#he had no other will to live and that is actually SAD

[joostsblog]

i loved to be desired sm omg. Could i request a joost x reader where reader is partying with joost and friends. they meet ski aggu and are chilling and they tell ski that they are super into joost but joost isnt into them and they are sad about it. The ski aggu makes it his mission to make joost jealous to get them together and there is a lil angst but reader and joost end up together and making out.

loved writing this request!! i love shy!joost in this, hope you enjoy!!❣️❣️

is this as good as it gets? ~ joost klein one shot

My masterlist here ✨💌

Pairing: Joost Klein x female!reader (also Ski Aggu x reader if you squint ig)

Description: When you almost lose all your hope getting with Joost, Aggu proposes an interesting idea to get the two of you together.

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: title and also vibe inspired by as good as it gets by fizz so i highly rec giving that song a listen! again, you can still send in requests 💌

Warnings: consumption of alcohol and cigarettes, not proofread

You should write Mel a thank you note, really. For one because she always lets you crash at her place whenever you visit Berlin (which happens to be very frequently, actually) but also for tagging along to her party nights with her Berlin friends which also include the famous German rapper Ski Aggu and his dutch friend Joost who you couldn't seem to keep your eyes from. Ever since you first met last time you were in Berlin (which was only three weeks ago) you were crushing on the man - hard. And suddenly you were pretending you knew more about music than you actually did just so you could try to hold a conversation with Joost. And you stepped out one time too many to smoke a cigarette with him when you usually smoked maybe two cigarettes within one year. And overthinking whatever you should wear to go out with Mel and all her friends without even knowing if Joost was gonna be there that evening as well.

And when you decided to visit Mel again just three weeks after having been the last time ("Already?"), maybe Joost was a deciding factor as well. You didn't even know if he was gonna be in Berlin around the same time as well but you were in luck when you and Mel walked into the bar and you could see Joost's figure sitting beside Aggu. You tried to play it cool as you greeted everyone and finally got to Joost.

"So nice to see you again," you said earnestly as you both hugged.

"Likewise," Joost said and gently rubbed your back. You hoped that he wasn't just being polite and actually remembered you.

You were also in luck when there was a free spot beside Joost which you could take as you tried to casually open a conversation with him, talking about whatever the two of you had been up to in the last few weeks. You talked about his hometown, your hometown, why you were visiting Berlin so often and how you were thinking of moving here. You could tell that Joost was taking interest in the conversation and by extension you, but it wasn't enough for you. You knew that you wanted Joost in other ways and you wondered how and if you could persuade him of you.

"I'm getting a new drink," you announced. "Does anybody want anything?" you asked and hoped Joost would say something or offer to come with you to the bar.

"Actually, I'll go with you," Ski Aggu offered instead.

"Alright," you smiled and you two headed off to the bar.

The bar was incredibly crowded and you could already tell that you would have to wait a while until the bartender would get around to take your orders. You leaned against the counter.

"So, does Joost visit here often?" you asked and immediately regretted it as it came out way too obsessively as you had intended to. Aggu laughed.

"Why do you want to know?" he asked amused.

"I don't know, just because I don't live here as well," you tried to casually explain.

"Yeah, well, he's working on new music currently, so he comes here a lot," Aggu said and paused as he seemed to contemplate for a moment. "Joost is cute, right?" he tested you. Blood rushed to your head.

"I suppose," you shrugged nonchalantly.

"Nah, come on, he's very cute, we can agree on that," Aggu pushed jokingly.

"I imagine most girls would agree," you said.

"Maybe, but I'm talking about you," Aggu said and poked your shoulder as he said the last word. "Do you think he's cute?" he asked again. "Or sexy or dreamy or whatever?"

"Yeah, I think Joost is very cute," you blushed. "Is it obvious?" you asked.

"Well, I think Mel mentioned how you're not a smoker when we first met and suddenly Joost is here and all of a sudden you're out with him for a smoke every hour or so," he teased and you hid your face behind your hands in embarrassment.

"Oh god," you groaned.

"Nah, come on, it doesn't matter," Aggu said. "Nothing to be embarrassed about," he insisted and removed your hands from in front of your face.

"Yeah, but Joost definitely doesn't like me," you explained with a saddened expression on your face. Aggu raised an eyebrow.

"How do you know that?" he inquired.

"I don't know, I just feel like he's deliberately treating me like a friend, you know, in a very platonic way only," you tried to explain. "Like he's very persistent about me just being a friend - if that," you said. Aggu looked sceptical.

"Listen, I don't know if Joost likes you back but I do know that he's a little awkward about flirting and expressing his feelings and whatever," he said. "He might need a little help to push him along," Aggu said with a knowing smile. You looked at him with a confused expression on your face. "You can say no to this if you want, but I have an idea for us," Aggu said and you nodded, indicating for him to keep going. "What if we both do a little thing to make Joost jealous?" Aggu proposed and your heart started racing.

"What do you mean?" you asked.

"Let's just try for tonight to spend a lot of time together, laughing a lot, sitting very close to each other, touching, flirting and just rubbing it in Joost's face that you're having a great time with me?" Aggu explained. "In fact, I saw Joost looking over at us standing here a few times already," Aggu pointed out and you looked over to the table where all your friends were sitting and as your gaze crossed Joost's eyes he immediately averted the gaze and looked in another direction. "We've got nothing to lose, either way the outcome, we'll just have a fun evening together," Aggu concluded.

You contemplated Aggu's idea for a second before you decided that he was right - you had nothing to lose. Aggu obviously was a nice and handsome guy so you wouldn't mind having a fun evening with him as well.

"Alright, it's a deal," you said with a smile and extended your hand before Aggu took it for a handshake.

"Alright, let's start with me buying you a drink," Aggu grinned and moved to stand closer to you. You casually rested your hand on Aggus bicep as you kept talking until the bartender finally took both of your orders.

"Is this okay?" Aggu asked as his arm wrapped around your waist to hold you.

"Yes," you said and you wondered whether Joost could see you right now, what he would feel at the sight of you two being so close to one another. "Thanks for the drink," you said and cheered your cup to Aggu's after you got your drinks.

"Scoot over," Aggu directed Joost as you got back to your table. You could read a confused expression on Joost's face for just a second before he darted his eyes back and forth between you and Aggu quickly. As Joost moved over from his spot Aggu could now sit beside him and you could take your seat beside Aggu.

As you were talking with Aggu you made an effort to seem careless and laugh at every joke he made, softly grazing his arm if the chance occurred or bite your lips as you watched his face. It took everything in you to look to the left of Aggu to check on Joost. You were so desperate to see whether he was fazed by your spiel. But you knew you needed to ignore him for the time being. Aggu took the biggest leap so far when he casually wrapped his arm around your shoulders to bring you closer to him as you giggled.

