/r/WritingPrompts

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Writing Prompts. You're a writer and you just want to flex those muscles? You've come to the right place! If you see a prompt you like, simply write a short story based on it. Get comments from others, and leave commentary for other people's works. Let's help each other.

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    We are a subreddit dedicated to inspiring people to write! Find a prompt that moves you and respond with a story or a poem.

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    Commenting
    • < 1. Prompt responses must be good-faith attempts at new stories/poems (No AI)

    • 100 words minimum for stories, 30 for poems but include [Poem]
    • Write something new using the prompt for inspiration (No AI)
    • Plagiarism will result in a ban
    • No joke, copypasta, or AI-generated responses
    • For off topic/clarification, reply to sticky comment
  • < 2. No sexually explicit responses, hate speech, or other harmful content

    • Includes, but is not limited to, pedophilia, bestiality, incest, rape, violence against children, and explicit abuse or torture
    • Avoid racism and detailed uses of suicide, mental health stereotypes, and political debate
    • Use your best judgment, but mods have final say
  • < 3. Be civil in discussion, feedback, and critiques

    • Users are held to a higher standard here. Think before posting
    • Prompts are meant to inspire new writing. Responses don't have to fulfill every detail
    Submitting Posts
    • < 4. All submissions must be tagged at the beginning of the post, capitalized in square brackets

    • Click [tag] to filter. Click » for more detail
    • Prompt Posts (Inspire new writing)
    • WP - Writing Prompt: No restrictions (other than the rules of the sub) »
    • SP - Simple Prompt: Max 100 characters in the title (including the tag) »
    • EU - Established Universe: Based on existing fiction »
    • CW - Constrained Writing: Limitations or forced usage of words, letters, etc. (don't ask for less than 100 words) »
    • TT - Theme Thursday: Weekly themes announced Thursdays »
    • MP - Media Prompt: Audio or video »
    • IP - Image Prompt: A striking image or album »
    • RF - Reality Fiction: Things that have happened or could happen to unknown people »
    • Response Posts (Write based on prompts)
    • PM - Prompt Me: Answer prompts by other users (if answered prompts before) »
    • PI - Prompt Inspired: Stories inspired by prompts older than three days (include link and max 1 a day) »
    • Other Posts
    • OT - Off Topic: Not a prompt, but writing related, not for complaints regarding subreddit content, stories, or advertising without prior approval »
  • < 5. No recent reposts, even if changing small details

    • Search before submitting! (Popular ideas can cause floods)
    • Reposts are allowed, given time (around two weeks)
    • Don't take a recent prompt and change/invert small details
  • < 6. Prompt users in the title, but don't play writing games or commission stories

    • Prompt in the title and only use text for commentary or links for [IP]s and [MP]s. Avoid too many details
    • No requesting writing or editing services, or homework help
    • Don't post ads without getting permission in modmail first
    • Don't ask writers to pick titles or content from another sub or site
    • Prompts should not call for using autocorrect, autocomplete, or only emojis
  • < 7. Prompts will be removed if there's a high possibility for rule breaking responses

    • Avoid real-world drama (politics, recent tragedies, etc.)
    • Inspire an effort, avoid simple questions, "write anything", word games, fill-in-the-blanks, or "in X words or less"
    • Prompts must actually be a prompt, not just the suggestion of a genre or emotion
    • Don't ask for preexisting content (prompts are meant for new writing)
    • No sexually explicit themes, hate speech, or other harmful content (suicide, mental health stereotypes, violence against children, torture, etc.)
    • No troll, joke, poop, meme-based, or all CAPS prompts
    Community Guidelines
    • < 8. Keep it about the writing here, not competing or making money

    • Authors are allowed to link to a personal sub or profile, but don't link back here until the prompt is 24 hours old
    • Patreon and Paypal links are not allowed. Link to your sub or profile instead
    • Recording of other people's work must follow the guidelines in the FAQ.

    Rule breaking posts or comments may be removed without notice. Rule breaking may result in a permanent ban without prior warning.

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    /r/WritingPrompts

    17,947,963 Subscribers

    2

    [WP] Everyday you receive a letter with diary-like entry from tomorrow. Each entry details your tomorrow life very accurately, which you take advantage of extensively. One day you sudden stopped receiving those letters.

    Early Edition, but letters.

