A commission of General Terror and The Tailorbird from Superstuck! :D ♥
To be a successful criminal, there’s no need to appeal to the emotions of one’s victim’s—criminality is rooted in gain, monetary or otherwise. Villainy, however, focuses on loss. The loss of hope, the loss of happiness, and in the most pedantic of cases, the loss of money.
You don’t really care.
What you do care about are those first two: you’re not here for cash, but for the utter destruction of reputation and joy both.
Jake English—General Terror, he calls himself, is the biggest fucking idiot on the wayside and you can’t stand that he lords around that title as though it belongs to him. English. It’s not his, you’ve insisted for many years, because there’s no way Lord English would have such a miserable failure for his progeny.
You hate General Terror with every fiber of your being, and with every pump of your frustrated little heart, the feeling grows, flooding like the Bible in your chest. He makes your breath falter and your vision red, red like the crescents you dig into your palms when you watch yet another—another!—botched job on the news.
He needs to die.
But it’s not enough, is it?
No. Oh, no.
It’s not enough that Jake English dies—you want to see everything that’s ever made him happy in his life ripped away, slowly, piece by piece as though you’re pulling every tear from his eye with your own shaking fingers. And, because you’ve been watching him for the better part of the year, you know just where to start.
A house will fall much faster on sand than on rock.
The Umbratic Undertaker.
It suits you.
ok sdfkjlsdjk here are our badges finally
even though I still have to laminate them and cut them out again and then add a clip
but I’m finally done drawing
time to pack stuff
If any of you fine ladies or blokes out there would like to have a chat with me personally im sure youll figure out a way to pick me out of the crowd!
*double pistols and a wink*
Me personally? I think not! I did eventually develop an antisugar antidote—one might even refer to it as a *salty* serum—but unfortunately the entire affair blew over before i even had a chance to utilize it.
Not that i would want to come off as a hero in light of saving the city from a horrid parody of itself but it sure would have been nice to outclass another villain with my superior smarts. At least i THINK it was a scheme perpetuated by another villain? Who else would cause such ruckus?
However if im truly to be honest… no one seems to know. It was said that the original disease was initially administered through a tainted batch of processed sugar. From there it spread like wildfire until it suddenly wore off and died out. Almost as if it was a test run for a more potent dosage? I certainly hope it wasnt.
I dont need a repeat of that friggin week and all the hassle it brought.
That ludicrous flash game? Completely unrealistic! As if anything of that sort could ever happen. Besides i can assure you as the actual son of lord english that he was definitely missing out by abandoning what he had for some boring old normal life.
==> But you do mean that? The way you uncertainly fiddle with the collar of your shirt and turn away from your audience suggests otherwise. That other Jake English seemed… well, happy. He woke up, he got a truly spectacular kiss, and you might be just a tad jealous because you know deep down that there will be no such escape into happily-ever-after for you.
==> You wake up that later night, sweat-soaked and shaking, but this ‘nightmare’ leaves you more frustrated than afraid. Dammit. It seems your accidental encounter with Dirk Strider hasn’t relieved you of these sorts of dreams. If anything, you swear they’re growing more common.