"Alright, I'm going for a smoke," Joost announced almost immediately after. Aggu's arm dropped from your shoulder as you both had to move over to let Joost out of the booth. After Joost got out he stood there for a moment looking down at you with a blank expression. Did he wait for you to join him for a cigarette as you always had in the past? Surely not, you thought before Joost turned around to get outside alone.

~

Joost leaned against the wall outside as his cigarette was slowly nearing its end. Usually, you would be leaning against the wall beside him as well and he would intently listen to whatever story you were telling him, always grateful that you were so good at making conversation. If it weren't for that fact you might as well would have never talked to each other. And although Joost tended to be a little quieter around you, he was hanging onto every word you said. The truth is, Joost was a little shy around you because you mattered to him. Because he liked you, he was way too afraid to mess something up. So he stood back instead.

But now he was cursing himself for doing so. Because apparently now you had enough of him and instead you were attached at the hip with Aggu. And the situation was made worse by the fact that Aggu was Joost's friend. He was annoyed at Aggu for snatching you away from him but he knew he shouldn't feel angry and instead be happy for his friend.

Joost flicked his cigarette to the ground and stumped it out before he decided to get back inside. As he looked over to the table where you and your friends sat he caught your gaze. You were sitting on Aggu's lap, your arm wrapped around his shoulders. Joost stood still, the sight really making him not want to sit back down beside you. Aggu leaned into you and whispered something into your ear as you were still looking over at Joost who couldn't hide the sad expression on his face.

Joost felt uncomfortable and looked down at his phone before he decided to step out again instead of sitting back down at the table. Time for another cigarette or just maybe go back home already. As Joost lit the cigarette in his hand, the door to the bar opened again and you stepped out into the cold.

"Hey," you said softly.

"Hey," Joost replied with a nod. "Want one?" he asked and held out his hand with his pack of cigarettes. Your arms were crossed in front of your body because of the temperature. You looked down at his offer before you declined.

"You know I usually don't smoke," you admitted.

"Really?" Joost asked with a raise of an eyebrow. "That's news to me," Joost said although it really shouldn't come as a surprise to him as he noticed that you never carried your own pack of cigarettes.  

"I know," you laughed. "Are you having a good evening?" you asked.

"Not really," Joost admitted honestly.

"How come?" you asked and Joost didn't answer. Instead, he just shrugged as if it wasn't a big deal. You could feel an aura of sadness radiating from him and you suddenly felt really bad for the spiel you and Aggu had been doing tonight. Although you still didn't know how Joost felt about you, you wondered if you had somehow contributed to his bad mood tonight.

"How long are you staying in Berlin for?" Joost asked after he released a puff of smoke.

"Another two days," you said. "You?" you asked in return.

"'M leaving next week," Joost said. "You should come back soon," Joost tried nonchalantly, giving you a sign that he cared about you in some way.

"You think?" you said with a smile.

"Yeah, you're fun to have around," Joost said.

"Well, I'm sorry if I haven't been around you tonight a lot," you said earnestly.

"It's fine," Joost said. If he had the confidence of Aggu, Joost would only have to take one step forward to engulf you in a kiss. "Can't blame Aggu," he said and immediately realised the implication of his words. He looked up at you again and saw a smirk on your face.

"You know me and Aggu aren't actually-," you tried to explain. "We're just friends," you said and Joost could feel a blush creeping on his face.

"Oh?" Joost said.

"Yeah, I'm interested in someone else actually," you said.

"Oh," Joost stated.

"If only he would notice already," you said and looked Joost deeply in the eyes.

"Maybe he's too shy," Joost offered.

"He doesn't have to be," you said and stepped towards Joost. You reached out for his hand and took the cigarette before you put it to your mouth to take a drag. As you let it fall to the floor Joost slowly and carefully reached out his arm to your hip without actually laying his hand on there. You stepped just a little closer until his hand touched your hip and you were standing so close you had to look up to him. "He could just kiss me," you said and it wasn't long before Joost leaned down, his hand finding the back of your neck, and his lips attached to yours.

You approvingly hummed into the kiss. Joost's lips tasted of beer and smoke but it was a divine taste to you as your lips started moving against each other in sync. You rested your hands on Joost's chest where you could feel his calm breathing. Joost's hands tangled in your hair as your lips parted to taste each other on your tongue. Your head was spinning, heart racing as you finally got what you had been looking for since the night you first met Joost.

As you pulled back from the kiss Joost cupped your face and looked down at you with a sheepish grin on his face.

"We should've done this way sooner," he stated.

"That's what I've been saying!" you laughed before you leaned back in for another kiss.

[its-avalon-08]

hearts intertwined (hamilton x sister! driver!rosberg) p15

chapter 15: dirty laundry

series masterlist

avaspeaks - im soooooooooooo sorry i havent updated this series in so long. school is a bitch <3 anyway here is pt15!

Y/N marched Lewis, still bewildered by the sudden change of scenery, towards her living room. Before he could protest, she shoved him gently inside and slammed the door shut. The sound echoed in the quiet room, punctuated by the click of the lock.

Lewis turned around, a frown creasing his brow. "Y/N? What's going on?" (oh y/n you little shit!!!)

Just then, the back door opened, and Nico walked in, his face a mixture of surprise and apprehension. His gaze flickered between Y/N, who was leaning against the doorway with her arms crossed, and Lewis, who stood frozen in the middle of the room.

"Nico," Lewis breathed, his voice barely a whisper.

Nico's jaw clenched. "Lewis," he replied curtly, the years of unspoken tension hanging heavy in the air.

Y/N pushed herself off the door frame and walked into the living room, her gaze unwavering.

"You two," she began, her voice firm, "are going to stay here and talk. Until you actually communicate like adults, this room becomes your prison."

Nico scoffed. "Y/N, this is ridiculous."

Y/N ignored him, her focus solely on Lewis. "And you, Lewis," she said, pointing a finger at him, "don't even think about using your charm offensive on me. This isn't about excuses, it's about accountability."

With that, she turned and walked out, leaving the two men staring at each other in stunned silence. The silence stretched, thick and heavy with unspoken emotions. Finally, Nico broke the tension.

"So," he said, his voice laced with bitterness, "here we are. Back under the same roof, forced to face the wreckage of what used to be a friendship."

Lewis let out a shaky breath. "Nico, I…"

The words wouldn't come out. Shame and regret choked him, a bitter taste in his mouth.

