and ebbing away until they were replaced with the dusky emerald of the surface-moor. Rabbits and pheasants running on that? And silence? It was a surreal notion. Now she was probably going to say that fish, somehow, swam on the ocean. I laughed again.

- - - It was more of a slime, now. Probably. She didn’t dare turn on the light, for the fear that it would bear some semblance to the moon… What a silly thought. Was she going mad? It didn’t work like that, it didn’t-…. No. No, there was no risking anything. She dipped the glass stirring-rod in the sludge again. Fizzing. Popping. But no shattering. Good, good. She picked up the flask, and squinted hard- had she used too much silver? It was more metallic than anything. It was supposed to be green. Venom-green. That’s what… That’s what it was supposed to be. Darn it all, she didn’t have the time for this! How late was it? She couldn’t just remake the whole bloody thing! A cure was a cure. It wasn’t art. It wasn’t supposed to be pretty. It was just supposed to work. This was it. This was what she had been waiting for. The consequences of impurity be cursed! Oh, Lycaon almighty! THIS WAS IT! Slamming her fist on the cold table, she threw her head back, and began to drink.

- - - The butterfly was made of pale, thin pieces of interlocked jade. Stiff wings clinked against one another as it fluttered clumsily about the office. But then freaking Steven just had to see it. Without missing a beat, he grabbed his miniature stapler, and lobbed it over his cubicle’s wall, hitting his target dead-on. Upon impact, the insect shattered, and a fine, glittering dust arose, only to be sucked up by the ceiling vents. “You’re a jerk,” someone cried from halfway across the room.

- - -The dinghy lurched upwards again. We could hear the cringe-worthy scrapes of her spines on the bottom of our boat, each moment annunciated by a sharp whump as one ended and the other started. Unbroken scales began rising to one side, and then the other… a terrible, sickening shade of seafoam that reminded me a little bit too much of home. “It’s been too long.” My old voice took a chance to appear before I could catch it.“You heard our call. You heard it thrice. And only now, seven years adrift, do you come to our aid.” Whatever the meaning behind the distorted shrieks that issued from the spray there was, I did not listen. I was far too gone to have cared. “Leave. Your excuses harbor nothing.”

- - - “What part of ‘He’s sleeping’ don’t you understand?” The little dryad looked up at her with a tearful snort. “You can’t… For goodness’ sakes. You can’t wake up a non-magical tree. It’s nothing to cry about. He’s not dead, he’s not ignoring you. He’s just sleeping.” Apparently, the explanation didn’t do much in terms of making things better. The creature rubbed vigorously at her eyes with a downturned wrist before leaping forward to wrap her short arms (the best she could) around the slender trunk of the birch tree. The racking sobs came a moment later. The woman sighed. “For the love of…. Just stop, okay? You’re being ridiculous.”

- - -The air was close here. Stitches of silence had been sewn into his tongue, and he dared not disturb the resting realm. The pines, as vigilant as ever, kissed the clouds with their crowns- or, rather, the other way around. He could not see their end. He could, however, see the clouds. The height of their trunks seemed to rival the length of a giant’s sprint. (The only that kept him from believing that he had fallen to the stature of a dormouse was the trace amount of ferns that crouched about the heaps of root. And even then….) After another mile had passed, the man sat down, swept his cloak about his legs, and slumped against his satchel. The daylight had taken a rather unexpected leave. With a twitch of his lips, he felt agog as he turned his eyes above. The man’s breath came slow and swift all at once. This was what he came for. To see this.The slate clouds had gone, replaced by a great, coarse mass of charcoal brown. It fell and rose in time, before it began away, the Earth trembling as it made for the horizon. Ever-so-slowly, day returned, slipping around the belly of the beast like water over a bowl. Less than ten feet away, the bone-shaking step of an ebony hoof fell. (It had to be twice as large as any inn he’d ever seen.) Of all of his years, this marked only the second time that he had seen one of the elk of the Foraoise Mhór.

~

[matchstickforyourmuse]

Anything, and Everything!

Hello to you all, to old followers and new, to complete strangers, and friends, too!

