holy cheetos karkat is smiling
holy cheetos karkat is smiling
I KNOW YOU CAN FUCK OFF!
DON’T YOU DARE MAKE ME YOUR REDEEMER. THE REDEEMER RESERVOIR IS FULL, YOU HEAR ME? TOOT TOOT! EVERYONE OUT THE SAVIOR POOL. OR YOUR EXECUTOR EITHER, YOU RIDICULOUS DRAMA MAVEN. OH MY GOD, YOU SELFISH, TWINKLE-FACED TOOL.
MY NAME IS KARKAT VANTAS, BULGELEPER.
AND I’M YOUR BEST FRIEND.
oh love you don’t even know what i done.
i don’t even know where i’m at. don’t even know who i’m at any more, you get me? i use you so ill. i use you so motherfuckin ill.
wasn’t no miracle ever coming, my dear, i got the necessary blame. can’t chill any more, can’t get my remembrance on how. wish you’d get real salty with me.
MY PUSHER IS DEAD CINDEROUS.
just don’t know how to feel you any more invertebrother.
You’d somehow thought love would be a release.
Then again you’d also thought that you’d lose your papping virginity to the gentle patter of acid rain on the windowledge, under a big quilt.
Your love life, man. SM fucking H.
thinking a lot about homestuck endgame and how i just really want terezi and dave and karkat to become a ridiculous bff trio who have all dated each other at some point and dave is like “how did that become my life” but now they are all good bff. plz
anyways im thinking about direct aftermath stuff here uh
He kneels horn and shoulder above your recuperacoon.
This is the opposite of how this was meant to go. You thought you’d someday swagger into a room and use cool sickle moves to take down persecuting Highbloods, or preferably persecuting Highblood robots because the Messiah pukes at blood, sorry faithful, and come jelly-to-jelly with your moirail. Stop. Stay still as love altered time. Stride towards each other in slo-mo before you shooshpapped, tentatively at first and then with growing sensuality and confidence. It would be so romantic that your later best-selling biographical film would have to cut it to get a rating of PG-13 (pupescent grubs will feel thirteen sweeps of trauma).
You are furious that instead, you’ve learned to fake bravery.
FOR NOT RECOGNIZING YOU, I MEAN. YOU’VE JUST CHANGED. A LOT. FROM. YOUR PROFILE PICTURE. NAMELY BECAUSE YOUR PROFILE PICTURE WAS OF A PIE AND A SOCK.
YOU RESCUING ME, THAT CERTAINLY WAS A THING I HAVE NO APPARENT RECOLLECTION OF. BUT THANKS? IT WASN’T THAT I DIDN’T EXPECT YOU TO, BUT I’M WELL AWARE THAT YOU MUST HAVE HAD TO PULL OFF SOMETHING PRETTY FUCKING AMAZING TO GET ME RIGHT OUT OF ECHO SIDE. MAYBE YOU COULD. RELATE DETAILS. OF THAT. SOMETIME. AT YOUR DISCRETION. GAMZEE. WOW, I NEVER ACTUALLY SAID YOUR NAME MUCH TO YOU, AM I PRONOUNCING IT CORRECTLY?? GAMZEE? GAMZEE. GAMZEE. JUST TELL ME AT ANY POINT WHICH YOU PREFE
Gamzee Makara, quite gently, clasps your mitts around his throat.
come on sufferer.
FREE HIT GRATIS AND FOR FUCKING NOTHING, O SCION OF THE SIGNLESS SUFFERER.
and don’t you know you will be my measure, even in the silent land where i will god damn go?
DON’T YOU KNOW I AM YOUR HATCHED MOTHERFUCKIN FOE.
He’s the size of a small, clown-shaped building. More of your blood is on him than is inside your body.
You’d never imagined Gamzee servitor of the Dark Carnival. The Dork Carnival, maybe. You dreamed him in elbows and stupid pants. This guy, he’s — he’s a caricature, he’s the apex hope predator. Highblood centerfold. He makes Tavros, who could hand out an armful of passive-aggressive handwritten invites to the gun show, look like nothing. And he’s not even beefloaf, his muscles are parabolic filigree for his bones. You’re hit with the smell of stale sweat, blood and vomit and hot body in unwashed clothes.
He looks like the Grand Highblood. A small, stupid speck within you wants him to be familiar on his own terms, not those ones; you dumbfuck adolescent, you’re searching for anything that will invite moirail instinct. Instead you’re provided with only one biological mechanism, which is the urge to produce a vile stench so he won’t eat you.
dO YOU WANT TO BE LEFT ALONE,
You need to say: Under no circumstances, you galling nookscourge! Do not leave me alone! I don’t think I can shit myself sufficiently to get disregarded as a food source! Have you beheld his meteor-sized hands? Fucker, do you see those veritable strangleshovels?? Stay like I’m Vriska Serket and I’m sexually available, you emotionally callous shuntblister!
I seriously cannot grasp why people take this as a prophesy that John will die by the end of the comic, for good.
This is Doc Scratch speaking of the idea of John dying for good, because nothing lasts forever (he would know). This is Doc Scratch speaking of John’s character, the all-knowing narrator telling us that he’s pretty damn sure that John could never, ever play the role of the bad guy. The next page goes on to say that even if Doc Scratch himself tried to teach him how to be evil, it’s entirely possible that it wouldn’t work.
Let that sink in for a moment.
Now that you might have a greater appreciation of John, and no longer fear that John dies at the end, carry on.
My favourite ‘rails! Haven’t drawn these two in a while, so this was just going to be an indulgent little squiggle before I got attached.
Equius does pushups, and Nepeta does sit ups so she can push his glasses back on to his face before they slip off.
Maybe my real ship here isn’t Eq x Nep but Nep x Eq’s Glasses…