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 Howdy, Have you gone looking for daily writing prompts online and found that they well ... suck?  Welcome to the CC daily writing prompts thread, with a new writing prompt every day. No word counts, no winners or losers, no requirement that you even post your writing -- just a new prompt every day to get the juices going. New prompt gets edited into this OP every day. Your writing is not gonna get shat on for not adhering to the prompt either -- it's a jumping off point only.    TODAY'S PROMPT March 7th 2017: we are children, together, under a raw new sun FAQ Hey, I have a cool prompt idea that I wanna share. Post it inthread. No guarantees it'll get used, but you'll get credit if it does. Will my works receive crit? Maybe. Giving crit is awesome and encouraged, but there's no rule requiring it. Is there anything you don't want posted in here? Use your discretion. If you wrote 6000 words of anime porn then it's probably best not to share it (this is not a joke -- it actually happened once). Generally though, the thread is pretty chill. Can I use an old prompt/oh no, there's a new prompt and I'm still writing from yesterday Older prompts are getting archived for a reason: so you can still access them if need be. Chill, keep writing. What if I-- shut up and write but what ab-- no for real shut up and write SurreptitiousMuffin fucked around with this message at 12:02 on Mar 7, 2017 |
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Feb 10, 2017 02:04
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 THE OLD PROMPT GRAVEYARD Dare you walk amongst the valley of old prompts? FEBRUARY 10th: The sun is missing. Metaphors are literal now. Somebody is searching for something they didn't actually lose. FEBRUARY 11th: You're not actually scared of monsters -- nobody is. You're scared of what they say about the world, or yourself. With that in mind, write something that scares you shitless. FEBRUARY 12th 2017: Money/love etc. Tell me something about this cliche that I didn't realise I already knew. FEBRUARY 13th 2017: a friend returns from a long time away, bearing the one gift you did not want. FEBRUARY 14th 2017: "This I do vow and this shall ever be; I will be true, despite thy scythe and thee." FEBRUARY 15th 2017: For today, write in iambs. Perhaps poems, perhaps not. FEBRUARY 17th 2017: seeking fire, a man gets burnt FEBRUARY 18th 2017: the world is made of marble, glass and chrome. Somebody feels very small. FEBRUARY 20th 2017: Ideology and narrative have supplanted reality. FEBRUARY 22th 2017: In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.” -MLK (via Waterbed Wendy) FEBRUARY 25th 2017: the great stories are the ones only that author could've penned -- today, break all the rules and just do you. Also, diamonds are the hardest material known to man. FEBRUARY 26th 2017: candles, darkness, an intake of breath. MARCH 3th 2017: All this work for nothing, but at least we get to share a moment of time together before we die. (via No Gravitas) MARCH 4th 2017: A bell is rung. A candle is blown out. The book closes. The dance begins.(via No Gravitas) MARCH 5th 2017: He knew he was wrong, but he chose to argue anyway. The heat was oppressive, despite the downpour. (via No Gravitas) MARCH 6th 2017: Everything is perfectly still, except the two of them. She's frowning. He's smiling. They are here to save the world. (via No Gravitas) SurreptitiousMuffin fucked around with this message at 12:00 on Mar 7, 2017 |
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Feb 10, 2017 02:04
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SurreptitiousMuffin posted:TODAY'S PROMPT FEBRUARY 10th 2017: The sun is missing. Metaphors are literal now. Somebody is searching for something they didn't actually lose. Where is she? Sunshine, where did you go? Just a short moment ago you were warming my with your light, firing up my life. Please come back. I must find you, but all I do is spin fruitlessly. I looked left and right. I looked up and now. I looked within me, within my burning heart. I cannot find you anywhere. I grow frigid without you. Please come back. Please come back. Please come back! I want your warm caress. I want to feel your soft touch again. How I wither without you... I cannot live without you. And it isn't just me. Terrified are the creatures on me. Your disapperance was taken as a sign of evil times coming. Sacrifices are made to prevent bad fates. The priest gesticulates with the dagger. Much blood is being drawn on every bit of land. Cities burn as offerings to Gods which aren't. Oh. Wait. Is that you? Sunny, you are back! Playing peekaboo? Don't do that to me, Sunny... Don't hide your beautiful face behind that ugly rock ever again. I was so worried. I thought I'd never see you again. I missed you. I love you too.
