It’s MY Birthday This Time!

Oh, boy! I’m celebrating my 29th birthday today – Happy Birthday to me! πŸ™‚ And how am I going to celebrate it?

By sleeping.

I really suck
I really do.

Nah, just kidding. Today, I’m going to bring joy to my inner writer by going on a brief shopping spree – the AMAZING Jie bought me a coupon for Scribe, which allows me to get Php600 worth of stuff at the shop’s Shangri-La Mall branch.

I don't suck.
Take THAT, inner critic!

On top of that, I will be FORCING myself to do more non-work writing for this week. And for that, I need the help of other people.

GIVE ME A WRITING PROMPT. Give me a plot, an idea, or a photo and I will try to write 100 words of fiction for it. If needed, I’ll even use Written? Kitten!Β to motivate myself. Just comment below, and I will respond to it as soon as I can with a 100-word story (hey, it might go a little over 100 words). Remember, I will only work on suggestions that come in for this week.

This is going to be the best birthday week ever. πŸ™‚

14 thoughts on “It’s MY Birthday This Time!

  1. Her Royal Majesty Queen Elizabeth II… is craving fast food. But the public must never know about how royalty satisfies their occasional needs for chicken nuggets or tacos!

    (this came from a late night conversation with D. He is partly to blame. XDDD)

    1. THANK YOU! Here’s the best I can do in short notice. XD

      The grease and salsa were starting to leak out of the brown paper bag onto Jonathan Pincher’s fingers. He waited until a nondescript hackney stopped near the mouth of the alley and spat out old lady with powder-green hair and a rather tacky fuchsia muumuu. She hurried over to him.

      “Do you have it?” she asked in a surprisingly cultured tone. He straightened up and, without a word, handed her the package. She peered into it.

      “Well done, young Jonathan. We thank you.”

      She and the hackney were gone as quickly as they appeared.

      Shoving his hands into his pockets, Jonathan wondered what new X-Box games he’s getting out of this.

      It may be a dirty job, but being Queen Elizabeth’s fast food dealer has its perks.

  2. 100 words on mads mikkelsen’s hannibal getting a cooking show on the food channel.

    1. Oooooo, good one! I admit that I haven’t watched the show all the way through – so this may be a bit disappointing. I do hope it’s okay, though.

      The heat of the oven collides with the heat of the set lights, lending a sharper sheen to his exquisite cheekbones as he pulls out the roast from the oven. The smell of the meat made sweet by wine and earthy by mushrooms made her mouth water. Gigi could not tear her eyes away from his hands as he sliced the masterpiece – quickly, efficiently, but oh-so-sensually.

      “Mr. Lecter, you really do need to speak up.”

      She shot a glare at their director, who clearly did not know how to sell a cooking show like this to women.

      “I believe Gigi heard me well enough,” he murmured. She felt a delicious shiver down her spine. She turns to him and nods; he smiles, and the director walks off with an angry “Tch!”

      Later, Hannibal asked if she wanted to have dinner with him. How can she refuse?

    1. This one was a bit tricky because I’m not a big fan of the racing scene. I hope this’ll do ^^;

      Toretto didn’t know how she managed to get ahead of them on those ridiculous wheels, but he was impressed. If anyone was born to drift, it would definitely be this little girl. He can hear her high-pitched laugh lance through the air like a comment. “SUCK IT LOSERS!”

      Behind him, he heard the Eight-Six switch gears. It sounded like Takumi was going for a make-or-break push. He felt the corners of his lips lift up. Putting a little more pressure on the gas and letting the smile split into a grin, he let his eyes rest on that final turn.

      He will win this. OR ELSE.

    1. I haven’t played D&D in a long time, so I’m pretty rusty at this. I only hope that this comes off as entertaining.

      “What do you mean I can’t do that?”

      “I mean,” Vin replied with barely-leashed patience. “You can’t do that. Being a Paladin doesn’t mean you can go around declaring NPCs unclean and then killing them. Do you even know what a Paladin IS, Sam?”

      “Of COURSE I do, Diesel! I played a Jedi – it’s the same thing, right?”

      “There are similarities,” Felicia pipes up from beside him. “But they’re not quite the same thing. And I don’t think Jedi randomly kill people either.”

      “So what the fuck is so awesome about playing a Paladin, Day?”

      There was a delicate cough from across the table. They all turned to look at their Dungeon Master. “Samuel,” intoned Dame Judi Dench, “would you like to roll a new character instead?”

      Without a word, Samuel Jackson grabs another character sheet.

    1. I’m not sure I could do this justice, as I’m not as good at Potter lore as I want to be; but I hope this is at least entertaining. πŸ˜€

      “My name is Samuel Leroy Jackson, and I am your new Defense Against the Motherfucking Dark Arts professor. Under me, you will eat Defense against the Dark Arts. You will sleep Defense Against the Dark Arts. You will have the goodamned words ‘Defense Against the Dark Arts’ tramp-stamped five centimeters above your ass cracks. Disobey anything I say and I guarantee you – you will not live past midnight because I will personally murder you in your beds. Any questions?”

      The silence stretched for three minutes. Finally a student raised his hand. “Uh, sir? How did a MUGGLE end up being the new DADA teacher?”

      For ten excruciating seconds, it felt like Sam Jackson’s eyes were shooting lasers at the boy. Finally, he growled. “Want to find out?”


  3. A duck, in a 100-word monologue about wanting to be one of the Robb Stark’s generals because she’s in love with Grey Wind. It must include at least 20 instances of quacking.

    1. You are insane and I love you. I hope you like this one.

      Grey Wind, air in my lungs, breath that buoys my soul. Quack. To me, you are the North and all of Westeros. Quack quack. It is because of you that I have followed your shadow, your so-called king, to this land of rivers. Quack quack quack. My feet have torn hundreds of throats and my beak has savaged eyes beyond seeing. Quack quack quack quack. If your human would let me – quack quack quack quack quack! – I would find a way to take up a sword so I could be by his side and yours, until the very end. Quack. Alas, it is not to be. Quack. I am to be slaughtered. Quack. Something about a wedding. Quack. I hope you enjoy it. Quack.

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