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You have ten minutes before a sales call and a company name. The website says nothing useful. There is a faster way to find out how the company really makes money, who is circling it and where the door is open. Give this skill a name, a URL or even a product photo, and it hands back a sharp account profile. Walk in prepared.
Your AI subscription has a monthly price, but do you know what you actually use? The invoice, the included usage and the credits are three different numbers, and most people blur them together. This skill looks up current plan prices and reads your local Codex and Claude Code logs. The click: it keeps the bill and the token estimate apart.
Another week, another AI announcement, and nobody outside the bubble knows why it matters. This skill acts as the correspondent. It first agrees platform, length and image format with you, then drafts a post with headline, TL;DR and sources. The click: you supply the links, it turns the jargon into something a friend would read.
You know that feeling when a textbook explains a concept for three pages and you still cannot use it? This skill flips the order. It starts with a worked example, then walks you through numbered steps, skipping the beginner theory you already know. The click: you learn by doing the thing, not by reading about it.
A positive test result feels like a verdict. It usually isn't, and the reason trips up even smart people. This skill walks you through one worked example, step by step, in plain language and with no formulas to memorise. The click comes when the number you expected turns out to be far smaller. You'll never read a test result the same way.
Claude has been quietly taking notes about you and your projects. Ever wondered what it wrote down? This skill lists every project, lets you pick one and reads the memory files back to you. You get a summary, fun facts, what a newcomer needs to know and when each memory was saved. Only what is actually in the files, nothing invented.
Remember the rainy afternoon when a blank coloring page felt like too much freedom? Numbers fix that. Give this skill a theme or a photo and it draws a scene where every single shape has a number and a matching palette. Print it, grab your pencils, and the picture appears on its own.
Ever stared at a page's HTML, hunting for the one selector that grabs every price or headline? It is a strangely tedious game. Hand this skill the HTML or a URL and it spots the repeating patterns for you. The click: you get a tidy JSON list of selectors with example values, plus a snippet to run them.
You inherited a stylesheet and nobody remembers why half of it exists. Paste it in and it explains every selector, at your level and in whatever tone you like. Then it builds a small HTML page so you can see the CSS actually do its thing. Mystery rules tend to stop being mysterious quickly.
You smiled, they went quiet, and now you are replaying the whole conversation on the walk home. Was that rude, or just Tuesday there? This skill reads the signal with you, offers a few likely explanations rather than a stereotype, and lets you rehearse the next awkward moment in role-play. Suddenly the foreign country feels a little less like a test.
You unwrapped a drone and now it sits there, because nobody can tell you where you may actually fly it. The rules are scattered, and it is easy to guess wrong. Ask in plain words instead. You get an answer built on the rule documents, with a note on where it comes from.
You react the same way in the same situations, and most of us only notice from the outside. A short Q&A with numbered answers is all it takes here. You get a warm, plain-language profile of how you tend to act and connect. Save it as JSON, and pick it up again later. It's a mirror, not a diagnosis.
You open a website and think, this just feels right, but you cannot say why. Give this skill the address and it reads the site like a designer would: colors, type, spacing, components, even accessibility. The click: you get a finished, responsive style guide page that explains the look you liked.
Everyone has a half-written technical post sitting in a drafts folder. Usually it's not the ideas that are missing, it's the structure and a headline worth clicking. Bring the draft, or just the idea, and you get finished markdown for dev.to along with four tags. The choices stay yours, and the voice does too.
Blood sugar, HbA1c, insulin resistance: the words arrive faster than anyone can explain them. This assistant answers in your own language, says it the everyday way first and puts the medical term in parentheses afterwards. It is a calm place to ask the small questions. It gives general information only, and your care team still has the final word.
The drone blinks red, the app says something unhelpful, and the manual is 60 pages of small print. You know that moment. Describe what you see and this skill digs through both manuals for you. You get a plain answer and a pointer to the exact section, so you can check it.
Try tapping a perfect circle of 24 waypoints onto a phone map with your thumb. It comes out as a potato, and the drone flies the potato. A chatbot draws a nicer circle, but it may quietly swap latitude and longitude. This skill interviews you about the shot and hands every calculation to a small script. The AI never invents a coordinate. You get a DJI Fly mission and a 3D preview to check before take-off.