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Feb 10, 2017 03:03
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quote:TODAY'S PROMPT FEBRUARY 10th 2017: The sun is missing. Metaphors are literal now. Somebody is searching for something they didn't actually lose. Sól ran as fast as humanly possible and then faster still. Her golden cape billowed behind her, and heavy flakes of ash were caught in the tresses of her hair. Softly spoken curses mixed with the mist of her breath. The moor burned. All she had to follow was charred tracks carved into the earth. Where was her horse and the chariot-like cart still tied to it? Where was the sun she was tasked with bringing across the sky each day? She had barely gotten free of the horizon before the god-appointed horse had no longer followed her orders and crashed to the ground. Sól swore again, swore by the gates of Hel as she strode through sweet-scented smoke that continued to rise from burning heather. Leaning against a low ridge, a man covered his eyes. Sól needed not see to know why - she was on the right track, and mortal men were not supposed to look directly at her sun this close. She left him behind, hurrying over the next hill, and the next after that. Perhaps she should have run to the gods instead and asked their help, but that would also entail asking them to forgive the failed sunrise... Some plants were unharmed. Clover still bloomed, and she could sense the confusion of seeds lying in wait below, now stirring in the earth as they felt all the heat of spring and summer at once. Clover - of course! A last leap brought her miles ahead, as it had to if she was ever to catch up with the fastest horse in the world. There stood the dammed animal, in a small hollow, trying to eat those small white flowers that wilted and went up in flames as soon as the sun in the cart came close enough. It stopped completely still in her presence, tired out from running, sweat glistening on its back. It had simply given up, knowing that she would always chase it down. She did not need to eat or rest. The horse's braided mane had mostly come undone, but the reins were still on and she was glad to see the sun, a marvellously crafted glowing orb, safe in the chariot. Sól ran her hand over the smooth surface of her treasure. She sighed with relief. "Let's get you back up there," she said, and glared at the horse. Perhaps she pulled the reins a little too tightly when she took her rightful place. Up they rose, in any case, and she wondered what effect the day's escapades would have on the lands growing rapidly smaller beneath her. It wouldn't matter much. These people, wandering about their fields and farms with their eyes turned to the changing sky, were used to a world where gods sometimes made small mistakes. And where horses were stubborn beasts.
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Feb 10, 2017 10:52
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Doubleposting to say that I fully support this initiative. Getting a couple hundred words out like this was a good "warm-up" for the day's writing session and I'm glad you're taking the time to make prompts 
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Feb 10, 2017 10:56
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SurreptitiousMuffin posted:TODAY'S PROMPT FEBRUARY 10th 2017: The sun is missing. Metaphors are literal now. Somebody is searching for something they didn't actually lose. Blinked Away I used to think if I opened my eyes wide and never blinked, I wouldn’t be blind. I heard my brother’s laughter, the splash of cool water against my ankles as he cannon-balled into the pool. My face was hot. I felt the sun, but the sun was gone. Like my mother’s face. Like roses and puppies and clouds. I closed my eyes when they dried, counted to ten, said a prayer and opened them again. My mother’s voice rang out, calling us in. Our dog barked. My brother threw a tennis ball. I looked up at the sun, still, believing that I might really see myself, shining back, vibrant and unbroken. When I got inside my mother chastised me for the reddened tone of my skin. Cancer. She warned. The sun is dangerous. After lunch, she slathered sun screen on our faces, got it in our eyes. My brother cried. I never even blinked.
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Feb 10, 2017 22:41
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weeeeoooweeeeooooweeeeooooonewpromptishere TODAY'S PROMPT FEBRUARY 11th 2017: You're not actually scared of monsters -- nobody is. You're scared of what they say about the world, or yourself. With that in mind, write something that scares you shitless.