    1 Comment
    2024/05/20
    12:28 UTC

    5

    [WP] You don't remember how you ended up in this bunker, or much of anything for that matter, however you're pretty sure the "Don't open" note on the exit door is written in your handwriting.

    1 Comment
    2024/05/20
    11:57 UTC

    1

    [WP] Do not under any circumstances attack anything that a human has pack-bonded with, their loyalty and vengeance is frightening.

    1 Comment
    2024/05/20
    11:30 UTC

    2

    [SP] You've finally found a good use for that trebuchet.

    1 Comment
    2024/05/20
    11:02 UTC

    15

    [WP] There exists a stone in Washington D.C. with a gun embedded in it. Whoever can pull the firearm out becomes the next president of the United States.

    3 Comments
    2024/05/20
    10:58 UTC

    0

    [WP] To keep up with modern times, the Greek gods have expanded the pantheon by abducting a mortal they had earlier chosen and transforming them into a deity. The last time this occurred was in 1890 when they orchestrated the disappearance of Louis Le Prince so that he could become the god of film.

    1 Comment
    2024/05/20
    10:26 UTC

    1

    [WP] The Terrans were vengeful when they discovered that most of their missing citizens throughout history was in fact abducted to other worlds and forced to become 'heroes' against their wills

    1 Comment
    2024/05/20
    10:23 UTC

    4

    [SP] An animal shelter listing for a human, directed at aliens

    6 Comments
    2024/05/20
    09:40 UTC

    6

    [WP] The soul of a fallen knight watches the fields he once called home.

    1 Comment
    2024/05/20
    09:08 UTC

    2

    [WP] You discover that time passes faster in your home than the outside world. With everything in your home functioning as normal, you decide to take full advantage of the situation.

    1 Comment
    2024/05/20
    08:58 UTC

    9

    [WP] You did it! After all these years, no, decades, you've finally got the very last laugh which makes the whole thing worth it... right?

    1 Comment
    2024/05/20
    08:43 UTC

    29

    [WP] Write a story where you're a superhero bacteria and your enemy is the hand sanitiser. 99.9%... You know what that means? Out of 1000 brave soldiers, only one will survive.

    8 Comments
    2024/05/20
    08:15 UTC

    28

    [WP] In a tidally locked post-apocalyptic world, a boy from the eternal tundra and a girl from the eternal desert ventures out towards 'paradise'. Two vastly different souls from opposite sides of the world meet and brave the extremes together.

    10 Comments
    2024/05/20
    07:09 UTC

    1

    [WP]your goal is to gain invincibility not because your weak but because your body can't handle your strength

    1 Comment
    2024/05/20
    06:56 UTC

    12

    [PI] In a world where emotions can be bottled and sold, you run a small shop dealing in rare and vintage feelings. One day, a mysterious stranger trades you a bottle. A shiver runs down your spine as your fingers trace the faded label. These are words you've only ever read in ancient texts.

    Soulmage

    I was lucky enough to be able to feel myself dying. Cancer’s touch had been lighter on me than Sansen, and if I hadn’t known exactly where to look, I likely would’ve missed some of the subtler symptoms. But a soulmage’s memory was not that of a regular human’s: if I trawled through the arid deserts of my soul for long enough, I could retrieve and relive weeks of my slow decline all at once.

    The eight memories I held suspended in my soulspace formed a clear trend. Despite how normal it felt nowadays to sleep sixteen hours a day and eat nothing more than a few bites, when I could flick back through days of my life like they were attractions at a street carnival, the pattern became clear.

    I would be dead within the month if this kept up.

    It was impeccably clear to me how I felt about that: I had not fought my way through a state-sponsored abuser, a blizzard-torn war, and my own arrogance and fear just to collapse from my wounds at the end of the race. The endless, determined, glittering sands of my soul were testament to that. But as much as I wanted to trust the only person in Knwharfhelm who practiced the kind of medicine I’d need to save my life, Zhytln was still a mind-manipulator with incomprehensible goals that I trusted no further than I could throw her. Which wasn’t very far, considering that she somehow effortlessly negated any attempts to fling magic her way.

    So I dug deeper. Much as I detested Zhytln, I had studied her strange magics and—with Meloai’s help—developed them into something safe and ethical for my own use. I would never invade the mind of another, but working magic on my own mind was something I could do. I held a memory of Cienne, shimmering in the endless sands, and brought it to life. The living memory burned, bits of its essence rotating out of existence in angles my mind couldn’t track, as I transmitted my command into its very being: search my memories for anything I can recall about cures for cancer.