Nico wasn't finished. "Don't even try with those empty apologies, Lewis," he spat. "We both know actions speak louder than words. And your actions, for years, spoke volumes."

"Nico, please," Lewis pleaded. "We were both at fault. The pressure, the competition…"

Nico cut him off, his voice rising. "The pressure? Don't you dare try to use that as an excuse! We were brothers, Lewis. Brothers! And all you cared about was proving you were better."

Tears welled up in Lewis's eyes. "It wasn't just about that, Nico. We were both consumed by winning, by proving ourselves."

"But at what cost, Lewis?" Nico roared, his voice cracking with emotion. "At the cost of our friendship? Were those trophies worth the silence, the animosity? Was it worth losing what we had?"

Lewis looked away, unable to meet Nico's heartbroken gaze. The memories flooded back – the sly tactics, the suspicious accusations, the simmering resentment that poisoned their bond. He realized now the magnitude of his actions, the depth of the wound he had inflicted on their friendship.

"No," Lewis whispered, his voice thick with shame. "No, it wasn't worth it."

A sob escaped Nico's lips. He ran a hand through his hair, his face etched with pain. "Then why, Lewis? Why did you let it go that far?"

Lewis looked up, his eyes red-rimmed. "I…" he stammered, struggling for words. "I didn't know how to stop it, Nico. We were caught in a current, and we just kept getting pulled further and further apart."

Silence descended again, this time laden with a heavy sadness. The weight of years of unspoken hurt hung over them, a suffocating cloud threatening to consume them.

Nico paced the room, his voice raw with emotion. "Don't tell me you didn't know," he spat. "We were teammates, Lewis. We were supposed to have each other's backs. Instead, you guarded every strategy like a state secret, second-guessing every move I made."

Lewis flinched at the accusation, his own emotions rising to the surface. "It wasn't just me, Nico! You were the same. Remember Baku? Remember how you…?"

He stopped himself, the memory of the infamous collision still fresh in his mind. Before he could finish his sentence, Nico interjected.

"Baku? Don't even try to play the victim, Lewis! You squeezed me out like a bug, desperate to steal the lead. It was a reckless move, and it almost cost us both the race!"

Their voices rose, accusations flying back and forth like verbal missiles. The years of pent-up frustration and anger finally erupted, a torrent of raw emotion that tore at the fragile truce Y/N had imposed.

"This is pointless!" Lewis shouted, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "We're just rehashing past mistakes. It won't change anything!"

Nico stopped pacing, his eyes blazing with a mixture of anger and hurt. "Maybe not," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "But maybe acknowledging those mistakes is the first step towards… whatever this is supposed to be."

For a moment, their eyes locked, the intensity of their gazes mirroring the storm raging within them. Then, slowly, the anger began to recede, replaced by a profound sense of exhaustion. Tears welled up in Nico's eyes, spilling over onto his cheeks.

"We were supposed to be more than just teammates, Lewis," he whispered, his voice thick with unshed tears. "We were brothers. Remember that day at McLaren, when we promised each other we'd win the championship together? Remember how we celebrated every victory, shared every heartbreak?"

Lewis's own vision blurred. He remembered those days, the camaraderie they once shared, a stark contrast to the animosity that had poisoned their relationship for so long. Shame washed over him, a bitter tide threatening to drown him.

He walked towards Nico, each step heavy with the weight of regret. "Nico, I…" he began, his voice choked with emotion. "I'm so sorry. I let the competition, the pressure… I let it all come between us."

Nico didn't move, his gaze fixed on a point on the floor. "And me," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "I was so focused on proving myself, on beating you… I forgot what mattered most."

The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. Tears welled in both their eyes, threatening to spill over. Nico wiped a stray tear angrily, his voice cracking as he spoke.

"Do you remember that summer, Lewis?" he said, his voice barely a whisper. "The one before we started karting? We spent every day glued to each other, building ramps in your backyard, dreaming of becoming the next Schumacher."

A flicker of a smile touched Lewis' lips, a fragile memory surfacing from the depths of their fractured past. "That summer…" he breathed. "We built the most epic ramp ever, convinced it would launch us to the moon."

Nico managed a choked laugh, a hint of warmth returning to his eyes. "We crashed spectacularly, of course. Remember how your dad spent the whole week patching up our cuts and bruises?"

Lewis' smile morphed into a wistful grin. "And Mom scolded us for being reckless, but we were heroes in our own eyes. We were invincible."

The shared memory hung in the air, a bridge between their present and a past filled with innocence and unwavering support. But the bridge was fragile, easily shattered by the harsh realities of their rivalry.

"Then came karting," Nico said, his voice turning bitter again. "The competition, the pressure... it changed everything."

"It did, didn't it?" Lewis replied, a wave of regret washing over him. "We became obsessed with winning, with proving ourselves to everyone, including each other."

Tears streamed down Nico's cheeks now, falling unchecked. "We used to dream together, Lewis. We used to celebrate each other's victories as if they were our own. We were a team, remember? A team fueled by passion, not by a relentless need to dominate."

Lewis watched Nico's silent breakdown with a heart that ached. He took a tentative step forward, his voice thick with emotion. "Nico, I… I miss that. I miss the way things were before."

Nico looked up, his eyes filled with a mixture of pain and longing. "Do you, Lewis? Or do you just miss having someone to push you, someone to elevate your game?"

The accusation stung, a harsh reminder of the poisonous competition that had driven a wedge between them. Yet, Lewis knew there was truth in Nico's words.

"Both," he confessed, his voice barely a whisper. "I miss the competition, yes, but most of all, I miss my friend. The friend who understood me like no one else, the friend who believed in me even when I doubted myself."

A flicker of hope sparked in Nico's eyes. He stepped forward, mirroring Lewis' movement. "There's still a part of me who misses that too, Lewis," he admitted. "But can we rebuild the trust we broke? Can we move forward from the hurt we inflicted on each other?"

Lewis met his gaze, a spark of determination flickering in his own. "I don't know, Nico. But I'm willing to try. We owe it to ourselves, to the memories of who we once were."

The tension in the room began to ease, replaced by a fragile hope. The path to reconciliation might be long and arduous, filled with the ghosts of past mistakes. But for the first time in years, both Lewis and Nico acknowledged the pain, the loss, and the possibility of a future where their bond wasn't defined by rivalry, but by the enduring strength of their shared past.

credits for gif - @lewishamiltongifs

taglist: @laura-naruto-fan1998 , @xoscar03 , @torossosebs , @jajouska , @lindsayjoy444 , @barcelonaloverf1life , @charli123456789, @heyheyheyggg

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[theshy1sout]

Okay, so

I finally got my bf into reading Homestuck. I was on a phone call with him as he read it at loud, voice-acting and stuff, while I was drawing. Today he reached the Dave first appearance and he discovered Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff.