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Feb 11, 2017 01:06
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SurreptitiousMuffin posted:You're not actually scared of monsters -- nobody is. You're scared of what they say about the world, or yourself. With that in mind, write something that scares you shitless. "That's all? A dusty table, a camera, a TV, two horrible chairs... Surely there must be something more to it", thought Samuel Pokojnik. He waited in line for six hours to get into the world's scariest room. He watched countless people run out of the room screaming. A troll left the room crying. Even a topielec seemed outright blue with fear. The room had a great reputation and was priced accordingly. The reservations had to be made weeks in advance and even then the line-ups were atrocious. Samuel sat down in one of the chairs. He didn't like the camera looking at him. The smell was unpleasant, bleach and antiseptics, with a tinge of incense. A figure slowly took shape on the opposite chair. The hair. The scars. Everything was the same. The Other Samuel nodded his head in a gesture of greeting. "Oh, a mimic. I'm so scared. I think I need my mommy", the Original Samuel quipped sarcastically. Mimics were old hat and no one was scared of that. The copy smiled faintly. "I want to show you something." The giant TV screen in one of the walls came to life. Times Square was particularly busy at this time of the day, it being rush hour. The screens on Times Square changed. Every single one of them was now showing the room, two Samuels included. A crowd gathered quickly. The Original Samuel thought he saw his mother in the crowd. Or maybe his girlfriend? It was hard to tell. "We are being recorded", the copy continued. "Everything that is said in the room will be said on Times Square, for everyone to see. The same program airs in all of the other major cities of the world, at their local rush hour." "How come I never heard anything about it?", Samuel the First puzzled. "The room has a special presence. You have to visit the room to see its activities. Only those that confront their fears are privileged enough to witness the broadcasts. Or... Maybe this is a fake? Who knows. To be honest, I have no idea myself. The previous host also had no idea." "I am afraid of nothing. No human, no monster, no thing can terrify me!" "How brave of you, Samuel Pokojnik. Yes, you have died many years ago and nothing has even made you even a bit anxious since then. So typical for a zombie, yes. I have my ways, however. I look like you, but any mimic can do that. I can also think like you. I can also be like you. I can become you." "Try me" The copy nodded and began. "Age two. Your first memory is your crib. You were always alone. Your parents never liked you. You were a mistake, a broken condom. Age four. Your grandfather teaches you cruelty to animals. You pull frogs apart with your hands. You throw snails around and crack their shells. You still enjoy it to this day, Samuel Pokojnik of the Bronx." An ogre rickshaw driver on Times Square stood up to his full height, accidentally dumping out his cargo. *** "take my life take my life take my life", Samuel the First chanted dumbly. "Two days after your sixteenth birthday. With Laura, yes? You don't remember her name, but I do. You two were..." "NOOOOOOOOO! STOP!" *** "... but you weren't really agreeing. You imagined his face smeared in dragon excrement. And then..." *** "... so drunk that you don't remember that you bought ten... " *** "... it did not matter to you that he was family, you just wanted to feel alive again... " *** "...and then you entered the room. And here we are." The monitors on Times Square returned to their usual broadcasts, restoring the traffic patterns. The TV switched off. Samuel had no words. "Mimic. Mimic, please. Tell me... Was this real? Was all of this really broadcast? Please, I need to know." "It might have been. It might not have been. Who can tell." The Samuels were quiet for a moment. "I don't want to go out there. I'm scared. My whole life, out there... My every secret. Every thought. I can't face this shame." "Maybe there is a way out. I know you. I am you. I know what you want." "There is a way? Oh please, please, please..." "I will take your life" "Yes! Yes! Do it! DO IT!" Samuel Prime closed his eyes and awaited the killing blow. The killing blow did not come. One of the Samuels melted all over the chair, losing his shape. The other stood up from his chair, took a deep breath and ran out of the room, making sure to look as scared as possible.
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Feb 11, 2017 03:58
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This was written in response to Muffin's first prompt, though I think it could fit with the second one too! Mainly I just used this thread as an excuse to vent about a horrible nightmare I had, but I think I have something worth building on. All crits welcome, if anyone is so inclined https://docs.google.com/document/d/1vFnva8lEiKRNKBgpMDOcjUgDzb38vCELARKxpAAskNk/edit?usp=sharing
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Feb 11, 2017 09:09
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Sitting Here posted:This was written in response to Muffin's first prompt, though I think it could fit with the second one too! Mainly I just used this thread as an excuse to vent about a horrible nightmare I had, but I think I have something worth building on. All crits welcome, if anyone is so inclined Wait. What? First prompt? "The sun is missing"? But there isn't a missing sun in the-- Oooooh.....
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Feb 11, 2017 10:41
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No Gravitas posted:Wait. What? First prompt? "The sun is missing"? But there isn't a missing sun in the-- Oooooh..... Thank you for the crits 
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Feb 11, 2017 11:09
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TODAY'S PROMPT FEBRUARY 12th 2017: Money/love etc. Tell me something about this cliche that I didn't realise I already knew.
