I know my first weeks prompts didn't go well but i have a different approach to this.So i hope this one goes well.Idk if i am going to do this daily or weekly,we will see how this one goes.
#1:"I'm not completely human anymore.Remember that next time you want to punch me in the face."
#2:You log onto your computer and you see this as you home screen
#3:His eyes were cold and lifeless and he stared at me
Good luck to anyone who wishes to take part in this.If you want me to mention you let me know.
Eh, I would like to see someone start doing these prompts again in his place. Someone who can actually use proper grammar, that is. Seto is so busy that his are beginning to seem like monthly writing prompts :P
I wouldn't mind.
I hand everything to you then :3
I think anyone should be able to write anything they want.Even if that means writing my very own prompts.
This is in fact a site where people can write almost anything they want, with a few exceptions (like WC and porn), but you've made half a dozen shit writing prompt threads, none of which have had any quality prompts or effort put in. People have been trying to give you advice and criticism, but you keep doing the same thing and don't seem to be learning much.
I don't know if English just isn't your first language or it's just that you're at a really young age.
His eyes were cold and lifeless as the ebony dagger had already severed the carotid artery beyond saving in which the man lost his young soul in mere seconds. It wasn't even the brink of dawn and already four corpses lay in askew positions throughout the quiet cobblestone street.
I ran outta inspiration and effort here -
Are you extremely bad at counting or something, Gemini? I think that you probably should've covered your head more when your parents were apparently attempting to punt it like competitive football players.
I recommend making this a daily thing :D
This is like, your seventh "first" writing prompt.
I'm more surprised that Gemini picked a different pic than the Ring girl this time.
Mizal's still waiting for the assignment she gave you though.
Wait. How is this a different approach? Your grammar can still get better, Gemini. Please. Write something yourself. I don't know if it's pride or what that's making you do this, but what Mayana said is right.
I just wanted to make the announcement that I won't be using this account because I am giving it to my sister.So I will be making a different account.I wanted to make it clear that I wasn't trying to run away from any of your helpful criticism.
1. Failed to complete Mizal’s assignment.
2. Failed to improve writing skills.
3. Created yet another writing prompt proving that you didn’t learn the several other times to not do this when you don’t know what you’re doing and fail at inspiring anyone to participate in the first place.
4. Created yet another unnecessary alt and gave the old one to someone else who is either going to never use it anyway or be just as much of an idiot with it.
5. Continuing to annoy the CYS members with your posts.
6. Ceasing to be entertaining even in a village idiot capacity.
7. Squandering your umpteenth chance.
Yeah, we’re done here.
It was a beautiful morning in the blackest wilderness of Wisconsin. At least, as beautiful as it could possibly be for a place like this. Amid the raggedy vines of brambles and mutated corn plants was the wreckage of a little guest house, and in the loft, poking a gun between the boards of his shattered windows, was the malnourished form of something vaguely resembling a man.
"Fucking shit, the badgers really aren't fucking around anymore..." the lad said, with vague admiration for the war trenches that had been slashed across the vaguely kempt woodlands that he called a lawn.
He felt his phone vibrate, and looked to check it. "Sent, please go insult Gemini. I can't log in right now."
With a procrastinatory sigh, he slung the makeshift gun over his shoulder and climbed up to the loft where his desk was. Today was not the day that he would take his land and his home back from the Badger Drug Cartel. In fact at this point he was rather dependent on the income he took from shooting down trucks full of half-laundered cash, and the bales of Badgernip weren't half bad as a pie garnish.
"I wonder what's happening on the internet today," said the lad, logging into a computer that was much too new and shiny for the horrible world around it.
As it happened, the badgers had either sent their best hacker to fuck around with his computer, or one of his neighbors had decided to play a "Hilarious" prank on him by turning his desktop background into a shitty jpeg of some edgelord in a Goodwill-Tier clown costume. Judging by the lack of any new clawmarks in his furniture, it was probably the second one, which was upsetting, because his neighbor should have known by now how much he sympathized with and respected clowns. Alas, now was not the time to go through the trouble of changing it back. Seemed fitting anyhow, most of the people he talked to on this machine were clowns.
He eagerly pulled up his favorite website and entered his information. It felt foreign to him to have to log in again, because he usually left himself logged in, but maybe the computer was just out of sorts since he let someone else put their grubby hands on it.
Nope, wrong username. Damn, he kept forgetting those random letters at the beginning and end. He could only wonder how people like Steve or Chris felt.