You have to understand that I always thought that this comics was just a stupid joke that only Hussie understands and finds funny. Bc the moment I saw the page with the dog (you know which one) I left the comics and never looked at it again. Until today.

My boyfriend read every single page of Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff in complete silence. I asked him what's wrong, and he said "This is extremely sad". I was confused so he started explaining to me how this comics is a way little Dave was coping with trauma of living with his abusive brother. I didn't believe that, so I started reading the comics again and you know what?

Imagine adult Dirk, being completely under Lord English control, going shopping with little Dave and destroying supermarket in frustration of not finding anything that Calliborn would recognize as a food, being arrested by police in process and leaving little Dave alone hidden somewhere in the shop.

Imagine little Dave being pushed from the stairs so many times by his bro, he drew a caricature of himself pushing his bro off the stairs in revenge. Or being regularly beaten so hard and often, so he drew comics in which his brother got beaten up, shitted on and even brutally killed.

Imagine little Dave being so hungry (bc of course brother didnt give him proper food) he literally threw himself at a Subway sandwich machine during idk a walk with his bro (probably) and tried to steal some food or even just smell the actual normal food and while doing so got abandoned by his brother. Again.

Of course we can't interpret this way every single page of Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff, but come on, if you start seeing it, you cant stop sensing that every single page is either a way Dave coped with a traumatic experience or a way he kind of got revenge on his brother in a way his brother wouldn't understand and notice and beat him up for doing so.

I searched internet for so long and can't find a single person who would interpret it this way. Am I wrong though??

It gets better. As we know, Dave from universe B also drew this comic. And we even got a directly explained to us interpretation: he started drawing it as a simple comic (probably to cope with the loneliness). Then when Batterwitch became a real danger and he saw that but couldn't react directly, he started using his comics as a way to show what Betty Crocker was really like. So we also had this two characters, one represented Betty Crocker and the second one represented society, and they had this very abusive relationship that had references to situations in real life in Universe B.

So my theory (or more like my bfs theory) is that Dave from universe A was using his comics for the same exact thing. He drew situations from his life in a unreadable for others way (and also no one taught him how to draw or write, and maybe later he kept the shitty format so it's unreadable and too shitty for his brother to read) to cope with trauma. We see in this comics that Sweet Bro is shaving himself above Jeffs face while he sleeps, a thing that Dave's bro could definitely do. We see some pages of Dave trying to understand sport, economy and politics in his own way, bc his brother of course didn't teach him shit. And we even got a page that might suggest that Dave was sexually molested by his bro. There are many scenes of Bro being abusive to Jeff or Jeff getting his revenge. We also have Geromy, a possible interpretation of John, and on one page Jeff (Dave) tries to come to Geromy's (John's) place to visit him, but he can't and he drowns instead (which is so sad???).

I could go through every single page with this interpretation. I think some pages being a foreshadowings for what is happening later in Homestuck is just an additional joke, Hussie loves having layers of meta twists and many unrelated things relating or referencing each other for no reason. I don't think the comics is Dave's unconscious traveling through time and revealing the future, bc if so then we would see every single page of Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff being a foreshadowing, and they are not. I also think that the huge wink to the audience was the scene of Dave being pushed by his bro down the stairs and we see him falling with accompaniment of a little panel of Jeff saying "I warned you about the stairs, bro". For me this is a visible hint that this is what this page of the comics was about, it was a way of coping with trauma, it was Dave drawing his brother falling down the stairs and himself saying probably a line that his brother irl was saying to him a lot.

Dave drew his life. His own horror of a life and it was probably more terrifying than he revealed in act 6.

Do you remember the iconic "bro hug" from Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff? A hug from his bro, sth that Dave really needed and wanted, a simple hug that he was very nervous to asked for, he literally drew himself hugging his brother in his second comic, and then we have the very same scene of Davepeta and Arquius hugging (part of them was Dave hugging Dirk, even if artificial), and then we have the exactly opposite of the scene between actual Dave and Dirk, when instead of enthusiastic "we're doing it bro, its happening, were making it" it's Dave saying "fuck forgive me for what I'm doing, this is so messed up fuck" and it's not even full embrace like in his comic, it's awkwardly side by side hug when they didn't even sit on the same level (like in the comic or with sprites), no, Dave is lower, he's smaller, he's scared, he cant face his brother, he wants to but he can't and this is just aaaansnanbska dmnsksnsdkydykdky

Can someone talk about this comic more? This flashy shitty documentary of Dave's life drawn by idk maybe 8 years old Dave ? The more I read Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff, the more depressed I am, cause this is so sad if I'm right about it. I really wish it was just stupid colorful comic without any deeper meaning, just faking to have one or sth....

Also I think Geromy is black bc either Dave didn't know how John looks like so he imagined him being somewhat similar to his fav president Obama or maybe he was just trying to make John's character as unlike John as possible so no one would suspect a thing. Or maybe he just imagine himself being friends with young Obama, who knows.

After editing this chaotic rambling I have two more things as a prove for my theory. One is picture above, and second is what Hussie said about Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff:

“SBaHJ is absolutely inseparable from HS, and has been almost from the start. If you don't understand this, then you don't understand HS very well. SBaHJ is like the mentally handicapped step brother of MSPA, requiring special attention, but no less cherished as a part of the family. It was originally intended as the chief source of in-house memes for dialogue, but this is ultimately a superficial purpose. Though it only has 20+ strips, it contains a pretty dense and internally consistent language of recurring symbols and typo-driven grammars, applicable as a rich sub-cognitive lexicon for highlighting elusive elements woven into the mythology of the story which tend to be shrouded in the unconscious.”

[hitlikehammers]

if you can’t write your own necronomicon, store-bought is fine 🪦

(not ideal but: fine) — 1/3

for @klausinamarink, who prompted 'NECROMANCY' at the @steddiesummerexchange

Steve wants this clear, on-the-record, absolutely fucking crystal, okay?

It was not his intention to snoop through Eddie’s shit.

It’s not even a ‘respect for the dead’ thing. It’s just a ‘be a decent dude and don’t go through another dude’s personal stuff’ thing.

So like. Just to be clear.

It does not start out the way it…ends up.

——————

How it does start out is this notion that gets stuck in Steve’s head about the fucking gravestone they’re putting up. He hates the idea of it being installed over nothing, just plopped atop grass and dirt and just, just…nothing.