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Feb 12, 2017 02:01
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TODAY'S PROMPT FEBRUARY 13th 2017: a friend returns from a long time away, bearing the one gift you did not want. today's prompt contributed by Nethilia
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Feb 13, 2017 02:18
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PROMPT TRAIN DON'T STOP TODAY'S PROMPT FEBRUARY 14th 2017: "This I do vow and this shall ever be; I will be true, despite thy scythe and thee." via Kaishai, and some dude with a stupid ruff on his neck
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Feb 14, 2017 02:38
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Reminder: anybody has suggestions, I'll happily hear 'em. Some days I feel like I am screaming into a void but people keep telling me in PM/irc that they're using the thread so I will post forever prompts always prompts every day prompts as the night closes in TODAY'S PROMPT FEBRUARY 15th 2017: For today, write in iambs. Perhaps poems, perhaps not.
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Feb 15, 2017 05:45
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IMMEDIATELY AFTER SAYING ENDLESS PROMPTS I MISSED A DAY OH NO TODAY'S PROMPT FEBRUARY 17th 2017: seeking fire, a man gets burnt
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Feb 17, 2017 02:15
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SurreptitiousMuffin posted:IMMEDIATELY AFTER SAYING ENDLESS PROMPTS I MISSED A DAY OH NO Spreading Ashes Charred black, your back to the flames, Your eyes burn hot, scald your sense. You never could see past the haze, Of your own ambitions. Why are you so incapable of lurking in the safety of shadows? Don’t you know you’re burning alive? Don’t you know you’re going to die? With your back to the flames, Their light framing you, Like you’re not the prodigal son And Hell is only a metaphor.
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Feb 17, 2017 22:53
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SurreptitiousMuffin posted:seeking fire, a man gets burnt They thrash in ways I couldn't have imagined. Their fingers wrench, curl and reach towards my face and their sucking mouths howl when I brush them aside. My hands busy, I try to breathe louder to fill my head with white noise so I can block out that terrible sound, but they are louder than my thoughts and as they crescendo into wild screams my chest and eyes swim with terror. I cannot see. Smoke, like a wet rag, presses against my plastic visor, my lungs ignore my pleading to take in air, and that peaking noise! My brain, against better judgement, strains to make out a pattern in the wailing. I cannot understand what they say to me and I regain my composure bracing myself against the smoke and noise with the relief of it. After the fire is extinguished by my classmates, the Captain swoops over to me and barrages me with questions the whole time his voice concerned and calm and his eyes shining with fear. He thought I understood them, the voices that live in the enchanted fire. The only thing I heard though, was my mother. In the last days of his life my father never knew what they said either, and he said that neither did his father and so I would be glad that I didn't either, because every person who did was dead by their own hand and seemingly happy to do so. My grandfather never spoke about any of those people, though I figured he must have known most of them seeing as the attacks started when he was my age. Our village is mostly blackened rubble now, be it stone, wood, metal, or plastic. All of it crumbling and crisp. The few families that remain keep their houses up as good as they can in a spirit of tradition, but where you see a nicely appointed lawn and newly painted shutters, you look the next house over and it's a bleak pile of nothing. The elders say we won't leave because we are winning, but more houses become flaming pyres every month. My mother set our old house ablaze one night when I was 12. My grandfather shook me awake shouting my name. His big beard smoked slightly as he gathered me up in his large arms, threw my pink elephant quilt over his back and carried me through flames downstairs toward the back door. "Do not look at it!" he screamed and pushed my face into his arm, though it was too late. I had seen my mother, so calm, standing on the kitchen table, her hair and pajamas burned away. She was just standing there screaming into the fire, but her face showed no sign of pain as flames singed her finger tips and nose. She didn't even look at my father who tried to pull her down, who shouted at her to come with him. She just stood and screamed until her voice and the fire's were one.
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Feb 18, 2017 01:21
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aaaaaw yeah lads that's the good stuff TODAY'S PROMPT FEBRUARY 18th 2017: the world is mable of marble, glass and chrome. Somebody feels very small.
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Feb 18, 2017 08:31
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SurreptitiousMuffin posted:aaaaaw yeah lads that's the good stuff Behind the glass is a shop that sells light. There are rows and rows of candles all owned by a nervous man. He has a drawer in his desk that he is afraid to open. Tall, short, fat, thin. All sorts of candles - a capricious sort that die easily and those that burn forever, the kind you place at graves. Magical candles, red like the inside of a hungry mouth or pale like the whites of your eyes. Tealights that smell like darjeeling. The dust in the display window smells like wasted time. The man used to get such warm, sweaty palms that the wax would melt in his hands if he had to help a customer. Lately, there have been no customers, and now he worries about a spreadsheet on his desk. Sitting at the till, he sees people walking past. They can see him, too, all day long. In the evening, the room grows dark enough for privacy. This evening, the man takes a small brass key and unlocks the drawer, withdraws a lighter. A flame touches a wick that curls and blackens, spreading lavender-scented smoke. The man is tired, and the candles have gone unlit for too long. He trudges from one shelf to another, from wick to wick, and soon the air is thick with perfume. The window is a blaze of light: The fat candles shine like stars, the spells work all at once, and wax drips down to cover the marble floor like some sort of soft, oozing carpet.
