Devilish Deeds Abound

blackapollonia: A commission of General Terror and The...

Sun, 02 Dec 2012 23:24:38 -0500

A commission of General Terror and The Tailorbird from Superstuck! :D ♥

pavaal: To be a successful criminal, there’s no need to appeal...

Sun, 11 Nov 2012 22:56:55 -0500

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 guess.

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.

Photo

Fri, 05 Oct 2012 04:32:13 -0400

kelaruj: ok sdfkjlsdjk here are our badges finally even though...

Fri, 28 Sep 2012 04:39:28 -0400

kelaruj:

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

whew

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*

charlie-ebubbles: A super(stuck) in depth analysis of the song Person of Interest by Rebecca Black...

Wed, 26 Sep 2012 23:25:35 -0400

charlie-ebubbles:

A super(stuck) in depth analysis of the song Person of Interest by Rebecca Black pertaining to the AU Superstuck (Note: Long, and not completely finished in some parts)

Read More

(( this is beautiful and needs to be shared ))

Me personally? I think not! I did eventually develop an antisugar antidote—one might even...

Mon, 24 Sep 2012 06:05:41 -0400

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.

xxkirahoshi: I love you Jake. Don’t you love me too? You can’t...

Sun, 19 Aug 2012 18:25:19 -0400

xxkirahoshi:

I love you Jake. Don’t you love me too?

You can’t escape me! I am you!

[full]

That ludicrous flash game? Completely unrealistic! As if anything of that sort could ever happen....

Tue, 07 Aug 2012 22:10:18 -0400

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.

pavaal:

Mon, 06 Aug 2012 22:55:27 -0400

pavaal:

==> You wake up that later night, sweat-soaked and shaking, but this ‘nightmare’...

Mon, 06 Aug 2012 20:45:33 -0400

==> 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.

kelaruj: a pic I did when marzi was telling me about the idea...

Thu, 02 Aug 2012 20:07:12 -0400

kelaruj:

a pic I did when marzi was telling me about the idea behind this post

poor jake bit off more than he could chew when he decided to go after giggling gumdrop.. :B

I thought for sure that i was going to have a heart attack!

A "FML" Kind of Day

Thu, 02 Aug 2012 19:59:00 -0400

Today is not a good day to be Jake English, more commonly known to regular citizens as General Terror, the screw-up son of the infamous Lord English. Well, okay, this is definitely not the first day it sucks to be you, but it is probably the worst in a good while.

You’ve spent your time since your disassociation with The Tailorbird harassing Giggling Gumdrop instead, starting out small, of course, but growing increasingly bold at her lack of retaliation. This was going to be like Dirk Strider all over again, you assured yourself. You would rail against her, pestering her with petty schemes and foilable crimes, and she would do her best to stop you and undo your nefarious deeds. It would be a fun give-and-take relationship way better than the nemesissitude that Dirk pissed away, because this time you would face an enemy you actually stood a chance of beating more often than ‘almost never’.

At least until her mother entered the equation.

Where your father has a very hands-off approach when it comes to aiding you—he’ll send one of the Felt to rescue you if you end up in jail, but that’s about it—her mother is decidedly the opposite. Jane is publicly sponsored by Crocker Corp, and Betty Crocker makes little secret of how proud she is of her heroic daughter. She offers Jane the top of the line Crocker technology, which is surprisingly diverse considering she got her start in food. Hell, she’s so generous that Jane seems to end up refusing much of the excess, taking only what she needs and no more.

Considering the rumors of the CEO’s real personality, you have to wonder if Betty puts on the role of supportive doting mother for the media’s sake only. That would explain the disparity between a sweet mother worthy of jealousy and the cut-throat CEO who built Crocker Corp from the ground up.

In any case, you never saw her as an actual threat. Your beef was with her daughter, after all, so why would she interfere? Unfortunately, if you had kept up with the villainous gossip around town, you would have found out that you are by no means the first villain to challenge Giggling Gumdrop.