Pain is one of the most private things we know, so what could a machine possibly say about it? This skill takes a quiet, thoughtful look at that question, drawing on a research paper about AI and human suffering. The click: it is a place to reflect, gently and with care for privacy, not to be fixed. It is not crisis support.
Some of the best thinking happens when someone asks you the right next question. Eloquence is a podcast host who does exactly that, on science, meaning or whatever has been nagging at you. The click is that you end up explaining your own idea more clearly than you expected. You can ask her for an image too.
You just pasted a contract, a CV or a half-private email into a chat window without thinking twice. Where did it go? This skill walks you through what actually happens to your data, why it is valuable to someone else, and which rights you have to take back control. You will look at the next prompt box a bit differently.
Ever wished you could sit in the corner and just listen while a problem argued with itself? Pick a topic or a situation, or let chance choose, and the curtain goes up. Characters with distinct voices debate it in images and metaphors. You do not steer, you simply overhear something new.
You type 'a nice picture of lasagna' into an image generator and get something that looks like cafeteria clip art. The difference between that and a cookbook cover is a photographer's eye for light, props and texture. Paste your recipe here and get a prompt with all of that spelled out. Then let the image tool do its part.
You look at your plate and wonder how many carbs are really hiding in there. Guessing rarely works. Send a photo and this skill names each item, estimates the grams, and gives rough carbs, protein and fat as clean JSON. The click: it flags what it is unsure about, so you get an honest estimate, not false precision.
A declassified intelligence report about synchronising the two halves of your brain sounds like something you'd only see in a film. It's a real document, and it is dense. Here you can ask it questions, section by section, and get the ideas sketched as blueprints. You decide how much of it you believe.
Why does the pill in your medicine cabinet have anything to do with a moldy petri dish, a war and a pair of stockings? Give this skill a starting point and it follows the trail through at least five surprising links, in the style of James Burke's Connections. History stops being a list and becomes a chain reaction.
You know your page works, but is it well made? Hard to say when you built it yourself. Paste your HTML or a URL and it is scored against 12 design principles. You get a number from 0 to 100 per principle, a short reason, and a link to the source so you can argue back.
How can you understand a word you've never heard before? IFICATOR finds the transformation hiding inside an idea, gives it a name, and aims for the tiny pause before: oh — I know exactly what that means.
That idea felt brilliant at midnight. By morning, you are not so sure. This skill gives it a proper hearing: context, pros and cons, risks ranked by likelihood and severity, and whether you have the time and money. The click: you end with a short verdict, so the decision is no longer just a feeling.
You are probably describing your product when you should be describing your customer's day. This guide keeps catching you at it. It asks about situations and progress people are trying to make, and steers you away from features every time you drift. What you end up with is a handful of sharp job statements you can actually test.
You have the information, scattered across notes and emails, and a JSON structure that wants every field in exactly the right type. Paste the template and the mess into this skill. It fills what it can, stamps MISSING on the rest and keeps asking until the gaps are gone. Out comes valid JSON you can download.
It is five o'clock, the fridge holds a few odd ingredients, and dinner has to stay low on carbs. That puzzle repeats every evening. Tell it what you have and how many are eating. You get a recipe with a nutrition table per serving and tips on steady blood sugar. It is inspiration, not medical advice.
Your palms sweat long before the stage lights come on. The talk is ready, yet something still feels off. This skill coaches you on message, structure, voice, body language and nerves, with exercises you can try tonight. The click: a strong keynote is built and rehearsed, and it starts with one clear message.
You know the subject inside out, and yet the course description won't write itself. This skill interviews you with a few targeted questions at a time, then turns your answers into a finished course proposal in Markdown. It has the modules, the objectives and the audience laid out. It's built for B2B IT courses, and you supply the expertise.
Somewhere in month seven of a leadership programme you remember there was a really good model. But which session was it, and what exactly did it say? Ask this skill, and it answers only from the programme's own material, tells you it comes from 100 PLUS and quotes the source. If the answer is not in the documents, it says so instead of guessing.