For those of you that do not know, I accept any and all requests for customized prompts. (Assuming that your query is clean! PG-13 or below, if you'd please.) From any genre, any topic, any little word, I'll write for you a dozen or more. Prompts on fantasy? Check. Realistic prompts? Check. Original character prompts? Check. Prompts on rogue kitchen appliances, slathered in war-paint, that have teamed up with a band of gypsies to take over the world (and then some)? Check.

Just send me an Ask (if you want your prompts to be posted to my feed) or a Message (if you want me to privately send your prompts to you) with your request(s)!

By all means, don't be afraid to be vague, and don't be afraid to be detailed! Send me a single word, or send me a thousand! And if you're not satisfied with what I give, ask me to give you something else! (Honestly. I absolutely love doing this. Go ahead and ask for a hundred separate prompts, and I'll provide.)

Don't have a prompt? Just want to talk? I'll lend you both ears (for writing advice*, or if you want to vent about something, or if you're just looking for a friendly chat)!

Have a fantastic day, dearest writers!

*You can also ask me for writing advice in the form of an Ask.

[matchstickforyourmuse]

Could you write some prompts of a guy realizing he’s in love and asking his best friend for help, since he’s never been in love before?

Absolutely, dearest Anonymous! Thank you so much for asking! I’m so, so sorry about how long it took for me to post this. Things are hectic sometimes.

I hope you enjoy these as much as I enjoyed writing them. As always, you’re more than welcome to switch any pronouns about to suit your whims. Little disclaimer: Any names used do not pertain to any person or character alive or dead. Do (or do away) with them as you please.

Another quick note: Some of them are ridiculously long. I apologize. I got a bit carried away. Also, if you want more, please ask!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

- - - “Listen. I don’t know what I’m doing.” He stared hard at his friend, who didn’t seem to be paying much attention. (But perhaps it was better that way. He still wasn’t even sure if he wanted to think about this, let alone discuss it.) “I….I don’t know what I’m doing, and I need your help. I need….I need advice.”

“On what? Sorry, I didn’t catch that first bit.” His friend took out one of his earbuds, and quirked an eyebrow. “What are you doing that needs my help? If this is one of those DIY things, I told you I’m no good at workshop stuff. Go ask Nance, she’s a gearhead.”

“No, ah-….No, that’s not what I’m talking about.” He gnawed on his lip for a moment, quite seriously wondering if he should just drop the subject altogether. “Isn’t about workshop stuff. It’s…. It’s about….Uh. You have a girlfriend, don’t you? And you’re happy?”

“Mhm.”

“I need to know how you guys….Started. Y'know. Started….Started going out. How you knew that you….Uh….Gosh, help me out here, man. How you knew you, were, like, starting.“

“…Starting? Started what? You mean how we started dating?”

“No. No. Uh, started….Liking eachother. But not liking. Like-like liking.”

“…You alright, man?”

- - - “Gran,” He acknowledged, smiling as the old woman strolled into the room with a platter full of tea and shortbread cookies. “So, uh….” He took his cup with a grateful nod before continuing. “I’m really glad I could come and visit you. It’s been so long.”

“Oh, cut to the chase,” his grandmother snorted, before taking a long drink. “You live right across the street. It’s not like we couldn’t have texted.”

He tittered, and rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, uh….There’s….There’s this lass. Met her at uni last year, just before graduation.”

“Oh my stars, is that a blush I see? I suppose we’re going to be here a while. Might as well put on another kett-”

“Gran. Gran, this is….I just need some advice. I’ve….How do I say this? This isn’t just some passing fancy. I think I’m in love.”

“All the reason for more tea.”

- - - “She ain’t for you,” he barked. “She ain’t your type. I’m tellin’ ya.”

“No, no, I’m tellin’ you. She is. I feel it. But I don’t know how I’m feelin’ it. You get me?”

“Loud and clear, brother. But what you’re feelin’ ain’t love.”

“It isn’t? It….What do you mean? It’s gotta be.”

“What you’re feelin’ is stupidity.”

- - - Sincerely, me. Hah hah….P.S., you took psychology once, right? How would you diagnose love?

Would that sound stupid? It probably would if they were talking in person. But they weren’t. So maybe it was actually sort of funny…? Ugh. Who was he kidding? He moved to scribble out the last line, but stopped himself. His mind was so frazzled. He just needed to talk to someone about this. Someone that knew him. He cursed under his breath. Why did they have to be so far away? Why the heck did they have to live in the middle of nowhere? He was going mad. He needed to talk to them.