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Feb 19, 2017 19:15
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TODAY'S PROMPT FEBRUARY 20th 2017: Ideology and narrative have supplanted reality. NEW THREAD RULE: IF I FORGET TO POST A PROMPT ON A PARTICULAR DAY AND YOU'RE ITCHING TO GO, JUST POST ONE UP
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Feb 20, 2017 03:28
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SurreptitiousMuffin posted:NEW THREAD RULE: IF I FORGET TO POST A PROMPT ON A PARTICULAR DAY AND YOU'RE ITCHING TO GO, JUST POST ONE UP Since it's been a couple of days, I'll put a prompt out there and since I'm new at this have a quote that I like: “In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.” -MLK
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Feb 22, 2017 18:53
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Waterbed Wendy posted:Since it's been a couple of days, I'll put a prompt out there and since I'm new at this have a quote that I like: “In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.” -MLK "New Day Rising" Three days past and he's still talking to himself, a voice that won't go away though it's usually bad ideas. "Hasanet," he tells himself, a voice that creaks like tomb floors. "Follow them in the life after death for what they did on this earth." He blinks, rubs his eyelids down, pushes them back up. Like he's slept a wisp in time. He's blooded again, felt the wolf's whisper, but that's duality, and he has no time for it. Something in his hemophiliae which won't let him go. Outside there's a whisper of sunlight threading the lines of black smoke. Outside there are virgins. There was a voice once, that told him not to thirst, but he didn't listen to it. Didn't listen to it the one time, and that was all it took, because he was so thirsty. His lips were parched, split like atoms he knows from networks he can't even understand. There are virgins outside. There are children outside. There is young blood that flows through veins and it sticks to his lines like the whisper in black light and the words he tells himself in rivers of sound.
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Feb 23, 2017 07:45
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touch those graveyard prompts at yr peril
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Feb 23, 2017 22:08
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freebie since i posted: "ive got friends that know sign language"
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Feb 23, 2017 22:10
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TODAY'S PROMPT FEBRUARY 24th 2017:There is no thought permitted, there is no noise allowed -- a quiet man is a happy man. Take your pills. 5D AUTISM SPEX posted:touch those graveyard prompts at yr peril
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Feb 24, 2017 03:03
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instead of talking about it why dont you do it kiiid 
take the moon fucked around with this message at 03:53 on Feb 24, 2017 |
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Feb 24, 2017 03:36
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SurreptitiousMuffin posted:
The Popping of Pills The pills, oblong and white, Slipped down the old man’s throat. Once, when he was young, And blonde, and in love, A petite girl had kissed his throat. She had drug her nails first And then her lips over The hump of his Adam’s apple And whispered in a foreign tongue As he thrust beneath her. The lump in his throat coming home Was harder to swallow. As he held his wife in his arms, Closed his eyes and saw the gypsy Of another land, far away, The pills, round and white, On her tongue, shoved into his mouth. His wife said he tasted like adventure, Like bravery and honor and freedom. He was happy when she died, Happy that she had never tasted The bitterness and desperation of war. Sitting in the home his children had chosen, He grasped a paper cup of water And waited for the pills to pacify him.