Almost like they’re saying Eddie was somehow nothing, and when the overall notion hits on that thought specifically Steve has this simultaneous urge to break a window and vomit, and it’s just, it’s not—

He needs to find a way to curb that feeling.

He hates it enough to mention it to the others, who don’t get it. At all. Maybe because it’s Steve, and they don’t think he knew Eddie enough to be this…this. Maybe because it’s Steve and that’s not Steve’s role, is it? Having the feelings. And if Steve was in a clearer frame of mind, maybe he’d be able to wonder if the people he’s asking just can’t handle what he’s asking, can’t process more of…any of it, not right now.

But he’s not. In a clearer frame of mind. He can’t process, either, beyond the kind of fucking all-consuming need to not bury nothing under Eddie Munson’s name.

So he buys a casket. Anonymously, uses his dad’s business card. Ships it to the place he knows is doing the stone, there’s really only one option in town and maybe they’ll be confused, or maybe they’ll be pissed, but Steve makes sure when it arrives that it sits on their doorstep, moves it in the night when it gets dropped after hours: unavoidable. Unignorable. Black on the outside and red on the inside, but Steve moves it all by himself and it’s still too light. It’s still empty. It’s not quite nothing.

But fuck if it’s enough.

The only two people he’s tried to broach the subject with—or who’ve heard him in the process—and who haven’t brushed him off are Robin, and that’s because she’s his soulmate, and they haven’t slept without one another in arm’s-reach at the absolute most since they lost—

Well. Since.

The second person is Eleven, and she’d just overheard Mike scoffing and Dustin blinking silently, and Steve had known when to leave a battle that couldn’t be won because it wasn’t even gonna be fought, but he had caught her with a crease between her eyes. Her face scrunched all thoughtful. Listening.

And if nothing else: not dismissing.

So when the idea strikes—not manic, it’s not a manic sort of idea, maybe it’s close, like in the ballpark of manic but hotdogs and millionaires are also in the same ballpark at the same time, y’know, and they’re nothing alike so fuck you—but when the not-manic idea strikes to put something, something that means something, that carries literal and figurative weight, inside that casket?

He tells Robin, who looks at him with sadness but not with pity, and who asks how they’ll manage it, rather than trying to talk him out of it. He’ll never get over how lucky he is to have her; never learn words that live up to how much she means to him.

But also: it’s good that all she does is ask how. Because Steve actually has that figured out.

He heads to Hop’s cabin when he knows both he and Joyce are gone. He explains in simple but plain terms, the kind he’s learning El appreciates best and processes easiest, especially when feelings are involved. And these feelings she grasps without hesitation, and fills in Steve’s vague ideas with concrete plans, and it takes less than twelve hours to see them at Forest Hills, where the government still hasn’t moved that goddamn trailer to give anyone any semblance of closure but definitely finds the time and manpower to put up new tape around the scene whenever it’s tampered with, fuck those motherfuckers all over again and—

Right. Well.

It takes less than twelve hours for El to distract the guards with a very minor fire on the other end of the park and some suspicious-sounding chittering she bets right on piquing their attention, giving Steve and Robin the in to sneak around the barriers and find their quarry: the version of the Warlock that never saw the Upside Down, knocked to the floor but in one piece. Weighty.

Something that means something, to mourn in the ground.

Robin’s peeking out the window, checking if the coast is clear for them to jet, for Eleven to ease off and meet them back at Steve’s car to go back to their evenings like nothing ever happened, save for the guitar in Steve’s trunk and at her signal Steve makes to follow with said guitar slung awkward across his back but then something…something pulls in him. It’s not even a catch from the corner of his eye or some shit, no, he feels it in the center of his chest:

What if it’s not enough?

So he grabs as many of the books scattered on the floor around a cracked and quaked-apart shelf in the corner as he can fit between both arms, all sorts and shapes and sizes, and then he’s ignoring Robin’s raised brow and crawling as quiet as he can back out of the trailer, out of the half crime scene, half quarantine zone, and running for the trees to get back to where they parked.

El’s waiting for them, and as he drives, honestly?

Steve thought he’d feel better about things, now. He thought this would start to calm that nauseous rage in him.

Maybe once it’s in the casket. Maybe once he feels the heft of it as a real thing.

Maybe.

——————

It would probably be logical to think that it’s the weight of the guitar that makes the shift, that turns the tides.

But that’d actually be a goddamn stupid thought because nothing about any of this—this town, what lies beneath it, the war they’re fighting the battle they lost, Steves fucking life now at large—none of it is logical, Jesus Christ. The guitar. What a fucking dumb idea.

Because it’s the books, of course.

It’s the goddamn books.

Because the guitar helps but it’s not enough. Steve tried his fucking hardest to lift Eddie’s body, had him in his arms but the gates were closing, the rope half-assed at too short after he’d cut Dustin off and with all of their wounds even Robin and Nancy—both with more upper body strength then you’d think—were basically fish in a fucking barrel and Steve was in worse shape but fuck if he didn’t get them out, get everyone out but—

He’d been the last, with Eddie. He’d felt the heft of that body, too cool against his chest but not cold, not yet—not dead weight, not dead weight, he was a person, he was this incredible person Steve was only just getting to know and he was, now he was—

No one had been unscathed to the point of being able to help Steve up. Steve had had the kind of shocking sort of clarity for being ready to stay with Eddie as the gate sizzled and narrowed, no man fucking left behind, right, but for the screaming growing ever more shrill for each failed attempt Steve made at holding Eddie different, at trying to get up and over the threshold together to no avail: he made the call the rest of them were screaming of him to make, despite the messiest fucking tears:

Leave him. He’s already gone. You’re not.

He knew how much Eddie weighed to carry, is the point. And the man was a lanky fucker with a little more build to him than first glance gave away but still: the guitar does barely half the work of filling the void.

Though the exact void Steve’s trying to fill might be…it might be more complicated than just the fucking casket not being empty.

But the casket does need more than just the instrument.

He sorts through the books he grabbed blindly; they all must at least be ones Eddie liked but…The Lord of the Rings. There are three of those, right? I feel like there are at least the three, and there are three right here that look so well loved they can’t not have meaning; Steve wanted to read them. He won’t be quick enough to read these copies, though, and that does feel like such a fucking loss, and that’s the point, isn’t it?

The grave can’t be empty. It can’t be meaningless. The marker’s meant to bear the loss.

They’re big, like, thick fucking books—one of about a hundred reasons why Steve hadn’t picked them up before. And no, he’s not…he’s not going to dwell on the why behind the way he lets his fingers flip the pages slow, stop here and there and drag the nail-tip across a line, a paragraph, wondering what some of the words mean, what Eddie would have thought of them, if he were here to ask—

There needs to be more weight. He shoves the trilogy to the side and grabs for…oh.