    The memory of Cienne nodded and raced across the deserts of my soul, occasionally flickering and warping as it angled itself through the infinite dimensions of soulspace. Memories were four-dimensional, and I could only perceive three; with the help of another two living memories I summoned, I could grab different perspectives of my soul, hunting down memories faster than I could on my own.

    Only marginally faster, unfortunately; when I tried to maintain a fourth living memory, the other three promptly destabilized, giving me a splitting headache. But inevitably, I caught the shape of a winding thread of memory, snaking throughout the planes of my soul, and hauled it to the surface. Where had I remembered glimpsing a cure for cancer? I touched the memory—

    snow that swallowed footsteps and screams from your dorm room alike, hearth dragons gamboling beneath an ice-blue moon—

    Home. The last remaining lead was home.

    I had grown up in the Silent Peaks; despite or perhaps because of their remote, resource-barren location, they managed to be one of the most magically adept nations in the world. And they’d been the ones to discover or invent the strange light magic that sickened all whose gaze it fell upon—they wouldn’t make a weapon that devastating without understanding how to slow its effects in their own. If anyone else knew how to heal me of the sickness in my bones, it would be the arrogant, sadistic witches who’d brewed it to life in the first place.

    My eyes snapped open, the living memories dismissed, and I got to my feet unsteadily. Feathers drifted in my soul, jets of wind helping prop me up.

    If I wanted answers on how to live, I’d have to beat them out of the manipulative hellhole I’d fled from so many months ago.

    I clenched my fists, and lines of frost danced around the room in tune with my mood.

    Finally, a problem a riftmaw could solve.

    The Whispered Secret held memories in every cup and nail and floorboard. Salt-crusted breakups, glittering like stars; thick, layered funerals that let out puffs of dust when touch; lurking, eight-eyed rivalries that skittered in the dark—if a human soul could host it, the Whispered Secret had it.

    I walked in with a bottled soul shard that resembled nothing at all in this shop of souls and secrets, and the bartender fell silent as I slid it across the counter.

    The bottle’s soul held something that had been oil, once, although it had long since congealed, strange algal blooms that needed no water to live infesting the eldritch emotion. Zhytln picked it up, turned the label, and stilled.

    “Dorcelessness,” Zhytln read out, expression flat. I saw the gears in her head turning as she processed the information. “Where did you find this?”

    “The shattered soul of a juvenile monster,” I said.

    Zhytln set the bottle down. “Cienne never mentioned you had samples of the Silent Peaks’ creations,” she said.

    “He doesn’t know.”

    “Why tell me?”

    “I’m leaving, soon, to the place where this came from.” I tapped the bottle. “You’re a scientific type. Analytical. Vivisectionist. And I don’t want that anywhere near Cienne or me. But if I can aim you in the direction of a bigger monster, I will.”

    Zhytln tilted her head, and I got the feeling someone else would have asked the harder questions. Why I hadn’t told Cienne I’d snatched a piece of Iola’s soul when Cienne had killed him. Why I’d waited until now to tell Cienne I was going back to the place that horror had been birthed. Why I’d come to Zhytln first, instead of someone I cared about and trusted.

    The answers were all the same: because Zhytln would never think to ask, and Cienne would never think of anything else.

    Zhytln pocketed the bottle warily. “I meant what I said, when we first met. I seek no conflict, with your party or anyone else’s. I will not step into this war of yours.”

    The corners of my lips twitched. “No. But it’ll step into your business, eventually. When that day comes, they’ll find someone armed and ready with knowledge of how to fight them.”

    “I will keep that in mind,” Zhytln said. “Now, if there’s anything else I can do for you…?”

    I pushed the stool back from the bar, about to shake my head, then paused. Chuckled, dark and bitter. “Actually, there is.”

    Zhytln raised an eyebrow, and I slapped two coins down on the counter. “Give me a drink, bartender. I have a feeling I’ll need it.”

    Soulmage

    I was lucky enough to be able to feel myself dying. Cancer’s touch had been lighter on me than Sansen, and if I hadn’t known exactly where to look, I likely would’ve missed some of the subtler symptoms. But a soulmage’s memory was not that of a regular human’s: if I trawled through the arid deserts of my soul for long enough, I could retrieve and relive weeks of my slow decline all at once.