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Feb 24, 2017 06:33
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i am so high from staying up for this biz muffin come out to plaaay 
take the moon fucked around with this message at 08:11 on Feb 24, 2017 |
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Feb 24, 2017 08:07
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5D AUTISM SPEX posted:i am so high from staying up for this biz
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Feb 24, 2017 08:16
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its called picking the prompt which you said you would do if ur next post doesnt have a story im going 2 sleep e: the muff in the op
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Feb 24, 2017 08:17
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oh hey looks i wrote someth approx a mill years ago tho i didnt notice the prompt was takenSurreptitiousMuffin posted:
"How high would you even have to be to be an uncap?" Sol hears. It's a man with a low brimmed hat who threw him a look and a black chem cloud with the words he didn't ask for. What is that, Sol thinks, concentrated fungus? "What did you say?" he says. "I asked how high you'd have to wear an an-cap," Low Brim says. "You know, those caps that are living animal mutate. Mine's just black felt." A little flat, Sol thinks. A little too vanta, too slick, too embossed. "Am I wearing one?" he says. He forgot to chem himself today. "No," Low Brim says. "Just venting." Yeah, Sol thinks. Without chems everything's clicking into focus. These towers are more like spires. This glass is more stained than it should be. This marble looks like if he lost his focus, it would hurt. Maybe someone would work the wrong chem into him. Maybe he'd stumble and fall. Maybe something would hit him. Good chems, extant somewhere out there, beyond a rainbow his brain hasn't even imagined it could perceive. A black ocean, he thinks, would be better than what seeps between the cracks that might break him. A cap made of animal mutate. Maybe if you took care of it, it would like you. Maybe it would brim just the way you wanted. "Pretty high up there," Low Brim says. "Maybe near a nebula somewhere." Sol looks at him, thinks of meteors smashing into brimmed skull, body floating far away from earth, but not far enough.
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Feb 24, 2017 08:18
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boi don't look at me sour and even assume i have time for anything that isnt stories
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Feb 24, 2017 08:19
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gently caress yall im going off-prompt an open letter to the gods It's a little-known fact that approximately .002% of humans are divine beings in disguise. Even gods and get sick of each other's bullshit. Ever had one of those friends who just keeps loving up in the same ways over and over again, who comes to you and whines about it on a schedule that you could set your watch by? Now imagine that scaled up to deity proportions. Your gently caress-up friend fucks up over the course of eons, and then bitches at you about it over the lifespan of a universe. By comparison, human lives are chaotic, frenetic, and full of novelty. Drama erupts, escalates, and dissipates in the time it would take a metacosmic entity (this is the more politically correct term, not that anyone cares) to blink, if blinking was a thing we had to do. Earth lets the divine forget themselves. We're born screaming. We experience innocence, then lose it. We ricochet between love and loss and hate and hunger and hoo boy it's a hell of a trip. Can god create an object that's so heavy even he can't lift it? If he wants to. That's the gift of omnipotence; you have the power to be as strong or weak as you want to be. There are laws of nature that apply to any creature, no matter how infinite. One of those laws is absence makes the heart grow fonder. As a human, we might have an inkling of our true nature. Just enough to make us crave the infinite, radiant lattice of the multiverse. Sometimes we find each other on Earth. Maybe it's just a passing exchange of glances on a train at rush hour or in a concert crowd. Sometimes we're each other's coworkers or family members or childhood friends. Sometimes a god in the skin of a mother will berate her daughter, not knowing that she's acting out a grudge older than the big bang. Sometimes we accidentally take each other as lovers, following the dim, vague scent of familiarity, and don't understand why we fight all the goddamn (ha) time. If you are a god, you know all of this already, of course. Though you might not know that you know. But as you read these words, you feel that tart, synchronistic pull of truth in your orgones. Maybe you knew me, and will know me again, and that fills your meat suit with a baseless anger that you cannot name. Omnipotence means being as weak as you want to be, to forget what you want to forget. I chose to remember, so that I could deliver this message to you while you are soft and forgetful and human: I am sorry. I can only hope that you have forgotten enough to forgive me.
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Feb 24, 2017 08:19
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Sitting Here posted:gently caress yall im going off-prompt no gods no masters amirite fascinating thread u got here muff
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Feb 24, 2017 08:24
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I don't actually understand what you're asking. Like, completely without kayfabe, I'm kinda just confused.
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Feb 24, 2017 08:30
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pick the dead prompt and well get a safe space unsanctioned judgeless brawl going i didnt spend a month high out of my mind on chems for no reason im gonna sleep. put a story there by the morning sil vous plait since you tacitly agreed to go first.
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Feb 24, 2017 08:32
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5D AUTISM SPEX posted:pick the dead prompt and well get a safe space unsanctioned judgeless brawl going BEHIND THE BIKE SHEDS TOMORROW MOTHERFUCKER
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Feb 24, 2017 08:38
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i won't officially judge this, but i will be silently judging it
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Feb 24, 2017 08:40
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SurreptitiousMuffin posted:motherfucker I am about to go to bed I will do that poo poo when I get up its interesting that you view sleep as more important than stories veeeeeery interesting prompt: "feelings are object permanence"  nite thunderdumbs
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Feb 24, 2017 08:42
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