- - - “You’re a poet,” He declared, rubbing his temples. “You’re supposed to know all about this stuff.”

“I write haikus, not odes. It’s not my fault you went and fell. Stop beating me up over this! You’re acting like a child. You want me to define love? I’ll just record your babblings the next time you happen to talk with them. Then I’ll replay it over, and over, and over again until you realize that you’ve already defined it. Stop freakin’ asking me to help you, and just go do something about it.”

- - - “I just don’t get it.” He sighed and began fidgeting with the hems of his sleeves. “She’s not pretty. But I love her.”

The boy’s father chuckled, looking at him from beneath the brim of his wide hat. “Oh? Not pretty? Shoot, boy. Maybe one of the horses kicked you in the head without you realizin’.”

“No, they didn’t. I swear,” his son insisted, not quite catching the joke.

“Love’s a strong word.”

“I dunno what else to call it, papa. What do I do? Do I….Do I marry her now?”

He wasn’t sure why his father started chuckling. This was a very serious matter, wasn’t it?

- - - She grimaced. “Stop giving me that look.”

“What look?”

“That stupid you-don’t-know-what-you’re-talking-about look. Just….Stop.”

“I’m not giving you that look. I’m giving you the I-have-absolutely-no-idea-what’s-happening-and-frankly-I’m-quite-petrified look.”

“Pah. It can’t be that bad. Listen, all you have to do is-”

“It’s bad, Mills. It’s real bad.”

- - - For the whole period, the two exchanged notes underneath the table. For the most part, they were in near-undecipherable chicken scratch. (Something that they had perfected in order to avoid the prying eyes of their teacher.) But they still understood the basic concepts of what the other was saying. It went something along these lines:

Dude help

I’m not helping you cheat on the test you idiot

No, not on the test, I need help with Jean

I’m not lending you my pants

DUDE you know what I meant

Why do you even flipping like them?

No, I don’t just like them

Don’t get angsty on me dude

This is serious, I’m going to have a mental breakdown if you don’t tell me what to freakin do

Dude that’s one of the things about having someone else. I can’t tell you what to do.

- - - “So what do you do if you’re in love?”

“Pardon?”

“You heard me, boss. What do you do if you’re in love? Is it the same thing as having a crush? Flowers and chocolates and little cheesy couplets on their desk or something?”

“Well….Uh….I…I don’t exactly know. I just….Uh, I guess? Maybe throw in a surprise visit or something?”

“…You’re as confused as I am on this, aren’t you?”

- - - He continued mopping the floor, but with every stroke, drew closer to his friend, whom of which was polishing the window. “So, uh, hey.”

“Hey.”

“You know the patient in room 573?“

“Yeah?”

“How strictly are our no-intimacy-between-patient-and-staff-member rules?”

“Dude….”

- - - ”….And with the Holidays right around the corner, I thought I’d ask ‘em out so they can meet my parents before all the craziness starts up again. Whatd'y'a think?“

“Listen, uh….What you’re planning is beyond sweet, mate. But you’re getting…ahead of yourself. You know what I mean? You shouldn’t just throw yourself at….Ugh, for goodness’ sakes. Do they even know your name?”

“No….But that’s besides the point. I know what this is now. You told me yourself. It’s love.”

- - - “….And then she said ‘I’d like to get to know you better.’ What kind of creepy line is that?”

“It’s not exactly….Creepy, per se, but it was definitely a line.”

“Oh gosh. She’s actually noticed me. I…don’t know about this. I love her. I really do. But….I just….I haven’t thought this all through. I was perfectly fine just admiring her from afar. But now she’s all in my face and now….Gosh, I love her even more. But I just….I don’t know how to deal with this. I can’t even talk to someone without sounding like an idiot. How the HECK am I supposed to convince her I’m not some antisocial wackadoo?”

“Okay, first of all, you’re not antisocial, you’re asocial. And secondly, being asocial doesn’t make you a….Whatever the heck you just said. And thirdly, just….Just let it go. Don’t force anything. But don’t run away from it, either. This isn’t something to be scared of.”