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#I wanted to design some eldritch Old God cherubs..... these aren't pushed as far as I was hoping but certainly getting somewhere haha
splickedylit · 1 year
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Winter Soldier Gamkar has hit 100K words and 6 completed chapters and a whole lot of supernatural bullshit and Reminding My Traumatized Boyfriend What Kindness Is nonsense. Thanks to the co-writer groupchat for reading the first draft and 1. convincing me not to half-ass my scene planning, and 2. helping me figure out Karkat's Whole Deal, lol. Clandestine military experiments.....a comic book classic...
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You don’t know what the thing you were fused with used to be.  You call it the Cancer, in your head, to yourself, but some part of you knows it’s a whole fucking lot older than the concept of names.  It died so long ago, there wasn’t a word for death yet. 
Any of its corpse that washes up into your reality is just skeletal detritus; the assholes who experimented on you couldn’t find any consciousness to bore into your skull like the Scratch did to Feferi and Eridan.  They had to fuse it into your flesh to wring power out of its remains, and it’s only through some hideous joke of luck that it took and you’re still alive to bitch about it. 
It could be worse.  You could be a rotted, mangled corpse in an unmarked grave.
They’d almost seemed surprised that you were pissed, when you found out about that little wrinkle after the fact.  You regret a lot of shit in your life, but savaging the asshole who changed you—who killed dozens of stupid kids before you—isn’t one of them.
You don’t know who has it worse, really.  Feferi and Eridan don’t show much sign from the outside that anything was even done to them—but for all the double-takes you get on the street, you don’t have to listen to voices and whispers.  There’s no living, scheming forces trying to push you to do anything, there’s just a vast, echoing emptiness in the back of your head.  Sometimes when you sleep, you find yourself in the place where it lives—or where it died.  An endless, quiet walk through an empty shell the size of a thousand cathedrals, rotting and half-consumed.
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