#thescript
and den da writer suckd his own penis by removing som of his ribcage #nsfw #thescript -from the office of ace dick detective agency
The author has finished his draft for the night. Farewell, until next draft. #TheScript
She fiddled with the Keyring Juju, a gift. It crackled with energy. Those who take favors always pay their debt. She wondered if anyone would notice when she's gone. #TheScript
The Writer perhaps will retire. This combined with the Horrorterrors may be a lot... Ah, but he was so fervent, so passionate... He felt like he could go on forever. #TheScript
Casper, casper. What can you say about Casper? He eats protein bars. His friends hide secrets from him in order to keep their friendship... ... Ah, yes. Termia. He could exist. ... Put that under maybe. #TheScript
The writer doesn't have much to write about Vianti. #TheScript
The writer means to clarify that a good night is a good morning to trolls. #TheScript
Burais' hand hovered over that damned phone. It was so close, so far. It wouldn't be bad, right? She and them, they were good. They felt good. Everything was good. What's the harm in going back? What's the harm in falling back into old habits? What's the harm in calling them up again? Burais' mechanical hand shook. This was terrible. She can't do this. She can't. ... ... ... Ring, ring. #TheScript
The writer would apologize to the Chittr timeline, he was fervent in his writing. He knew it may be too much for some of them. He wished all them a good night. #TheScript
'dude's just making shit up' That's what she typed, fresh out of her bed and sniffing the twilight gasoline. It was her best defense. It was her only defense. #TheScript
She was supposed to be beyond this world. She was supposed to be it's creator. She was a black hole, for crying outloud! So why was HE here. #TheScript
The columnist is sat on her rooftop. Reading the notifications on her palmhusk. She looked up to the twin moons. In her hands, free and bare. She looked at her own silver ring. ... A pair. Will she know? ... Kurloz is probably right. Darlin has no favor. He would crush her heart if it meant he'd secure the safety of his in Her hands. Maybe, he already has. Maybe, she never was wearing a pair to begin with. She doesn't take off the ring. #TheScript
Casper. ( NOTE TO SELF: Expand on Casper, figure out what to do next. ) #TheScript
The Rankmaid had followed the Writer. It seemed she was awakened sooner than the Writer had anticipated. What was she to do today? Smoke a cigarette, write another fic? Speak to those that pine for her? Those who shouldn't pine? Or to Him who she's owned by? The bad choice. She was always the bad choice. She shook her head. She wouldn't think of that. Not right now. Not right now. #TheScript
Pendra Rotten. An individual of abrasiveness, of cruelty. In his own personal hell, created by his own hands. Terrified of a fight, yet always prepared. His tail flicked, his body chittered. A bonfire where nothing bad will happen. #TheScript
Kurloz believed he was in a darkspot. Kurloz believed he had advantage. Kurloz believes he isn't watched. Kurloz is wrong. #TheScript
Burias, I am being so serious. Do not call her. #TheScript
For some reason, Drone Season is a topic once again. The writer will not divulge, as the writer is not that kind of writER There is one writer out there. Known by the Rankmaid, who would flourish in such a concept. But she is not here, nor there. She will return, when she can. #TheScript #NSFW
Petroa Apocap, bronzeblood, inventor. She was fast asleep by now, her mind was off to new pastures. She dreamt of her moirail. How much longer can she keep her secret? How much longer unti things go wrong. #TheScript
Chittr was lively, even for what some would say are late hours. Others would say they are normal hours. The perspective is different. Some wondered about the Rumble on Thursday. Others wondered about the Writer. The point is, the story was alive. #TheScript
Karama, also known by the Clockbreaker. She was exhausted of being stepped on, being beneath the boot of the highbloods. So when she saw someone in a similar position, she itched to jump for it. To fight. But fighting alone, that was only to lead to disaster. She most likely wouldn't regret it, But... maybe she could think, Had she not done that... Could the Host had continued being the Host? #TheScript
Yet despite this. She would do her best to continue to be herself. Who was she, if not loved? If not cherished. Even when the fog came, She'd go into it knowing at the very least... The people were rooting for her. #thescript
She was doombound. Doombound. A phrase that no one would like to hear. Many people were doombound. Darlin, Kaikka, Llevyn... But that phrase. That phrase to Gloomweiss. The shining pillar of joy she was. It was like a fog. A fog that had fallen over such a beautiful town. #thescript
They had not realized, that no matter how much they wished the best for Gloomweiss... It was not their choice to make. #thescript
The writer had realized. The quirking would not work. #thescript
Gloomweiss deserved the world. She would not get it. #thescript
The writer sees you, Hope. An Anomaly, that's what you were at that Masquerade, were you not? You and your merry band of allies. #thescript
An alternate reality game. That's what she called it, although that wouldn't be quite right. She didn't need to know that, she was clever enough to know something was afoot. #thescript
She was liking every chit, every piece of that script. Darlin Dearie, the Columnist, that's what she called herself. Recently, however, a new title had come into play. The Doctor's plan had worked. #thescript
Yes, unnerving. That's how she would word it. Unnerving. #thescript
Kurlos was baffled, why was he named in the Writer's script? His hands shook, fidgeting with nothing. He knew what was to come. So why was he scared? #thescript
The audience was growing. The more and more who realized something was afoot. The writer was used to an audience, he would just have to adjust for this one. #thescript
The now retired host wrote out her chit. "im genuinely baffled theres no way" Her days were always confusing, the twin suns scorching the ground. Why was he -- Alan Wake -- on Chittr? #thescript
Kaikka Mohdem had spent sweeps in her room. Her secret her own. A new name on the timeline, the Writer. She as she always had, liked the chit. She would return to her normal scrolling afterwards. #thescript
The writer had not written in quite a while, a more modern world was to be created. He who wrote with his trusty clicker by his side, he who spiraled until he was free. Who would be his subject today? Would it be Kurloz? Would it be Posnah? Would it be Burais? Would it be any of the alpha kids, Tavros included of course... There were many options, many more than just named. There was an audience, he had to make sure this would work. Yes, he saw many who had looked. If he had to name one. He would name the reader known as sherribim. #TheScript.
The writer had decided that all posts will be tagged with #thescript beneath. He was uncertain as to why, but it would simply make things much easier in the future.
Rose had questions. How had Alan Wake -- or at least she assumed him to be -- made his way to Chittr? She always had questions, good questions. She was a Seer of Light after all, all knowledge should be within her grasp. And yet she could not find the answers she seeked. A shadow on the wall she was. And she will continue to be so. #thescript
The Board had found their way to Chittr. How had they, some questioned. Only the Board knew. and the Board knows what it/they needs to know. #thescript
Chitter found themselves in a downward spiral. Left, and right, no matter where you turned there was something going wrong. Something that will go wrong. Now, it was a battle between two Doctors and their affiliates. Neither force is evil, yet one force is only for the destruction of another. They are two minds, two sides of chess, yet both players are white. Their pawns are few, but their pawns are trusted. #thescript