#everyone respond

[nullius-amorem]

[ open starter ];

»—; Repeated, drawn-out sighing can be heard from the female currently standing with her face and hands pressed up against the bakery’s display case glass. Everything around her is all lovey-dovey and she just feels...sad. Sad and a little sick. Because love is gross, you know? 

          She’s debating what to buy, having decided much earlier to spend all of her money here. How many cakes, doughnuts, and other baked goods can she eat before she keels over and dies? Lottie thinks it’s time to find out.

[chaotic-lawful-objections]

"W-why is everyone rejoicing at the notion of my being tossed in a trash can?!"

[stretfordender]

GUYS WHEN ARE YOUR BIRTHDAYS?

i'm making a birthday masterpage here :DDDDDDD

[tri-gun]

okay so i wanna change my url and heres what i have saved

n0izaoba

thranduil-greenleaf

aobanoizclear

noisenoiz

tri-gun

there we go please help

[gretchensinister]

Guys I want to write an exquisite corpse

But I can't do it alone! That's the point.

(Also I want it to be blacksand because...it's me.)

So here's my idea. Everyone who wants to be a part of this will contact me in some way (reblog, ask, carrier pigeon, astral projection) and I'll put everyone in some random order, which I will then post. 

Then, what will happen is this: since I came up with the idea, I'll start. I'll write 200-300 words, and I will send those to the next person on the list.

That person will write 200-300 words. Then, they will send their part (but NOT mine) to the next person on the list. 

And so on. The point is to write without knowing the whole thing; it originated as a surrealist party game.

Eventually, the last person will write their bit, and send that to me. At that point, I will ask everyone for all the other bits and put them together with credit and links to everyone's blogs of course and we'll have ourselves a nice weird piece of blacksand.

[masquesous]

All y'all motherfuckers was all up in my last post, all excited n shit for me to post my Sassy Prostitute!Sous open. 

Well guess what, bitches. 

I posted it. 

[masquesous]

Prostitute!Sous Open

Claquesous -- or, as Montparnasse demanded he have everyone call him, Sous -- wasn't the knocking type. Instead, when his pimp told him he had a job, he would walk straight up to their back door and let himself in, his only invitation being a phone call a half hour earlier. He settled down in the kitchen of his client and made himself a peanut butter sandwich after a bit of searching.