The website Sentinel found himself perusing had always been a bit of a rough and lawless community. No matter what the rules said, no matter the Terms and Conditions or the holy mandates issued by 3J, people only ever seemed to stay and be banished by the grace of one simple rule, "If the less retarded members think you're funny or reasonable, you stay. If not, leave now or be prepared to make a thousand new accounts because you are obviously not a learning animal."
This site had seen plenty of non-learning animals over the years, and as Sentinel checked his PM inbox, he was glad to see that his least favorite one had still not broken his monthslong silence and was no longer sending him bitter tirades about secret societies and their shitty life philosophies. However, there were others still, and one of those that had sat comfortably on the edges of his peripheral awareness had shambled its way back to the forefront of his vision in big bolded font. As his languished eyes rolled over the few words of her post, Sentinel's expression twisted itself into a mask of intense consternation and he mustered enough emotion to groan in an almost angry fashion.
Six beautiful mornings ago in the city of Khazad-Dum, land of the smol babymen, Dweto Oliveshield awoke as the sun peeked in through his window and the chipper songs of cave-birds began to echo from out of the mines. All was right in the land of Khazad-Dum, or, at least that was how it seemed to Dweto. For Dweto was, for whatever reason, a dwarf utterly at peace with his surroundings, who, for some reason, did not violently overreact to idiots saying stupid things on the internet. This was why Dweto did not at all consider the consequences when he appeared on the forums once again and joyfully announced that his writing prompt threads were officially over for now and that any old twatburglar was free to pick up the once honorable mantle.
Dweto had plenty of reason to be excited for the new change. After all, he was covering exciting new ground in his story about fantastical beings inventing the universe and having merry adventures and existential qualms therein. The rest of the community, while however pleased, now had all the reason in the world to be terrified, as "She who has too many names" now had free reign to swoop in and create something boring and entirely not worth paying attention to in Seto's absence, and the whole world would be much worse off for it.
This beautiful morning, somewhere in the Texas Sea, Mizal was steering a rusty old raft made from canoes and scrap plumbing. At the moment, she was very tired, and couldn't possibly be arsed to finish her story, as she had just spent a few hours fighting and killing some freak of a man with gills, and the ghost of Dennis Hopper and some Mad Max goons had hijacked a big rusty shipping barge and she felt morally obligated to sail after it and rescue the children they had kidnapped for some reason. She didn't know why she did stuff like this, to be honest. She'd probably just end up insulting the children and throwing them overboard later, but it was the thought that counted, not the execution.
"I wonder what's going on on the internet today?" Mizal said, logging onto one of her favorite half-dead writing communities and scouring the posts for something mildly interesting to bide her time with.
It was, to the surprise of absolutely no one, "She Who Has Too Many Names" eagerly swooping into the throne that Seto had left behind and leaving a massive turd there, and Mizal could not stand for this.
Although, when Mizal attempted to click the login button to roast the idiot accordingly, suddenly the screen of her computer was covered by the image of a badger laughing maniacally and announcing that she had been hacked. This was either the handiwork of one of those sentient animals that deviant crackpot Sentinel was always talking about, or an overelaborate version of one of the many "Hilarious" badger-related pranks that her neighbor was always pulling on her. Since her neighbor had been lost to the sharks some time ago, it was probably the former. Alas, if Sentinel was the one who gave her this damnable virus, he was going to have to be the one to do her dirtywork.
"Sent, ffs go insult Gemini. I can't log in because the very slightest contact with your IP gave my computer furry AIDS."
However, it very quickly occured to Mizal that Sentinel wouldn't buy this one bit. The people in the IRC hardly believed her when she said she was forced to build a steampunk sailing raft out of random shit in order to survive. She would be a laughing stock for coming out about something like this, so she elected to ask him more "politely" and scold him about this later.
And so Sent sat before his computer, grimacing at the sorry attempt of "She Whose Alleged Creative Mind Only Seems To Think In Vague Horror Movie Tropes Without Understanding Them" at something resembling a writing prompt thread. But Sent couldn't be bothered to write something scathing at the moment, he heard someone in his basement yelling.
"I'm not human anymore, you weedy cunt! I'm SUPERHUMAN! Remember that next time you punch me in the face!"
It was time to go downstairs and douse his neighbor with antibiotics. His neighbor was such a prick ever since he started coming back from the dead as a werebadger every morning.