    The eight memories I held suspended in my soulspace formed a clear trend. Despite how normal it felt nowadays to sleep sixteen hours a day and eat nothing more than a few bites, when I could flick back through days of my life like they were attractions at a street carnival, the pattern became clear.

    I would be dead within the month if this kept up.

    It was impeccably clear to me how I felt about that: I had not fought my way through a state-sponsored abuser, a blizzard-torn war, and my own arrogance and fear just to collapse from my wounds at the end of the race. The endless, determined, glittering sands of my soul were testament to that. But as much as I wanted to trust the only person in Knwharfhelm who practiced the kind of medicine I’d need to save my life, Zhytln was still a mind-manipulator with incomprehensible goals that I trusted no further than I could throw her. Which wasn’t very far, considering that she somehow effortlessly negated any attempts to fling magic her way.

    So I dug deeper. Much as I detested Zhytln, I had studied her strange magics and—with Meloai’s help—developed them into something safe and ethical for my own use. I would never invade the mind of another, but working magic on my own mind was something I could do. I held a memory of Cienne, shimmering in the endless sands, and brought it to life. The living memory burned, bits of its essence rotating out of existence in angles my mind couldn’t track, as I transmitted my command into its very being: search my memories for anything I can recall about cures for cancer.

    The memory of Cienne nodded and raced across the deserts of my soul, occasionally flickering and warping as it angled itself through the infinite dimensions of soulspace. Memories were four-dimensional, and I could only perceive three; with the help of another two living memories I summoned, I could grab different perspectives of my soul, hunting down memories faster than I could on my own.

    Only marginally faster, unfortunately; when I tried to maintain a fourth living memory, the other three promptly destabilized, giving me a splitting headache. But inevitably, I caught the shape of a winding thread of memory, snaking throughout the planes of my soul, and hauled it to the surface. Where had I remembered glimpsing a cure for cancer? I touched the memory—

    snow that swallowed footsteps and screams from your dorm room alike, hearth dragons gamboling beneath an ice-blue moon—

    Home. The last remaining lead was home.

    I had grown up in the Silent Peaks; despite or perhaps because of their remote, resource-barren location, they managed to be one of the most magically adept nations in the world. And they’d been the ones to discover or invent the strange light magic that sickened all whose gaze it fell upon—they wouldn’t make a weapon that devastating without understanding how to slow its effects in their own. If anyone else knew how to heal me of the sickness in my bones, it would be the arrogant, sadistic witches who’d brewed it to life in the first place.

    My eyes snapped open, the living memories dismissed, and I got to my feet unsteadily. Feathers drifted in my soul, jets of wind helping prop me up.

    If I wanted answers on how to live, I’d have to beat them out of the manipulative hellhole I’d fled from so many months ago.

    I clenched my fists, and lines of frost danced around the room in tune with my mood.

    Finally, a problem a riftmaw could solve.

    The Whispered Secret held memories in every cup and nail and floorboard. Salt-crusted breakups, glittering like stars; thick, layered funerals that let out puffs of dust when touch; lurking, eight-eyed rivalries that skittered in the dark—if a human soul could host it, the Whispered Secret had it.

    I walked in with a bottled soul shard that resembled nothing at all in this shop of souls and secrets, and the bartender fell silent as I slid it across the counter.

    The bottle’s soul held something that had been oil, once, although it had long since congealed, strange algal blooms that needed no water to live infesting the eldritch emotion. Zhytln picked it up, turned the label, and stilled.

    “Dorcelessness,” Zhytln read out, expression flat. I saw the gears in her head turning as she processed the information. “Where did you find this?”

    “The shattered soul of a juvenile monster,” I said.

    Zhytln set the bottle down. “Cienne never mentioned you had samples of the Silent Peaks’ creations,” she said.

    “He doesn’t know.”

    “Why tell me?”

    “I’m leaving, soon, to the place where this came from.” I tapped the bottle. “You’re a scientific type. Analytical. Vivisectionist. And I don’t want that anywhere near Cienne or me. But if I can aim you in the direction of a bigger monster, I will.”

