Daily Writing Prompt Thread Thingy It'll Be Fun

[notabitail]

I went back to find a prompt too.
I choose this one cuz I think it’s funny and will always be funny

Clouds had better appreciate the happiness

Spoiler

“By the stars, Altair, just say it!”
Altair was wheezing and nearly fell backwards off of his seat.
Arne sighed heavily and made a dramatic show of propping his elbows on the table and resting his face in his hands. It was mostly to hide the smile.
“Last time you said—“ Altair wiped his eyes with this palm of his hand “—that I sounded like a hatchling who’d been dropped off a cliff and run over.”
“Twice. Run over twice.” Arne picked his head up and pulled the parchment away from Altair and in front of himself. “And this is your fault.”
He scribbled a line in basic Casothien and jabbed his finger at a larger circle with a smaller one inside. “What does that say.”
Altair leaned closer. “I don’t know.”
“Come on at least tell me what it is.”
“THAT,” Altair pointed to the same symbol. “Is the first letter of my name.”
Arne shoved his brother off the stool and onto the floor with a loud thump.
“That is a—“ he pressed the back of his tongue to his soft palate and sucked in some air. It made a sharp click. “—you should know at least that.“
“You have bad handwriting.” Altair was still lying on the floor atop a pile of his own wings.
“Like you can to better.” Arne threw the paper at Altairs face.
Altair caught it and held it up. “I can. Look.”
His name was copied in Casothien symbols across the back no less than fifty times.
“That’s not…that’s not helpful. At all.”
“Well I think it’s beautiful. I’m keeping it.” Altair folded it and stuffed it into his pocket.
“Sure. You do that.” Arne stood up and offered a hand to his brother.
The offer was accepted and he pulled Altair to his feet.
“I’m going outside to work my frustration out on Greg.” He snatched a pair of small wooden melee weapons off a shelf.
“Nooo, not Greg.”
“You should have thought about Greg’s safety before deciding to be such a difficult student.” Arne slipped out the door.
Altair stood alone. He sighed. He could repaint Greg’s annoyingly happy smile any day, but getting amusement out of Arne wasn’t as easy a task.
Sorry Greg. I’d do it again.

Poor Greg.

 

[notabitail]

I saved my tips and egg money for half the year to buy it
It was a lot of money for broke me too

Take good care of it. Most electronics die due to misuse.

 

[Somewhere_In_The_Clouds]

I went back to find a prompt too.
I choose this one cuz I think it’s funny and will always be funny

Clouds had better appreciate the happiness

Spoiler

“By the stars, Altair, just say it!”
Altair was wheezing and nearly fell backwards off of his seat.
Arne sighed heavily and made a dramatic show of propping his elbows on the table and resting his face in his hands. It was mostly to hide the smile.
“Last time you said—“ Altair wiped his eyes with this palm of his hand “—that I sounded like a hatchling who’d been dropped off a cliff and run over.”
“Twice. Run over twice.” Arne picked his head up and pulled the parchment away from Altair and in front of himself. “And this is your fault.”
He scribbled a line in basic Casothien and jabbed his finger at a larger circle with a smaller one inside. “What does that say.”
Altair leaned closer. “I don’t know.”
“Come on at least tell me what it is.”
“THAT,” Altair pointed to the same symbol. “Is the first letter of my name.”
Arne shoved his brother off the stool and onto the floor with a loud thump.
“That is a—“ he pressed the back of his tongue to his soft palate and sucked in some air. It made a sharp click. “—you should know at least that.“
“You have bad handwriting.” Altair was still lying on the floor atop a pile of his own wings.
“Like you can to better.” Arne threw the paper at Altairs face.
Altair caught it and held it up. “I can. Look.”
His name was copied in Casothien symbols across the back no less than fifty times.
“That’s not…that’s not helpful. At all.”
“Well I think it’s beautiful. I’m keeping it.” Altair folded it and stuffed it into his pocket.
“Sure. You do that.” Arne stood up and offered a hand to his brother.
The offer was accepted and he pulled Altair to his feet.
“I’m going outside to work my frustration out on Greg.” He snatched a pair of small wooden melee weapons off a shelf.
“Nooo, not Greg.”
“You should have thought about Greg’s safety before deciding to be such a difficult student.” Arne slipped out the door.
Altair stood alone. He sighed. He could repaint Greg’s annoyingly happy smile any day, but getting amusement out of Arne wasn’t as easy a task.
Sorry Greg. I’d do it again.

Oh my word, I love them. Can I keep 'em? PLEASE

 

[Isabella7Storm5]

Oh my word, I love them. Can I keep 'em? PLEASE

You and @Lacy Duckwing can have joint custody when I die

 

[Somewhere_In_The_Clouds]

You and @Lacy Duckwing can have joint custody when I die

 

[Somewhere_In_The_Clouds]

So it just occurred to me that I squealed at the idea of you dying and I would like to apologize for half asleep Clouds from earlier

 

[Lacy Duckwing]

But also, I think I mentioned a while ago I was thinking of sharing a prompt. You write based off a photo. I've done it before where it was a collection of old/historical photography and I had to choose one and create a short story. It was super fun and one of my favourite pieces, so if anyone wants to try something like that I do recommend. If someone has a specific photo they think may work, share it!

