Screwlowes - Friendly Neighborhood Gremlin

Aw, hell yis!!!! :]

I have officially decided that I am going to rewrite Frankenstein as an amazing YouTube movie titled Vicky F and Creepy C

My friends will star in it, I will be the screen writer... It's going to be a hot mess!!! :] can't wait to start filming, all I have to do now is... Well, write the script!

❤️

Imagine having an oc group that's based off of ace card terminology like this

Y'all, It's finally time! I'm on page 159, with 20+ chapters, and I'm here to tell you... The first chapter is edited and ready to be read! Please do bear with me, as this was written probably 2 or 3 years ago, but I hope you enjoy! Now, with no further ado, read on below!

@queen-of-hobgobblers @deadandgaysetanta @redkarmakai

Chapter 1

Florentine

"So, the wounded hero finally dares to stand, eh? I'm almost impressed" the sneer in his words is unmistakable, though my vision seems impaired. My muscles quiver as I rise to face him. Muddy droplets drip from some long-forgotten wound. A sharp, excruciating pain flashes through my leg, centering around my kneecap. I brush it off, because I have to. I have a duty, and what am I if not successful? Who am I if I can’t even protect these people who venerate me? I stand and turn to face my attacker, steel in my heart and fire in my eyes. Their smirk ignites a simmering mix of hatred and envy. Why should they be the one to walk away with their life intact? Why don’t they have to sit and suffer in silence as their other half climbs a ladder so tall that the gods in the sky must crane their heads merely to catch a passing glimpse? Rage pulses behind my eyes, begging for cruel release.

Everything's red. His hand. The ground. The blood red dagger, forsaken long before. The sky. I can't think, can’t hear, can’t see. All that runs in my head is what went wrong. It was fine, we were fine. Everything was good. We were peaceful. Until that day. That horrid day that ripped us apart and set us on our separate, yet morbidly entwined, paths. A voice drones in the background, that one that haunts my dreams and comforts my nightmares. The ground shakes, morphing the landscape. The sky turns black and the trees fluctuate with a wonderlandian determination. The ground twists and tumbles in my eyes, falling away as I attempt to push myself up. My hands scrabble against the softening dirt and I let a grunt escape my lips. His thunderous eyes pierce my heart when his head whips toward me. His mouth moves, but the words don’t register in my ringing ears at first.

I launch myself toward his misty figure. He's waiting, baiting me. I know this. But some things are more important than playing a game. My fist flies past its mark on my first try. A haunting chuckle infuriates me further. I press him, swinging my fists with less accuracy, but I fight harder and harder, I strike and coax more and more and more until he's backed against a wide-trunked oak, trapped between wood and flesh. Blood, beautiful, glorious, shimmering blood, floods down his face as I stand triumphant over theim. Their previous courage dissipates faster than the winds he tries to command. Finally, I hold all the cards. I can be the one to finish a fight, the one to leave them broken, cowering on the ground, weak and worthless in the eyes of the once adoring, now cautious public.

My eyes shut, as a way to preserve this perfect, wonderful scene in my memory. I open them, punching in front where he should be, but the scenery has changed. No longer am I in a mournful wood, surrounded by splintered trees and freshly slaughtered rodents, but rather a village. Run-down huts flood my peripheral, and a young boy looks up at me. He grins, and I stumble back at the mania in his eyes and the blood on his teeth. His golden hair is matted, but his shoes shine with care and polish and his hands have never known a day of work.

"Hey, mister! That was one nice punch you got there! Look, it even made me bleed!" The bloodlust in his eyes is unmistakable, and I collapse to my knees while my younger self drones on about my attack. It was all a dream. Just a dream. Always so close, and yet they’re always one step further. The town is still decrepit, the villain is still on the loose, and I'm still the one to blame for it all. The one who let him go, let him break me a thousandfold just for a sense of my past life. How?! How could I have been so blind?! So…