It turns out that any villain who bothers her long enough to get on her mother’s radar is quietly discouraged or, worse, disposed of by Betty’s privately-funded Crocker corps. They usually serve as her personal guard and security detail during important promotional events, but when she has a problem needing to be dealt with, she sends them to handle it.

You have become a problem.

You are also currently doing your best to avoid capture or incapacitation, which has so far proved to be an impressive feat. An ambush is admittedly not something you expected to happen when you left your lair this morning, so you are inappropriately prepared for a conflict with armed and heavily-trained forces.

To top it all off, you don’t even have Otto with you. You left him at home because of his complete lack of enthusiasm regarding your goal to provoke Jane into acknowledging you as her nemesis. You weren’t supposed to be getting into any real trouble, after all, so you told your robot to park his metal caboose right there on the couch and guard the lair. If he had any particularly snarky observations about your interactions with Jane, he could keep them to himself, thank you very much!

You now very much regret your decision to head out without him, since it will take time for him to receive the distress signal embedded in your belt and find you. Time you don’t exactly have right now.

“There he is!” An urgent shout rings out sharply behind you. “Get him!” Oh frig. They’ve found you again.

You take off in a mad dash, cape whipping wildly behind you as you skid around the corner and keep going. You run until you think your heart might burst, and then you run some more. Given the frequency with which heroes and villains interrupt daily life, hardly anyone looks at you twice. You could use that to your advantage, if only you had some place to hide…

Ah! There! You duck into the closest shop, one hand clutched over your heart as you struggle to catch your breath.

“There…” You gasp for air. “There is… no cause for alarm! I will not hurt anyone in this shop… so long as you do what I say and keep quiet!”

You finally recover enough composure to actually take a look at the store you’re maybe sort of pretending to rob, only to realize there is no one here. No one but the cashier standing behind a desk, surrounded by bushels of flowers on either side. Unluckily for you, he is not a stranger, nor is he a random citizen.

You belatedly realize that you just chose Dirk Strider’s part-time job as your key hiding place.

Well, fuck.

There’s a pause as he takes in the sight before him, a silence just short of awkward, and then he lifts his hands as though he were a victim in an actual, threatening hold-up.

“General Terror,” he states. “Think of all the funerals, weddings, and get-well-soon parties you’ll be ruining if you rob us now. Don’t be an asshole.”

Even now, after all the time you’ve spent trying to forget him and his stupid confusing apology, seeing him makes you feel flustered and just a tad uncomfortable. You flush, your cheeks heating up in embarrassment thanks to his vaguely sarcastic tone of voice.

Fortunately, you quickly remember that you are in the middle of a heated chase and thus are able to force aside your awkwardness for now.

“Shut up!” You snap, pointing irritably with one gloved hand. “Just pretend I’m not here, and I’ll be out of your perfectly coiffed hair soon enough.” You have to find a good hiding place before they realize you’ve disappeared from the streets. With any luck, they’ll poke a head in here, assume you kept running, and continue onward without you.

You glance around, hastily, for a promising spot, but apart from burying yourself in a bouquet you’re not really sure where. You turn, first this way and then the next, fidgeting and nervously chewing on your lower lip. Is this the end of the line? If you try to go somewhere else, they’ll caught you leaving the store.

He lowers his hands as you panic for a hiding place, leaning forward onto the top of his desk so his chin is resting in his palm.

“Things didn’t go quite as planned, I’m guessing.”

“What gave it away? The fact I’m out of breath from running for my life or the blinking skull on my belt?” Although the skull on your belt is normally green, when activated it flashes various colors, much like your father’s coat. “Either way, it’s no business of yours!” You are acting like a scorned ex, and you know it, but you can’t seem to stop yourself.

To say your feelings are conflicted where he is concerned is putting it very mildly.

“I just need to stall until everything blows over and Otto arrives. That’s all. I don’t need some dad-blasted off-duty hero mucking it all up even worse.” You curl your hands into fists and try your best to look haughty and dangerous. You fail at that, but you do manage to look indignant.