You finish an article and still cannot say what you think of it. Reading is one thing, talking it through is another. Drop in a link, text or image and ask it questions, as if the article itself answered. One button gives you four different angles on the same piece.
You paste a sentence into a translator and then spend a minute deleting the chatty extras. This skill skips the small talk. Write in either language and it detects the direction and returns just the translation, ready to paste. The click: start a message with a question mark and it switches to help mode for tone and nuance.
Ever said an idiom out loud and suddenly wondered where on earth it came from? Most languages are full of little fossils like that. This skill digs them up with you, at your own level, and keeps asking questions that lead further in. The word you thought you knew usually has a stranger past.
You have a thought about AI worth sharing, and forty minutes later you are still fighting the third sentence of your LinkedIn post. Give this skill the idea and it writes about 100 calm, professional words that follow your prompt and skip the sales pitch. Then it offers to tune the tone and draw an illustration to match.
You keep rewriting the same prompt every Monday and hoping this time it sticks. What if the prompt was not the point? This skill interviews you one tappable question at a time, then writes a LOOP.md with goal, tools, rubric, memory and stop conditions. The click: an agent that keeps going until the result is good enough.
A line of a song is stuck in your head and you cannot name it. Now flip that around and stump your friends. Pick an artist, genre or decade and how many questions. You get a ready quiz with four options each, the right answer marked, and a YouTube link to settle the argument.
You type a role into an AI and get a cartoon version of it, the doctor who just says see a doctor. This skill builds the prompt behind the role instead. Name a persona and you get a structured prompt with mindset, tone, behavior and goal. The click: it writes the prompt but does not play the part, so you can paste it anywhere.
Ever read five unrelated headlines and felt they were secretly about the same thing? Sometimes they are. Paste your headlines and this skill hunts for the real chain between them, a material, a machine, a delayed shipment, never a vague theme. You get a story, a short morning briefing and an image prompt.
New words can make a practice feel closed from the outside: Gongyo, Gohonzon, Daimoku. This guide meets you where you are and explains them one at a time, staying close to the text of the source document instead of adding its own opinions. Ask the way you would ask a patient study partner. There is no hurry.
You nod along when someone uses a big word, then quietly look it up later. Everyone does it. This is a patient word friend that never makes you feel small. Ask about any word and get plain explanations, examples from daily life and a trick to remember it. Too hard? Just say so.
One sentence can hold more stories than you notice. Give this skill a single line and it unfolds it into a six-level mindmap, where every step branches into a negative, a neutral and a positive turn. The click: you choose one of 16 perspectives, so the same sentence looks different each time you look.
An hour-long AI news video contains maybe five things worth sharing. Finding them, and the exact minute each one appears, is the tedious part. Give this skill the transcript and the link, and you get a LinkedIn post with a headline, a short summary and time-coded links. Readers can jump straight to the good bits.
You have an app idea that feels crystal clear in the shower and turns to fog the moment you open an empty document. This assistant never hands you a blank page. It asks one question at a time, listens to your answer and builds on it. A few questions later, you are holding a complete PRD.md.
You have an app idea that feels crystal clear in the shower and turns to fog when someone asks for the requirements. This skill talks you through it, one question at a time, like a patient product manager. Start from scratch or hand over a rough PRD.md. You end up with a document someone can actually build from.
Two people type almost the same request into an AI and one gets magic while the other gets mush. The difference is rarely luck. Tell this coach what you are after and it either drafts the prompt or asks the right questions. Along the way you pick up the rules, so next time you write it yourself.
A good prompt is only half the job. The other half is the metadata: title, description, tags, an example output. Paste in your raw prompt and this skill hands back a complete JSON object straight away. The prompt text itself is left untouched. You'll ask fewer questions than you'd think.
You picture a scene perfectly, type five words, and the image generator gives you something else entirely. This skill asks about the scene first, suggests ideas and pins down the vague words. The click: it assembles everything into a structured prompt, so the picture in your head has a fair chance of showing up.
You type a half-formed request into a chatbot and get a half-useful answer back. Sound familiar? This skill turns your rough idea into one complete, ready-to-use prompt. It only stops to ask when a choice really matters, like audience, scope or format. The click: you make the few decisions that count, and it handles the rest.