The sound of my voice breaks the trance of misery and I allow tears to flood my face, my all-too-real facial incisions burning. The sobs that wrench from my body surprise even myself with the desperate plea behind it. My screams are swirling and writhing with the pain that only a truly tortured soul can contain. Horrid, deep sobs wrack my body while thorny vines, red as blood, climb up my shuddering form. The pain cuts me to the bone, but I don’t care. It grounds me. No, what I beg for is a floundering force of strength who long since abandoned me. I scream, louder than I ever have, louder than I thought I could. Even when the tears stop flowing, dry, throaty sobs and screams rack my soul and the vines tighten, clasping at my throat. Air. I need air. There's no air. A name, unintelligible, shrieks out of my mouth. I cry for him, want him, need him. I need their kind eyes, the prim distaste they hold for everyone but me. I need his voice, his heart, his love and lust. My lone earring, a silver, triadic swirl, dangles. It shines as if a beacon might, glowing with false promises. The vines know what I want, what I need. They guide my hand, tearing the piece of jewelry down, flinging it, getting lost in the heartbreak of first love, first trust, and first pain. The screams have become comforting. I know them. I know pain, and I welcome it. Grey shadows creep into my sight, and I gladly welcome them, too. They encompass my vision, and I lean into the cold, slate shadows, reminiscent of stones chilled by a frosty winter air.

"USELESS!"

I've reached page 143, so the time to vote is nigh: once I reach 150, do you guys want

🎶TWO GOOD OL’ BOYS

BEHIND THE WHEEL

CHASIN’ DOWN BAD GUYS IN LUCILLE🎶

oh your pronouns are he/they?

well that’s mathematically incorrect becuase you can still simplify the fraction since both sides have “he”

making your pronouns technically 1/ty

reblog this if you want a LONG (or short) anonymous message saying what they think of you.

pleaaase?

@zahnie i am kind of mad tbh bc now i keep thinking about that leverage/batman crossover and it’s ridiculous. they’re using a charity gala as a way to get into the manor. eliot immediately pegs alfred for former mi6, but he can’t figure out what the fuck bruce’s deal is. something about the way he stands or the way he watches the room or his shoulders or something. “is it not distinctive enough?” “oh, it’s distinctive as hell, i just don’t know what it is”. let’s say it’s older bruce so hardison has to get into a hacker fight with tim. sophie can’t grift bc there are too many rich people who’d recognize her in attendance. parker can’t infiltrate the catering service because they run that shit tighter than the white house (WHY is he so paranoid about his CATERERS what the HELL i’ve seen BANKS less lax about tracking employees than this) so she has to pretend to be a model. that backfires so fast because bruce is so nice and wants to know if she’s okay bc she seems uncomfortable. parker is thrilled when she discovers the house is full of secret passages but that also ends poorly when she turns a corner and bruce is standing there like “hey there, you seem lost”. he’s still wearing the tux and drinking his champagne. he helpfully guides her to the bathroom since she is having such trouble finding it. eliot has a tense standoff with alfred bc this is wayne manor alfred and that means he is like an older, british eliot who’ll shoot a motherfucker. hardison and tim get distracted playing wow together and it isn’t clear exactly how that happened. there has to be at least one scene where eliot and bruce are fighting and the rest of the team just watches instead of doing anything useful because it’s actually kind of really hot. they don’t even really hurt each other so it’s fine. probably fine. just let them keep pinning each other to the floor for a while, it’s fine. bruce has a lot of helpful critiques for nate’s plan that nate does not appreciate. the obvious thing is that they figure out he’s batman but it’s kind of funnier if they don’t and just think bruce wayne is an inexplicable bamf. they’ve all learned a valuable lesson about judging people based on appearances. bruce flirts with sophie and nate pretends not to be bitter about it but he gazes out at the gotham skyline and broods. it’s just what happens when you’re in gotham. it’s a very broodworthy skyline. make fun of batman all you want but you look out at that skyline and try not to brood. you can’t. even superman broods. i mean, he looks like he’s brooding. he’s usually trying to remember if he left the oven on because every time he decides to make himself a nice dinner a supervillain attacks and four hours later his baked ziti is charcoal. it still counts as brooding. nate never stood a chance.

(through gritted teeth) sometimes what's good for your mental health isn't another do nothing day or a little treat sometimes what's good for you is putting in some of the work. Not all of it at once but sometimes you have to finish that essay or at least take the next step or you have to clean your room or at least dust the shelves or you gotta do the laundry or at least put it all in the hamper and it's not fun and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks but you have to because i read a post on the internet that told me that's what being nice to yourself is sometimes

sometimes you need dialogue tags and don't want to use the same four

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