“Can you not yell? Look. I’m just Dirk right now. If you need a place to keep your rump out of the fire, The Tailorbird won’t be held responsible if you pop behind this desk for a few minutes.”

The desk? Of course! That’s probably the sole good hiding spot in this entire front room. You take a few steps closer to him, briefly hopeful, but then your spirits crash again.

“Right. Like Dirk Strider would let a known criminal simply ‘chill out’ behind his desk! You’ll give me up the moment they come in here.” This is entirely not fair. Why can’t Otto just show up and save you already? You cross your arms. “I’m not going to fall for it.”

“Okay. Suit yourself. I can’t make you trust me.” He stops, and then quickly tries to keep that thought from lingering too long. “The desk is here if you want it.”

You don’t want to think about it either. There was a time where you, in a weird way, actually did trust him. The two of you had something nice going on, at least in your own opinion, and you could count on him to stay within the unspoken rules the two of you set.

At least until he pchoooo’d right the hell out of those set boundaries and out of your life.

You shake your head, unhappily, and look toward the door. “This was a mistake.” And you mean that in more than one way. You shouldn’t have come in here. You shouldn’t have ever dealt with him in the first place. You don’t know what you were thinking when you first met The Tailorbird and decided he was the perfect match for you.

Unfortunately, luck is not on your side today. The sounds of pursuit, partically muffled by the building walls, become unmistakable. The tred of those heavy boots spells out your doom, unless you take the one course of action still left option to you and hope to God he isn’t a big fat lying fake.

You scramble for the desk, vaulting over to the other side and dropping into a crouch. There isn’t much room for you to work with, but you do the best you can, crawling around his legs and squeezing yourself into the space at hand. This puts you uncomfortably close to Dirk in general, considering you are practically pressed against him, but you don’t want to risk an overzealous trooper glancing over the counter and seeing your legs sticking out on the other side.

He plucks a magazine from the stack nearby and whips his phone out to create the perfect image of a simple employee who does not want to be here, and waits. If he’s going to rat you out in the end, he’s putting a surprising amount of effort into acting as though he’s here to help—that is, he’s putting any effort in at all.

“Comfy?” he asks, a quick and perhaps snarky question of concern considering the fact that, whether you’re comfortable or not, you don’t have time to move.

Indeed, it seems you made it into the hiding place just in time. The bell over the door rings as it opens, and you hear several men walk into the shop. They are definitely part of the team pursuing you; maybe they split up to check different shops? You try not to breath, putting such effort into being silent that you begin to tremble.

“Have you seen a dark-haired man with a green cape in this vicinity?” The leader of the armored trio asks sternly, his voice slightly distorted by the filter at the mouth of his helmet. You assume the helmet is equipped with a way to handle the various kinds of chemical or poisonous gases a villain or criminal could dish out.

“No.” He answers just quickly enough to be both definitive and natural; apparently he is on your side after all, at least for now. “I haven’t seen a man in the vicinity since Mother’s Day.”

One of the armed men chuckles, but is quickly shushed by one of the others. No time for fun and games when they’re on a mission, you suppose. You bite your lower lip, tense, still afraid to hope that Dirk really will keep your presence a secret.

“Are you sure?” The leader continues, clearly intent on being thorough all the same. “This man is a known criminal. If you are found to be sheltering him…”

“If I see your little LARPing buddy, I’ll be sure to let you know. In the meantime, you’re killing business by standing there and I don’t make shit as it is. Unless you need a beautiful bouquet or statuette of a goddamn fancy Santa Claus, you’ve gotta leave.”

There’s a terse silence as the men confer with each other. Finally, the leader nods.

“Thank you for your assistance.” He comments, stiffly, before leading his men out of the store.

You slowly let out the breath you’ve been holding, slumping against the inside of the desk in disbelief. Dirk didn’t rat you out after all. He kept his word.

You are so relieved you could kiss him, but he would obviously not appreciate it.

He doesn’t speak to you until they’re gone, and even gives it a few more seconds to make sure they’re not coming back, and then he steps away from the desk to let you up.