    Zhytln tilted her head, and I got the feeling someone else would have asked the harder questions. Why I hadn’t told Cienne I’d snatched a piece of Iola’s soul when Cienne had killed him. Why I’d waited until now to tell Cienne I was going back to the place that horror had been birthed. Why I’d come to Zhytln first, instead of someone I cared about and trusted.

    The answers were all the same: because Zhytln would never think to ask, and Cienne would never think of anything else.

    Zhytln pocketed the bottle warily. “I meant what I said, when we first met. I seek no conflict, with your party or anyone else’s. I will not step into this war of yours.”

    The corners of my lips twitched. “No. But it’ll step into your business, eventually. When that day comes, they’ll find someone armed and ready with knowledge of how to fight them.”

    “I will keep that in mind,” Zhytln said. “Now, if there’s anything else I can do for you…?”

    I pushed the stool back from the bar, about to shake my head, then paused. Chuckled, dark and bitter. “Actually, there is.”

    Zhytln raised an eyebrow, and I slapped two coins down on the counter. “Give me a drink, bartender. I have a feeling I’ll need it.”

    A.N.

    Thanks to u/snakingfire for the original prompt! Soulmage is a web serial inspired by prompts; you can check out the rest of the story at r/bubblewriters.

    1 Comment
    2024/05/20
    06:53 UTC

    7

    [SP] Write from the perspective of a chess piece

    3 Comments
    2024/05/20
    06:53 UTC

    9

    [WP] In your early years into the arcane, you unexpectedly discovered that there were incantations older than humanity itself, and dedicated your entire life to its discovery. Unexpectedly, your talent bloomed and its end is nowhere in sight.

    1 Comment
    2024/05/20
    06:36 UTC

    0

    [WP] you are a teenager and each teenager in your town gets up a pound. Yours is to cry diamond but you don’t tell your parents because you are selfish and want to keep the diamonds.

    1 Comment
    2024/05/20
    05:19 UTC

    3

    [WP] You have worked all your life to become the head priestess. In your first private communal the goddess that created all life in your world tells you she wishes to die…

    2 Comments
    2024/05/20
    04:30 UTC

    0

    [WP] In a world of eternal starvation and thirst with no death, the lucky ones are those who find a token and bring it to Death's Abode to bargain for sweet release. To this end, thousands of skeletons lie before his gates, holding a used, rusted roken. But when you arrive... the gates open.

    1 Comment
    2024/05/20
    04:28 UTC

    3

    [SP] Clocks (interpret as you like)

    4 Comments
    2024/05/20
    04:04 UTC

    0

    [WP] Two basement dweller friends go outside one day and surprisingly encounter a superhero(the world’s first). After they get home, arguing about what the hero looked like they realize the superhero looks like whatever they perceived them as.

    1 Comment
    2024/05/20
    03:51 UTC

    2

    [WP] Millennia ago, an advanced civilization learned how to defy aging, illness, and even death itself, to the point of forgetting death as a concept. When death mysteriously returns, the world falls into panic as everyone scrambles to figure out what's happening.

    1 Comment
    2024/05/20
    03:24 UTC

    1

    [WP] Action story set in 19th century England

    1 Comment
    2024/05/20
    03:16 UTC

    4

    [WP] A necromancer reanimates the corpses of the people who banished her and sends them to the tiny village she was banished from. But unbeknownst to the people living in the town, she wasn't using zombies to harm them; she was harming the people who banished her by not letting their souls rest.

    2 Comments
    2024/05/20
    03:11 UTC

    6

    [WP] Surrounded by the frozen statues of those who tried to kill you due to your gorgon nature. You find a young blind man / woman washed up on the shores of your island, bound gagged and most of all alive...

    1 Comment
    2024/05/20
    03:10 UTC

    2

    [TT]You gained immortality but along with it is the knowledge that there is a next life after death.

    1 Comment
    2024/05/20
    03:06 UTC

    11

    [WP] Pick a song title from ABBA for your scifi/fantasy/horror story title that has nothing to do with the song’s story

    2 Comments
    2024/05/20
    02:37 UTC

    6

    [WP] "Welcome to a world where only the bad and the rich die."

    3 Comments
    2024/05/20
    02:20 UTC

    2

    [WP] You’re a detective with the power of Psychometry, allowing you read the memories of objects. The moment you step into a room, the case is solved. The real problem is figuring out how to convey your findings without tipping the authorities off to your abilities…

    2 Comments
    2024/05/20
    02:17 UTC

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