The image:

The story:

There's nothing to the wood, layers of age, resting one on top of the other, each log standing for a wall that holds inside a cabin full of kids, boys on the left, yelling, jumping on beds, banging the floor like drums, girls on the right, crying, wishing they could go home, clinging to the dolls they hoped no one would steal. The wood couldn't contain the noise, even if it tried. Children were loud, louder than the whack of an ax, louder than the whine of a saw.
The wood stood tall. Every nail scored through its flesh rattled, every layer of glue tore splinters out of its side. Would it hold on forever? Trees robbed of life to contain children abandoned by their parents for a simple weekend, week after week, eventually turning to Summer, and soon, weeks at a time?
Yes, on their own. Yes, left alone. Yes...
Smoke.
Flame.
A spark. One leaping from a pine-filled bonfire, chewing on one leaf, crawling to the next, then another, then another, growing bigger with each bite, leaving a trail of black ash and red embers.
The spark growing to flame, it reared on its hind. Wood. Dry. Ready to be consumed, it snorted.
Shudders ran through the layers of age. What could it do? Standing against such a devil, burning, then dead? Children! There were children on the other side of the logs of wood! They would be consumed too!
Calling to the nails, snatching up the glue, the cabin stood as a whole, every splinter connecting layer to layer, every layer connecting board to board, every board connecting wall to wall.
The spark crawled onto the porch. Rearing, it hissed, May I come in? Little children are fun to eat. Little splinters are fun to tease. I won't last long. Only long enough to get my fill, only long enough until...
No! Layers of age tightened. You may not. These children are in my care, these splinters in my layers.
The spark lowered to the floor. Very well, then. I won't tease. I won't even bite. It slithered to the side, a dark trail left behind. I'll take. Take whatever I please. You can't stop me, being made of wood. As you see, the spark reared once more, I can move. Wood can not. Oh, what a pleasure this will be!
Groans echoed through the layers of age. The spark was right. Wood couldn't move. Wood couldn't bite. It could only be burned -- consumed out of sight.
The spark moved to the cabin's side, licking the floor, lapping the wall. Flames, growing, spreading, stood taller, slithering through layers and burning the cabin's walls. Rising from the splinters, sweet as fresh hemlock, and black as a starless sky, smoke took to the air, flying past the roof.
Help! The cabin cried.
Crawling to the door, the spark's yellow eyes glowed. It was unstoppable. It won without fight. Slipping through the door's crack, it snuck inside, to the children, to the bunks, to the bedding, to the clothing. It'd reach the little girls' dolls, stealing them without care, and it would lap up the floor, ruining the hammered drums.
Oh! Oh! The layers of age shifted against the nails. Stop! Don't hurt them!
Like a wall of death, black smoke rose to the ceiling. It spun on a heel, laughing at the spark's victory. Without the flame, it could not exist. Without the spark, it could not kill.
"Beep! Beep! Beep!"
Wails filled the two rooms.
Water fell from the ceiling.
The spark sizzled, growling, groaning. Dodging water droplets, the smoke twisted into knots, and the flame dashed for shelter. Water sprayed, running through hoses hidden within the cabin's ceiling, clambering up the sturdy wooden walls.
No! The spark sank. You can't stop me!
The wood, the boards, the splinters, wet from spray, soaked from the flow, chased embers from its layers. I'm not, it sighed, but I did forget about the system, strong and fierce. It's stopping you! It's saving the children!
Dressed in yellow and carrying red hoses, firemen burst in. "Everyone! This way!" they called.
Children, dropping to their knees, crawled to the firemen and out to safety. They were saved. They were saved.
Cowering in a corner, the spark coiled its flame. Watching from all around, the wood towered above. The spark could not hide. It could not run. Firemen sprayed a hose, and a heavy flow of water rushed under the beds, smothering embers clinging to the bunk's feet. It rushed against the spark and drowned its red glow. Gone. The danger was gone. Gone as quickly as it had come, gone as fast as it had birthed.
There's nothing to the wood, blackened with burns, coated with smoke's blood, one log resting on the other, holding for one moment longer, each wall leaning against the frame, clinging to whatever will make them stand. It wouldn't be here if there were no water. It wouldn't be breathing for the next day if there were no system.

 

[Lacy Duckwing]

So it just occurred to me that I squealed at the idea of you dying and I would like to apologize for half asleep Clouds from earlier

I thought you were squealing over joint custody.

 

[Somewhere_In_The_Clouds]

I thought you were squealing over joint custody.

I was. But I forgot the two things were in the same sentence

 

[Isabella7Storm5]

I thought you were squealing over joint custody.

I was. But I forgot the two things were in the same sentence

Imagine having full custody
It’s really great