Oh, these are the…manual. Thingies.

For the dragon dungeons.

He lifts one, tests it: not as heavy. But there…there are a lot, and—

And Steve’s opening them too, flipping slow just the same: wondering. Wishing he could have a running commentary alongside that boundless energy even in the face of the end of the world, maybe because of the impending doom of the end of the goddamn world and Steve, walking shoulder to shoulder with him in those fucking death woods, he, it was, they—

“He was right,” Steve remarks, and realizes belatedly that it’s the first words he’s said to Robin where she’s flicking through a stack of books much quicker than him, clinical: all about the weight for the casket but Steve’s stuck on a page that takes him back to a conversation he heard only half of, the kids trying to catch Eddie up, trying to describe what they all call demogorgons and Eddie muttering under his breath about how that sounded absolutely fucking not like a demogorgon, and there a drawing right here, black and white and:

“They look nothing like they do in the game.”

Robin meets his gaze and still—somehow—her eyes are sad but they don’t pity him. Not yet, at least.

He’ll take it.

“Nothing in these is even really, like, connected,” Steve mumbles as he flips, flinches at the marked up pages on Vecna, Jesus fuck; “or workable,” he looks at the Mind Flayer and cringes, feels the urge to hide those pages from Robin even if she isn’t close, then decides to play it safe for probably irrational reasons and tosses the book to the side and grabs blindly for another one, oh cool, this looks like…spells and shit: “like, none of this looks apple,” Steve bites his lower lip, the word he’s looking for a little fuzzy when he’s scanning over the words on the page, because they’re, they’re not; “not even applicable, y’know, in reality,” but that’s vague, they’ve set foot in more than one reality, so does that even count as a caveat anymore but then, but then—and what they fuck is his heart pounding all of a sudden, he’s just sitting down, that’s not; but then;

“Or else, not for the Upside…”

His voice gives, peters out. His pulse is thick in his throat. He’s staring so hard at nonsense, at fantasy, at, at useless pretend things that won’t change anything, won’t fucking help, and why does it all hurt in his chest so fucking much and—

“Right?”

He looks up and Rob’s already got eyes on him. He can’t imagine how he looks. His vision’s a little…blurry, and it doesn’t even feel like it’s from tears, which…it does feel like it should be—but she might have crossed over to watching him with pity, now. He wouldn’t be able to tell.

But either way: Robin knows him, down to the cells. She knows the question he speaks out loud isn’t the question he’s asking. He’s not asking for reassurance, or confirmation. He’s not even asking her an opinion. He’s sure as shit not asking for permission.

Because he’s dizzy. His heart’s pounding, and he’s fucking dizzy, and it’s nonsense, it’s not real, it’s all a stupid game and the names don’t even match—

But. All of it was real. In some way, it was real.

It’s not an exact science, not a perfect match: it never was. But that wasn’t the point. It was a roadmap. It was a way to process the unfathomable enough to get from point A to point B.

And looking at the words on the page where his fingertip is drawing a long below: he can’t…not wonder. And if he’s already set on wondering, then fuck, fuck—the rage in his chest is easy, his heart doesn’t feel so squished and his might not sick up his lunch for the first time after trying to eat more than a peanut butter sandwich from the community hub. There’s something in this. It’s what he’s been searching for. He reads the words again, again, and again and yeah, they’re absurd, they’re absolutely insane:

RAISE DEAD

But maybe…maybe they’re a roadmap. Inexact but…but up to the task. What if.

They can’t not…try.

Steve will not live with himself if they don’t try.

🖤✨🖤 join the tag list below or follow #store-bought necronomicon for updates

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divider credits here and here

💫 ao3 link here

[derww]

Zam&Mapicc (castle arc) + Subz cameo

TW: Abuse, violence, deaths

***

There is a problem: his castle is not safe.

Each of its walls is finished and reinforced. The stone bricks are pushed closely into each other, treated, and smeared with clay. The gate is strong and made of a metal alloy. With the right resistance, the castle could withstand an hours-long siege by enemies, but he still never closes the gate.

It makes no sense for him to fence himself in. His worst enemy is already inside the walls.

He goes up the stairs, breaks one of the walls, and passes to the neighboring tower, which has no alternative paths to it. His secret tower, where he used to hide, think, and place signs. His hand, tugging at the door handle, is shaking a little.

Mapicc is not here – of course he is not, he saw him leave; he would not have returned so soon. Since the last time Zam was here, there is even more blood on the floor now – already old, darkened, and dried, with almost fresh blood smeared on top of it. It's not his blood. It's not Mapicc's blood either. 

The red blanket is pulled down and crumpled – my God, he really sleeps here, a panicked realization comes to mind. The armorstand is slightly shifted. One of the chairs is lying on the floor. Shelf...

He chokes on the words. There are books on the shelf. Adventures. Thrillers. Actions. Psychology...

Oh, my God, he brought books here, Zam thinks with horror. He throws darts. He sits on the bed, leisurely flipping through the pages. And he sleeps here. He doesn't just have a reason to come back here, he lives here. He returns here as if to his home.

This means that you can kill him in his sleep, the mind helpfully suggests to him. Don't make any sounds. Get in through the window. Cut his throat. He will respawn here. And then you can just end it all.

He doesn't always know when Mapicc is coming or leaving. He walks absolutely silently, climbs through windows, and descends from roofs, and – he swears it is real – he must have at least half a dozen tunnels in the walls and underground, which meant that there was not a single condition under which he could be absolutely sure that he was alone.

Mapicc likes to scare him. Silently turn up behind his back, put a knife in his throat, knock him down. At some point, he stopped killing him, but Zam still clings to his life – he had died many times in his life, but he did not like the painfully slow bleeding, hysterically feeling how death is coming closer and closer step by step. And then – to wash the floor of his own blood, fighting the constant nausea of memories.

He steadies his breathing. He closes the door behind him. Returns the wall to its place.

He misses Team Awesome. In retrospect, it seemed to him that there was no moment where they were actually at peace with each other, but in the end, things still somehow worked. 

It was fun to defend the prison, even though they lost a lot of hearts, he was sad that they hid from him that they were a Medusa and destroyed his buildings without his permission – they could just ask, he would allow, of course he would – and throughout the dupe war, he did not leave discomfort for a moment... 

Despite all the ups and downs, he was just glad to be on the team. Both Ro and Mapicc appreciated and cared for him in their own way, and it hurt all the more to betray them. But he had to. His efforts might be useless, but he had to try, otherwise, he wouldn't be able to live with himself.