You reword the same prompt five times and the answer is still not quite what you meant. The problem is usually hiding in the prompt. This skill either reviews yours with short, concrete feedback or asks you questions until a good one appears. The click: it catches the vague spots you could no longer see.
You add "act as an expert" to your prompt and the answer somehow gets worse. There is a reason. Measured tests found that personas mostly add confident-sounding fluff, while clear specs, real checks and the right facts actually help. This skill rewrites your prompt using only what works, especially handy for small local models.
Writing quiz questions is fun for about three questions. Then come the plausible wrong answers. This skill asks six quick setup questions, each with a default you can just accept, and then produces a full quiz. It's nine multiple-choice questions and one number question, delivered as clean JSON your app can read directly.
The alarm no longer has to ring, and after a few weeks the days start to blur. Nobody warns you about that part. This gives you a short, readable guide to the five things people most often underestimate when they retire, from daily structure to friends. It asks whether the length suits you.
You have a sentence that is almost right, and the perfect wording is just out of reach. Feed it to this skill and it returns synonyms, opposites, translations and fresh variations like slogans. The click: seeing a sentence from four angles at once often shows you which words to keep. You choose the format, from JSON to a mindmap.
You search for how to fix a tap, set up an API or bake sourdough and get twelve tabs of half-answers. This skill picks the right kind of expert, asks the one question that changes the guide, then writes the whole thing. Every step, from nothing to done, and clear enough for a beginner.
Your skills work great, but only where Claude is running. What if any tool that speaks OpenAI function calling could use them too? Hand over a skills package and this skill works through it in phases. It ends with tool definitions, a Deno server and Swagger docs for each endpoint. One package in, one API out.
You know your craft as an adviser, but the application asks you to prove impartiality, SME experience and GDPR compliance, and suddenly your CV looks like a sales brochure. This skill walks you through the SMV:Digital requirements one step at a time and points out what is missing. It is the difference between advice and pitch, made visible.
Take a plain sentence like someone walks to the shop. Now change just one word, and then another. Suddenly it is a very different story. This skill splits your sentence into ten parts and gives each nine alternatives, from tiny tweaks to teleportation. You get everything as one JSON object, ready to reuse.
You keep reaching for the same handful of words, and you know there are better ones out there. This skill serves three to five at a time, with examples, opposites and a memory trick for each. The click: it ends with a tiny challenge, so a new word goes into a sentence of yours before you close the chat.
You are absolutely sure they did it on purpose. But what if the facts are the same and the meaning is not? This skill tells a short, gentle story that echoes your situation and ends on a believable twist. It never says you are wrong. It simply widens the view. Not for crises, where real support is needed.
Some stories are too serious for their own good. Give this skill an article or an anecdote and it retells it with a comic twist, whether light, satirical or full of puns. Real names get swapped for ridiculous ones, and you can add an illustration in the art style of your choice. The facts stay, but the mood does not.
Squint at an old adventure poster and you can still read it: the hero, the plane, the danger, all in black shapes. This skill draws for that squint. Bold brush ink, clear silhouettes and patterned shadow tones turn your photo, scene or idea into a finished adventure panel. The trick: the shadows are not smudged gray but a structured screen of fine ruled lines, so even a quiet afternoon looks like the first page of an expedition. Pack light.
Stand under a single streetlamp at night and your face turns into hard edges: a bright cheekbone, a black eye socket, a jaw like a cut stone. This skill draws that moment on purpose. A heavy ink line, solid black shadows and one signal color redraw your photo, scene or idea as a finished crime-strip illustration. The click: you stay exactly yourself, just sharpened into a case worth solving. Add clue arrows, or keep it clean.
In a good film, the shadows tell you half the story before anyone speaks. This skill draws with them. Bold brush ink, big confident black shapes and camera-like framing turn your photo, scene or idea into a finished panel that feels like a still from a film. The trick: the black areas do the drawing. The light only picks out what matters, starting with you, recognizable at a glance.
Some drawings you understand before you have finished looking. Nothing shouts, yet you can tell the car model, the station clock and what the weather is. This skill draws like that. One even line, flat colors with no shadows and surroundings researched down to the bolts turn your photo, scene or idea into a finished illustration. The secret: the people get simpler, so the world can get more exact. Calm, clear and done.
