Scrap - August 4, 2023
Scrap is below. I wrote this while having a bad disassociation moment so sorry if there are any mistakes. I might finish this actually.
“Limbo looks a lot like a fucking waiting room.” The taller man said with a huff. He was right, to anyone alive in the past 20 years. Though, ironically, he was not. Or not any longer, anyway. Next to him, a man in a baggy black hoodie and dark ripped jeans snorted.
“I bet it is, considering the circumstances. This is partially your mind’s eye, though, Red.” the man said. “You’d lose it if you had to process the real deal. Looks like this is as far as I can take you, anyway. Enjoy your eternity or whatever.” He continued, pivoting on his heels.
That statement hit the redhead like a sack of bricks. Finally starting to process what was happening, he grabbed the other man and tried to keep him from walking through the door they just entered (which, for some reason, he couldn’t see the other side of).
“Here we fuckin’ go.” The other man grumbled, looking the redhead directly in the eyes. “Look-“ he checked the phone in his hand (was it a phone? It was slightly hazy in the room) “Ian Galla-whatever, I can’t do anything to change your fate. I’m sorry you’re dead, but there’s no turning back. Now if you go up to that… receptionist area and give them your information, you can be properly prepared and/or judged for whatever afterlife fits you the best. Now let me go, please.” He rambled out with a monotone voice, almost as if he had that memorized. The redhead wasn’t listening though, not because of his own existential panic, but because he was lost in the deep blue eyes of the person(?) in front of him.
“Huh? Oh yeah sure whatever. I’m dead I get that, I imagine so with the amount of pain I was in. But like, who are you? Are you the Grim Reaper?” Ian said, trying to find the right words.
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honestly no wonder harrow forced ianthe to lobotomize her so she could save gideon. listen…LISTEN…if i was a secret-war-crime cult nunlet princess worshipped by my entire planet and the only person that (barely) kept me in check was my childhood nemesis—a butch a year older than me, towering over me in stature and physical prowess, and so hot it made my teeth hurt from how hard my jaw clenched in her presence, who wielded a two-handed seven-foot sword and had irritatingly huge biceps and told very lewd stupid jokes and also learned how to wield an entirely new weapon and be my bodyguard with startling accuracy in three months—only to have us finally learn to trust each other because we got invited to a magic murder mystery and then before the bubble burst i spilled the worst secret about myself that i was born because my parents murdered an entire generation and tried to Kill Her along with them and she just wouldnt die, and i told her this expecting a swift death i believed i deserved, only for her to fucking cradle me in her big butch arms and kiss me on my forehead with her soft butch mouth and just. forgive me for a shameful weight ive carried my entire life and then MAKE AN ACTUAL NECRO/CAV VOW with me despite every evil thing i have done to her……to have her tell me, in the end, bleeding and broken after putting up the most beautiful and glorious fight of her life, that she understands purpose and she understands duty and she knows loyalty more fiercely than ever now, that she knows who she is to me, that there is no her without me….to have her backed into a corner and make the ultimate sacrifice…..for me…..to recite scriptural wedding vows of eternity to me in her last wisps of soul-consciousness…..if i thought there was even a snowflake’s chance in the pyre that i could save her by turning myself into her very own locked tomb, i’d be begging ianthe tridentweirdius to crack my skull open and turn me to mush too, goddamn. i understand you harrowhark girl you don’t have to explain a thing to me. god said you couldn’t undo the lyctor’s bond bc it’d kill you. you told god and his angels that not even a lyctor’s bond could outshine the power of female spite and lesbianism and they didn’t listen. they didn’t believe you. but i heard you loud and clear and i was 17 and hormonal and hopelessly romantic not too long ago unlike those fucking dinosaurs and i’m saying it’s valid it’s what i would have done and really everyone should be thanking you for not being worse and more wretched about it, all things considered
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Fool of a Ghoul: 39,000 words written
this is a pinned post to motivate me.
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