"You need proper armor," Mapicc had told him a week ago, handing him the netherite. His armor is absolutely normal, no thanks. He would never have taken duped items ever again. He couldn't afford it. Even if it meant he couldn't win.

Mapicc quickly got bored of killing him. One, two, three, and his resistance already was simply not enough to interest him even a little.  

He is a knight. He had to keep fighting. He continued to wear armor, even though it seemed no thicker than a piece of paper, and continued to take out a sword and brew potions and buy exp bottles and attack, but Mapicc saw through him – saw that he had given up. 

He didn't like it. He tried to threaten him to get a decent fight, but it didn't help. There was nothing he could do about it. It only seemed to annoy me more. The last time he stabbed him, it seems, was out of boredom, and then he just idly watched.

He didn't realize how disastrous this experience was for Zam, and he was glad of it.

The only tunnel he managed to find ran underground from the south to the north wall. The entrance was painfully elementary – scaffolding covered with snow. He could have walked by hundreds of times and not noticed, but one day he was looking at the places where Mapicc was most often, and was horrified to find that his hand was going under ground.

The tunnel was roughly hewn, but it fulfilled its task. It would take only ten minutes to dig it out. This is the reason why he was sure that Mapicc had many more of them. Otherwise, how, after all, does he move around the castle unnoticed?

No corner is safe. He may know that Mapicc is in the other half of the castle, and the next moment he is behind him, or on the ceiling, or around the corner.

This is the reason he stopped writing the signs. Even when he's sure, he knows where Mapicc is. He may be wrong. He was wrong many times. Twice, he managed to break the signs before Mapicc saw them. The third time, he was not so successful, and Mapicc was making strange references to his disturbing thoughts in red ink for another week. After that, he didn't take any more chances. Even a book would be an unsafe option, so he was left alone with his thoughts.

The thoughts were not pleasant. His best friend and worst enemy lived next door to him. The Sanctuary and the castle built on it were among a very few things that were really important to him on the server, but being here did not leave him the opportunity to hide. He didn't lock the doors, close the gates, or trap the portal simply because it was pointless. He hardly slept. He quickly got used to not sleeping.

It was all his anxiety – but was there anything strange about it? No one in this world could sleep while mobs were around, and the real monster lurked next to him in the same walls. Usually he couldn't bring himself to sleep – he wasn't ready to even think about it for the first week and eventually passed out from exhaustion in the middle of the hallway. Over time, he resigned himself, and he began to be able to snatch an hour or two of sleep at moments when the constant feeling of someone else's gaze subsided.

Twice he woke up and saw Mapicc standing in the corner of his room and just staring at him. He never did anything, just glared at him from the shadows, and when he saw that Zam was awake, he threw a sarcastic comment, turned around, and left. This, however, was unnerving enough to make trying not to die completely from exhaustion even more difficult.

This time he was right: Mapicc was not here and is returning home (?) only in another half hour. He runs into Zam in the hall and tells him in detail how he killed a person. Zam does not comment, and he eventually goes upstairs.

When Mapicc falls asleep (at least, he believes so), Zam, of course, does not go to kill him – stupid, stupid, this is an idiotic idea, it will never work and will only put him at even greater risk – despite the fact that the picture of this freezes very vividly in his head. Instead, he quietly sneaks out of his own base – he knows that he cannot escape, he knows that he will come back anyway, but he wants to see spawn and maybe restore at least a small part of it.

Spawn... It looks much better, he notices in surprise, examining what comes across his eye. Someone removed a huge part of the flying debris and put grass where there was a huge crater. The work is still underway, but progress was obvious.

Something that was the work of my team, he thinks distantly, and then turns around and sees a figure.

Even in the darkness of dusk, he recognizes Subz. The latter, distracted from placing the dirt, lazily raises his hand up.

– Hi.

[probablyanalienindisguise]

entire minute ½ of me playing heart attack simulator

It makes me both sad and afraid

So funny thing is that I've never actually beat the game, instead most of the main storyline got spoiled and I found no interest in continuing the save I had by that point because "What's the point", come back like 4 years later to my old save, find out I forgot most of what happened/ had no clue of little storylines so decided to play again simply for the characters and get more understanding of the story.

So far I've been jumpscared about 14 different times and got my ass kicked by mantis women WAY more than that (beat them though after try 17)

Galien is probably my worst dreamer enemy, still havent got him. Look he only has two attacks but they are BEATING me up 😭😭

Had Quirrel's storyline spoiled for me, and it's the only reason I'm really hesitant on killing Monomon because I don't want him gone man. He's the only one I know of what happens to though so I have maybe higher hopes for my other favorites living through the game safely.

Cloth and Tiso are probably my other favorite npcs you find throughout the game :)

I hope nothing bad happens to either of them because they're so silly and I love them. I WILL say I doubt anything will happen to the Last Stag and Lemm because they're either a shopkeeper/ transportation so I don't have to worry much about them luckily, hopefully actually.

[duskmachine]

!! CHAINSAW MAN CHAPTER 167 SPOILERS !!

the newest chapter of chainsaw man and the reaction to it is actually making me feel like i've been blasted into a wall and broke every bone in my body. chapter 167 is the cumulation of everything denji theoretically wanted. he lost everything: his family, his home, his normal life. yet, he wished to become chainsaw man and wanted to "have tons and tons of sex!!"

it's happening all over again: denji was given a family, a home, good food, a normal life. but he, in his mind, killed aki. the guilt is eating at him; "there's no way i could ever have a family. i mean, i killed my own dad." nayuta even says, "i'll fill him up with happiness... then destroy it." and denji, failed to protect his only family, nayuta, ultimately "killing" her. (at the time of this post we don't know of her status)

so what does that have to do with chapter 167? the abuse has become part of denji's heart. he has no solid understanding of familial love, just that he seems to have an instinctual want for it. the same type of instinctual want that is his sex drive. he's moving purely with his heart which is driven by desires— desires that are fulfilled by a devil.

in chapter 167 both asa and denji have been assaulted. asa was not in control and denji did not utter a single word throughout the entire interaction. both are confused teenagers who function under selfish and conflicting wants. asa, who wishes to save denji because really she wants to be revered as a hero and seem like a better person. denji, who even in the face of great loss, wants to have "tons and tons of sex" because it's the only coping mechanism normalized for men.

these are desires of the heart and these devils exist to manipulate these desires into truths that exist in the most twisted way possible. chapter 167 is horrifying, not because "fujimoto how could you draw two teenagers in a sexual situation!!", but rather because these two teenagers will be irreversibly changed from their traumatic experiences because of the world of adults. they have been forced into using tools adults weaponize against each other: literal weapons, but also concepts of "justice", "love", and "sex". denji and asa are constantly being told what to do, and even worse, forced to do the biddings of adults and devils alike.

the chainsaw man church who claims all americans are "ultra violent" is immediately met with doubt from denji because he has been exposed to real americans who have all been relatively normal (at least, according to denji's definition of "normal"). denji can think for himself, but it requires him to be exposed to healthy and safe environments that allow him to learn... just like any other kid! this applies to asa too! she has never learned how to have healthy friendships, the one friend she has ever made put the adult responsibility of "justice" onto herself and became a monster. and asa had to kill her.

kids become monsters under heavy pressure from adults and the cycle of abuse never ends. i feel deeply sad that the reaction seems so reactionary and trivial. the horror of chainsaw man is the horror every teenager has to live through.