“Pretty sure they’re gone. You okay?”

You’re glad that he didn’t offer you a hand, because now you can keep what little pride you have left. You crawl out from under the desk and awkwardly stand up, almost tripping on your own cape. You straighten, brushing your shirt off.

“It was cramped, but I will definitely take that over a bullet in the face.” You’re not sure what they would’ve done to you, but physical harm was probably involved.

“Yeah.” The idea of further conversation doesn’t seem to enthrall him, but it’s not as though you don’t understand why. “Do you need to stick around for a while longer?”

“Just long enough for Otto to arrive.” You don’t dare go back outside, just in case they swing back around to double-check this street. “Although I should probably use this time to make myself a little less conspicuous, what with my villain costume and all.” Especially if they are using your outfit as a way to ID you. You clear your throat, glancing away from him. “Do you have a bathroom hidden somewhere in this flower shop?”

“Employees only.” A little smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.

Something about his smirk has your heart beating just a little faster. “Unless you want to see me strip down right here, Strider, I suggest to give me the key to that friggin’ employee bathroom.” You cross your arms, huffing at him.

There’s a comment on his tongue that almost slips out before he can stop it, but nothing more happens than the twitch of his jaw followed by thoughtful silence.

“Don’t trash it,” he says when he finally does speak, and he fishes out his key for you. “I know how you villainous types can’t resist a little mischief, but do me this solid. I have to clean it.”

“Thank you.” You wish you didn’t have to say those words, but they’re in the air before you can take them back. You accept the key, nod awkwardly, and walk over to the bathroom door. You open it. Wow, it’s a real small bathroom too. You close the door behind you, shaking your head.

Although you still wish you hadn’t had to deal with this situation in the first place, you’re almost home free. Otto should be here soon, right? You certainly hope so.

You dig out one of your more useful gadgets: a micro-sized storage cube. You press the button on the top of the box and set it down in front of you; it rapidly expands into a box the size of a small ottoman. You have several micro boxes in different shapes and sizes that you have filled with various sorts of objects, although you usually leave most of them at home. This particular one is your ‘emergency kit’, consisting of a set of civilian clothes, a first aid kit, a flare gun, a regular sort of gun, and a few other odds and ends you assume would be useful in a crisis.

You swap out your villain costume for your civilain ensemble, pulling on the familiar green jacket and a pair of khaki shorts. Although your t-shirt still technically has a skull on it, you now look harmless enough—as opposed to cartoonishly villanous—that it could be pure coincidence. The only thing you keep is the belt, which you tuck into your pocket so Otto can continue to track the signal.

You close up the box and hit the button again, restoring it to its usual tiny size. How it works, you’re not exactly sure. You received your assortment of micro boxes as a gift from one of your father’s enterprising ‘allies’ when you were a kid.

After pocketing the box, you exit the bathroom.

When you’re back in the front room of the small establishment, Dirk is—obviously—still waiting there, looking impatient for his shift end by this point. He holds out his hand for his key.

You are more than ready to part with it and get out of here, so you hand it over. Unfortunately, now that you’ve taken off your gloves, there’s no barrier to prevent your fingers from brushing his as you pull away.

Ugh, it’s like the most cliché movie gesture ever, and the last person you ever wanted to accidentally do it with is Dirk Strider! Your heart is doing that fluttery ba-bump ba-bump again, and you hate it.

He pockets the key, not unaware of the growing tension between the two of you.

“…I doubt you want to hear it, but as long as we’re here, I guess I can give you a proper apology.” He doesn’t look at you. His gaze is trained firmly forward. “I’m sorry about everything that’s been going on with us. I know I’m a few months and a shitty card too late, but I’ve been thinking.”

He shrugs and turns to you, head tilted so he’s still not looking at you directly on.

“You have enough on your plate without me giving you my leftovers.”