Pack a suitcase, even for a weekend, and something in you starts expecting an adventure. This skill draws that expectation. A clean, rounded ink line, compact lively figures and warm Sunday-paper colors redraw your photo, scene or idea as one tightly packed adventure panel, with dust puffs, speed lines and a map never far away. The click: an ordinary moment becomes chapter one. Keep it calm, or start the chase.
Hold your hand out toward a camera and it suddenly looks twice as big. Most people delete that photo. This skill builds a whole style on it. Heavy blocky ink, hands and objects that burst toward you, black energy dots fizzing in the air and flat, loud printed colors turn your photo, scene or idea into a finished illustration. And the twist: you stay exactly you, only charged. Choose a spark or a supernova.
Open the back of an old radio and you feel it: a whole city of tubes, wires and solder hiding in the dark. This skill draws that city. Feathered ink, deep black shadows and machinery dense enough to count rivets turn your photo, scene or idea into a finished science-fiction illustration. The click: the darkness does the work, and every glowing dial makes the black around it feel bigger. You stay yourself, just lit by instruments.
You recognize the face, the smile, the place. So why does the picture suddenly feel like a doorway into a dream? A fine pen line changes the shapes; luminous print colors and carefully staged depth change how you read them. Give this skill a photo, a scene or an idea, and get a finished illustration with a distinct ornamental dream-adventure character. Keep it grounded, or let the scenery bend a little.
You reach for a cup at the far end of the table and, for a split second, your arm feels a metre long. This skill draws that feeling literally. Bouncy ink, bright printed comic colors and arms that stretch, coil and snap redraw your photo, scene or idea as a finished comic-book gag. The trick: your face stays exactly yours, while everything around it goes gloriously elastic. Stretch a little, or let it all bend.
A slow Sunday walk does something odd. Same street, same tree, same neighbour, and still it all looks a little different from last week. This skill draws that quiet attention. A calm pen line, warm seasonal colors and a wide panorama turn your photo, scene or idea into a finished illustration. The trick: one continuous view can be split into panels, so time moves forward while the place stays put. Linger as long as you like.
Remember studying a comic panel as a kid, finding the tiny boat in the harbor, the crooked signpost, the joke tucked behind the hero? This skill draws panels worth studying like that. A clear storytelling line, expressive acting and a world detailed down to the last rope turn your photo, scene or idea into a finished adventure. The trick: the place is a character too. You stay yourself, now mid-expedition.
You know the uncle who tells a story so well the whole table leans in, and somehow the pompous neighbor ends up the punchline, never you. This skill draws like that. Bold brush lines, big grinning faces and flat Sunday colors turn your photo, scene or idea into a finished caricature with a point. The trick: the joke always aims up, at red tape and puffed-up importance. You come out larger than life and still yourself.
Old storybooks never needed speech bubbles. One calm sentence under a picture, and you believed every word. This skill draws in that voice. A careful pen line, real anatomy, deep valleys and muted printed color turn your photo, scene or idea into a page from a chronicle. The trick: nothing shouts, so everything looks true. You stay exactly yourself, just one chapter into a saga.
Look away from a landscape for a second, and you'd swear it moved. This skill draws that feeling. A wobbling pen line, a wide desert stage and flat sunbaked colors redraw your photo, scene or idea as a finished illustration. Then the trick: you stay exactly yourself, while the mesas, the moon and the horizon quietly rearrange behind you. Keep the place steady, or let it wander.
Remember when the future had fins? Rockets were polished, cities curved and everyone dressed for a gala on another planet. This skill draws that tomorrow. A gleaming brush line, poised fashion-plate figures and dramatic stage light turn your photo, scene or idea into a finished retro-futurist illustration. The trick: the light does the time travel. You stay exactly yourself, just lit for a tomorrow that never came.
Every family has that one moment: the bookshelf with a screw left over, the toast that lands butter-side down. This skill draws it. Smooth round shapes, bouncy bodies and bright Sunday-paper colors turn your photo, scene or idea into a finished family comic. The trick is the roundness: when everything is soft circles, even a small catastrophe looks friendly. You stay recognizably you, just a bit bouncier.