[quibbs126]

Heya! Can you do Dark Choco Cookie and Cotton Cookie child?

So I originally misread Cotton as Cotton Candy (especially since not everyone includes the Cookie part of the name), and I’m not doing Dark Choco/Cotton, so Dark Choco/Cotton Candy it is

Anyways, this is Bubble Choco Cookie

So Bubble Choco here is somewhere in his teens, and he’s an avid poet. However he does not want anyone to read his poems, and will make sure you don’t touch his poetry journal. They’re mostly edgy or sad and they aren’t the best, but it’s how he expresses himself. He’ll just pull out his journal and pencil at random times and start writing

When he was younger, he used to be a lot more cheerful and bubbly, but as he entered his teen years, he started to act more rebellious and “dark”. He never quite gave up his fashion sense though, with his main changes just being that he wears some darker shades

He is also very fond of chocolate, specifically the aerated kind

Okay I’m gonna be honest, I don’t have much for him other than the poet angle. I just kind of decided to finally start drawing him

I also recognize that he has very little of Dark Choco in his character, as well as design, but that’s in part because of the way I envisioned this ship. For one thing, it’s in Ovenbreak so no Dark Cacao Kingdom here, Dark Choco probably just lives with Cotton Candy, and also, it’s a wholesome ship, their kid doesn’t need that much angst. And he’s a poet instead of a fighter, and if he doesn’t want to fight, I don’t see any reason for Dark Choco to teach him; Cotton Candy doesn’t seem to live in an area that requires much sword fighting or the like

Anyways, on to design stuff

So Bubble Choco is based on aerated chocolate, since it’s like a really light chocolate, and cotton candy is also light (I’m talking weight btw). Also, I’ve eaten this kind of chocolate before (I quite enjoy Aero bars), and I quite like it

I think another name I was considering was Air Choco, since it’s closer to the actual name of the ingredient, but Bubble Choco works better as a name

Aerated chocolate:

So as I said earlier, I kind of made him for the sake of making him and doing more of these, so there wasn’t a super big amount of thought out into him. I do still like how he turned out though

All I really had to go on initially was the poet angle (I didn’t even reread my old notes), and I wasn’t really sure where to go with his personality until I started tweaking his expression. He was also originally going to be a girl but somewhere in development I decided “eh, why not have him be a boy?” and there you have it

I also knew I wanted him to have black poofy hair with things in it. It was originally more of a curved line in between the ends, but I changed it when I looked at Cotton Candy’s hair more. Though I kind of wish I had kept it now. There was also an old concept I mad ages ago that also had that hair, but it was longer. Don’t know why it’s this current length

After doing the hair, I wasn’t really sure what to do with the outfit, and I kind of just made something up as I went. He’s got the poofy ends of his jacket because of the whole “bubble” thing. I wanted to give him more poofy stuff

His colors are brown and light green become the Aero bars I usually see are regular chocolate (brown) and mint (light green). The pink was added to there’d be a little more color variation

As for the thing in his eye, it’s because of Cotton Candy’s heart eyes and me liking to put stuff in the eyes in place of that. Bubble Choco’s eye thing is supposed to be a sort of reference to Dark Choco with his star, though I didn’t bother to curve it out. And as I realize now, the eye I chose is also his missing eye and the star eye of the SoD. I’d like to claim that was intentional, but it wasn’t

And anyways yeah, there you have it. Bubble Choco. Don’t really have much else to say other than I hope you enjoyed him

[barrel-crow-n]

"If you don't care about money, Nina dear, call it by it's other names."

"Kruge? Scrub? Kaz's one true love?"

"Freedom, security, retribution."

I know we joke about Kaz only caring about money, but Kaz doesn't even care about money.

Even in the exchange above, Nina calls money "Kaz's one true love" but that's literally not true and he even says so.

To Kaz, money is merely a means to an end. As is Kaz's whole life. Everything he does has a reason and this reason is vengeance. Revenge. Retribution.

Kaz's whole life revolves around taking down Pekka. He genuinely has nothing else. He stops trying with Imogen because she would distract him from his revenge. He agrees to the Ice Court job because the money would be enough to start a new gang which is a step in his plan for vengeance.

He joined a gang to become a player in the game. He became a criminal because he wanted to dethrone Pekka. He robbed and conned and stole to get to money to fund his revenge plans. He did all those horrible things so people would fear him more; to make a name for himself so that he'd be taken seriously - all to further his plans.

Kaz doesn't want an empire. He didn't want a family although that's what a gang is supposed to be. He doesn't care about being rich. All he's ever wanted since he was nine was revenge.

[forestgreenlesbian]

.

[cherry-treelane]

everytime i watch shameless I get hit with a jolt of sickness and remember how frank and monica stole fionas life from her and she'll never get it back because it never existed because she was a sister first her whole life (from the age of 4) and everything else second and its always just so casual in the show and normal and rarely touched upon but it's not normal at all and it's tragic

[corfisers]

i really need to finish this one day

[kyolypso]

NEW GREAT PRETENDER MOVIE IS SO GOOD BTW.

[soft-serve-soymilk]

Wow I love asshole gay people (things have ALIGNED in the ASTRAL PLANE and Pav is WATCHING SOMETHING?? 🤯)

[the-acid-pear]

I never tried the option myself bc it'd probably mean skipping the Reason You Suck speech at the end (fire for speedrunners though) but I Love that you can frame your Phoneys in 3, especially so if you've already killed the previous two. Like yeah couldn't send you off to die so i'll let the goverment do it for me 🧸 like its just Peak evil imo.

[yioh]

am i the only one who feels slightly annoyed when ppl draw sumeru characters with the canon skin tones lol