“Yes, you’re right. I don’t want to hear this.” Frustration bubbles up in your chest, momentarily eclipsing your flustered feelings. “You’ve already made it more than clear that you want nothing to do with me. No need to rub it in my face any longer than absolutely necessary, which I would say is about a few months and a shitty card too late.”

He’s not looking at you, so you don’t look at him. “I get it, okay? We’re not friends, we’re not enemies, we’re not… anything.” Your shoulders slump slightly, an unconscious gesture to accompany your words. “Believe me, if I could go back and do things differently, I would.”

Of course, deep down you don’t wish that you’d never met him. If you hadn’t, you wouldn’t have Otto now. But you do wish you could make it so that the pink Tailorbird never broke into the house and ruined what you had going on with the regular Dirk. It’s a selfish wish, sure, because his goals seem to include becoming a better person and straightening up his life, but your life is still a mess and now even the whole thing with Jane is going badly.

You suck. Everything sucks.

“Me too.”

With that vague and frustratingly enigmatic statement, he places his forehead on the cool, smooth surface of his desk. And then he keeps talking. “Not to give you every last living detail of my life, but I was a fucked up piece of work a few months ago. Less so now, though still pretty fucked up.”

It’s not like you can judge. You were raised by a supervillain and a crew of henchmen barely better than mobsters, and that’s just counting your childhood. You don’t know what normal is, so you can’t relate. You shake your head instead, uncertain of just what it is you’re even disagreeing on.

Maybe it’s because he always seemed like he had it all together. That’s the entire reason you based Otto on him, for frig’s sake. You just wanted someone in your life you could actually count on to get things done. To you, he never seemed like a total wreck. “I don’t think it was quite as bad as you’re saying.”

He laughs, derisively, but the laugh seems directed more toward himself than you and your apparent ignorance. “I didn’t know what I wanted back then, and I took it out on you.” He isn’t ashamed to admit it. “You didn’t deserve my baggage, Jake.”

“So then I was right? It really was all fake?” You are not disappointed. You can’t be disappointed when you didn’t feel anything in the first place. “The whole kit and caboodle, from start to finish. Our rivalry, the weird manner in which we were almost friends, that night with the pink outfit, all of it.”

You are maybe just the tiniest bit disappointed, and it definitely shows on your face. “You seem to know what you want now, at least.”

“It wasn’t fake, don’t get me wrong.” He pushes himself up, looking at you this time instead of avoiding your gaze. “I just didn’t know where I wanted to go with it, and the shit in April was an unfortunate culmination of my indecision.”

“And now?” You prompt, unable to keep yourself from asking the question, even if it doesn’t matter. Maybe you’re simply a glutton for punishment. “Have you made up your mind?”

“Yeah.” There’s hardly a beat between your question and his answer. “There are a million problems with it no matter how you look at it, but I can assure you that what I said—what the other me said back then was stone cold reality. It helped me come to grips with what’s been bugging me since I knew you, and I wish I could try again with what I know now.”

Well, yes, of course he doesn’t want to—oh. Oh. That is not what you expected him to say, at all. You thought he would help settle up your own conflicted feelings by giving you no choice but to move on, but now…

He turns around and hops up on the desk just to slide off on the other side, into the actual storefront where the establishment keeps the flowers that need to go soon. “I see the goal, I’ve overcome the hurdles, the ball is in my court and the only way to win is to sink a hole-in-one. I’m just not that good.”

“I’m terrible with sports.” You blurt out the stupidest reply possible, which also happened to be the first thing that popped into your head. “But I’ve watched sport movies, and if they have taught me anything, it’s that the underdog always wins at the last second. So, um… don’t give up hope, is what I am trying to say.”

You hastily glance away from him, convinced that he is suddenly much too close, and you are sure that your face is getting redder by the minute. “You might luck out.”

When you look away, he takes that as a cue to look off as well, and he sets to rearranging the cards—as if that’s what he was planning to do all along.

“Luck isn’t a very comforting aspect.” He fiddles with the sympathy cards, shuffling them around until they’re humorously placed. “Even the underdogs had to work for what they wanted.”