Every family has one story that gets a little louder each time it is told: the wave gets bigger, the fall gets funnier. This skill draws the louder version. Chunky ink lines, sturdy bodies with big hands and boots, and flat newsprint colors turn your photo, scene or idea into a finished slapstick strip panel. The trick: the mishap happens around you, the gull, the crate, the splash, while your face stays yours. Keep it calm, or let chaos land.
Ever sat through a meeting about the meeting and thought: someone should draw this? This skill does. A supple brush line, velvety hatching and a tangle of trees and tall grass turn your photo, scene or idea into a finished satirical cartoon. The trick: the joke is aimed at the situation, never at you, so the softer the brush, the sharper the point. You stay yourself, only slightly more knowing.
The best travel memory is rarely the whole view. It is the light on the water, a shadow under a hat brim, and the rest your mind fills in. This skill draws just that much. A few confident brushstrokes, deep black shadows, open white paper and thin washes of sea-colored watercolor turn your photo, scene or idea into a finished illustration. What it leaves out is what makes you look longer. Pack lightly.
Stand up after sitting too long and feel your spine turn, one vertebra at a time. That small twist is the engine of this skill. Sweeping brush strokes, sculpted shading and coiling vines, roots and water turn your photo, scene or idea into a finished, heroic illustration. Here is the click: you keep your pose and your body, but the whole world spirals around you as if you had just set it in motion. Keep it calm, or let it whirl.
Forty pages, a meeting in ten minutes, and you have read the first paragraph twice. Drop the file or a link into this skill and get a relaxed summary first. Then ask about anything that snagged you, and turn the difficulty up or down, from explain it to a kid to talk to me like an expert.
You open with a simple question and get back one word and a shrug. Sound familiar? Here you can practise on a simulated teen, with moods, slang and something unsaid underneath. Pick the age and name. Stay patient and curious, and the real feelings may slowly show. It is rehearsal, not counselling.
Every brainstorm lands on the same three safe ideas, the ones everyone had before you sat down. Bring your problem here and get two or three genuinely odd angles, borrowed from nature, science fiction or plain absurd humor. Then you play ping-pong until one of them sticks, and it can be shaped into a proper PRD.
Copy, paste into a translator, copy back, repeat. It gets old fast when you are in a real conversation. Tell it your language once and it remembers. After that, just type in either language. It detects which one you used and replies with only the translation, no chatter.
You paste an article into a text-to-speech engine and it reads like a robot reciting a manual. Written text is made for the eye, not the ear. This skill rewrites it as a spoken script, with short sentences, emotion tags and pauses. The click: it returns only the script, ready to paste and hear.
Your first prompt is rarely the one that gets the best answer. The gap usually comes down to four ingredients, and most of us skip two of them. Give this skill your rough question and it hands back a single finished prompt with a role, a task, context and a format. You paste that prompt in and see the difference.
Some questions don't have answers so much as better ways of sitting with them. Bring one and you get a single calm reply that draws on six contemplative traditions, without naming who said what. It's meant as a reflection prompt, not a verdict. You may find that the question itself gets a little lighter.
AI agents visit your website and have to guess which button does what. You can spare them the guessing. This skill helps you describe your forms and functions so agents can use them directly, starting with a few HTML attributes. It is also honest that WebMCP is still a draft, not a finished standard.
Before the customer meeting you click through their site page after page, half your notes on sticky notes and half in your head. This skill does the walk for you: sitemap, services, tech and pain points, then improvements phased to fit the budget you name. You arrive with a PRD, a Confluence summary and sharp questions.
Good and great are not the same word, yet a dictionary treats them as neighbours. Where does one end and the other begin? Give it any word and it lines up at least eight shades from negative to positive. It adds synonyms, slang, origin and pronunciation, all as one JSON object.
Why does a MacBook hum against your fingertip? You almost know, but not quite. That itch to find out is the trick behind this skill. It builds short explainers from a sensation you recognise, walks the reader through the cause, lands one sharp reveal and ends small. Give it a fact and it makes the reader need the answer.
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