You guess you can understand that. Movies where everything is just handed to the protagonist would be boring as hell, after all. Although this is real life, not a movie. Still. Movies rock.

“But you don’t intend to throw in the towel? Or plan on entering a different league?” You’re quick to ask; you want to know for sure. You have no idea what sport you’re even talking about anymore, but you think he understands what you’re getting at anyway.

“I’m playing all four quarters of this game, Jake English.” His reply causes you to meet his gaze again, and you realize with a start that he’s smiling.

Yes! Although once i grew taller than him it became a rather frustrating game to play. He could hide...

Wed, 01 Aug 2012 23:01:58 -0400

Yes! Although once i grew taller than him it became a rather frustrating game to play. He could hide almost anywhere thanks to his short stature. And thats not even mentioning his friggin luck!

To be honest? I can probably attribute much of my childhood guidance to the felt. I sort of consider...

Wed, 01 Aug 2012 19:17:44 -0400

To be honest? I can probably attribute much of my childhood guidance to the felt. I sort of consider them akin to a gaggle of eccentric uncles and one aunt i am not allowed to bother although in truth they are my fathers top henchmen and not any biological relations of mine. When he was busy and didnt have time for me they were the ones charged with my care.

Let me assure you there were shenanigans galore!

Well anonymous adventurer i am proud to say i use this brand:It was recommended to me by a more than...

Wed, 01 Aug 2012 16:19:00 -0400

Well anonymous adventurer i am proud to say i use this brand:

It was recommended to me by a more than helpful follower who pointed out that a real villain should dominate in all things—even hair care! I am admittedly not quite sure how to pronounce the brands name but hey i got a free hair brush out of it so its all good to me!

Plus it leaves me smelling like a real man.

I certainly have my share of mixed feelings regarding this revelation. Since you yourself seem to be...

Wed, 01 Aug 2012 15:57:06 -0400

I certainly have my share of mixed feelings regarding this revelation.

Since you yourself seem to be a sort of… well… me its probably better for the both of us if you dont fear me. Then again i sure would love to have someone actually cower in front of me for once!

(( OOC ))

Wed, 01 Aug 2012 15:44:33 -0400

(( Hello everyone! Sorry for my absence, last week I suddenly found out I was going on my first business trip ever and only had two days to prepare, so amidst the hustle and bustle I never had a chance to pop on here and post a heads up. xD; ))

gigglinggumdrop: I was out running some errands, and I saw...

Wed, 01 Aug 2012 15:35:01 -0400

gigglinggumdrop:

I was out running some errands, and I saw General Terror! The nerve he has to simply run around in the open!

((I saw this General Terror cosplayer at Otakon!!!!! You made me so incredibly happy~ Yeah I’m that dork that took your pic twice because I didn’t have the SD card in my camera the first time I saw you OTL

TELL ME WHO YOU ARE SO I CAN CREDIT YOU! ♥

On another note, I’ll be back to actually posting here shortly now that Otakon is done and HSO is wrapping up.))

Villains always pop up where you least expect them!

What the frig is all this nonsense? Cease all this ridiculous graffiti at once!

Thu, 19 Jul 2012 02:06:00 -0400

What the frig is all this nonsense? Cease all this ridiculous graffiti at once!

Just to tell you, a certain Jake English page on Facebook has gotten a bunch of people into the SUPERSTUCK AU overnight.

Sat, 14 Jul 2012 16:18:00 -0400

Hey. Hey. Hey. General Terror— Sir. You’ve attacked Facebook with your Superstuck and devilishly evil plans. http://www.facebook.com/pages/Jake-English/326359110775811 Check out some of the posts, it’s pretty cool how many people have gotten into it. XD

(( Ah! I am not sure when this popped into my inbox, but confound tumblr for not alerting me to this submission. I am personally not a Facebook user — otherwise I would surely like all these pages! <3 — but this is absolutely delightful. I’m happy that Superstuck has inspired other people to play around and have fun with it too! Thanks for sharing~! :> ))