Have you ever seen all of our OC's in one room? Well now you have! I was thinking about a potential collab and then inspiration took over for once in a lifetime lol. I think this has two black cats and two golden retriever energy? Maybe? idk but I hope I clocked everyone's vibes correctly.
Elle belongs to @shittyelfwriter, Mel belongs to @kscribbs, and Jacqueline belongs to @safyresky. Rants under the cut!
I don't know how much of a friend group this really is, depending on how friendly Kills is that day, but it was super fun to roll around the group dynamic in my head.
I truly have no idea how functional this group actually is together, y'all are gonna have to collaborate your thoughts here, but as OVERPOWERED as they all are, the braincell situation is yet to be determined.
Also, this is the second time I've drawn Killian driving a car, which is kinda funny to me since he canonically cannot drive. Straight up doesn't know how, and yet he has been in charge of the motor vehicle twice now lol.
The group therapy idea SENT ME because EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THESE BITCHES has the most horrible trauma and ya put 'em in a room together and it sets EVERYONE back. They come out WORSE than when they went in.
In the very first image, Mel does have a book in her hand, but Elle is blocking the whole thing 😔. It was gonna be the How to be a "Bad Bitch" three volume collective set.
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I don't think it's okay to use nightow's artwork to make yourself some money selling stickers of it.
While funny edits and memes of official content are commonly made and sold by creators and I understand it is a topic of debate for many reasons, as I say in the post and on the page, it isn't about the money and I think I'd have to sell hundreds to even make much profit! I did a lot of calculations and the price is close to the supplies/costs/the size of the small print run/etc., and while I'm not the best at math, the cents leftover per sticker aren't adding up to much and--again, like I said in the post--will be spent getting leftovers in case of errors if it's enough. If someone chooses to leave a tip for running bookclub, I'm grateful, but a vast majority of people don't and that's fine and what I expect. The point is having fun and celebrating bookclub! The amount of people who wanted a sticker/badge of completion was enough that I really wanted to do something for you guys.
TL;DR: As I said in the original post, this was designed for fun, not money. Transparency is personally very important to me and I try to be as honest as I can whenever possible. Of course, I'm a stranger on the internet, you should take that with a grain of salt, but I do try to be clear about my intentions.
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I will defend anakin fucking skywalker with my life. I would go to war to defend his honor. I will scream "Anakin did nothing wrong ♡" from the highest mountaintop when I know very well he did lots of things incredibly wrong, just because I feel that strongly about him. I will argue all day why his character arc is one of the most stunning amazing glorious beautiful tragic heartbreaking arcs in all of modern media, comparable to that of Satan and the Creature. I absolutely love him despite the horrors he committed. And I will most definitely defend him being the "Chosen One" and argue that he did in fact bring balance to the Force by falling, and then again by ultimately returning to the light in RotJ (the clue is in the title).
And comparing him to Ben Swolo/Kyle Ron is the ultimate slap in the face, it's an insult to everything Anakin went through, I would even say it's an insult to Hayden and George too because of the hard work and effort that went into portraying and writing such a character. Kyle's "arc" is nonexistent, it's grade-school level writing. It's such a bonkers claim to say Kyle and Ani are on the same level, purely from a writing standpoint because where is the development, the downfall, the redemption?
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Infection
Fever, infection, bandage changing, delirium, semiconsciousness, pain medication and dog mention
[Follows Burning Up]
David was dimly aware he had been drugged. His mind couldn’t quite pin down why, but he knew there were pain meds involved. The burning ache in his leg was growing brighter as the minutes (hours? days?) ticked by, the drugs degrading and the pain getting worse.
Except now his brain was to addled with confusion and fever to rationalize why.
He was lying on something soft, something familiar. Something in the air itself was nostalgic. Seeing his little brother look down at him cemented the realization.
He was dreaming. It must have been a bad dream too if his leg still hurt so badly. David couldn’t remember why it hurt. Had Jake hurt him?
His body felt too cold, his breath too hot. His chest ached with every gasp, tears burning across icy skin. He didn’t want to hurt again. He didn’t want Jake to see him hurt. He didn’t want Jake to hurt him. Please. Not this. Not you too.
—
“I think he has a fever.” Jake replaced the damp washcloth over his brother’s forehead, dinner forgotten in spite of the smells wafting from the kitchen.
“They said he probably would.” Mr. Pinkerton took the old washcloth, warm in his hands from the heat it had soaked away from David’s trembling form. “Your mom pitched a fit about not taking him to the hospital but…”
“Yeah.” Jake breathed, not taking his eyes off the rapid shallow rise and fall of his brother’s ribs. His parents had filled in the details. Harrison and Sarah. Former spies. Assassins. Friends of his brother.
His gut twisted at the vague nostalgia of the scene, his brother sleeping fitfully on the couch while their mother made dinner. The smell of alcohol was sharper now, disinfectant tinged with blood as his father changed the bandage around his brother’s leg.
Jake tried to not look at the wound, the sight of the bloodied bandages alone were enough to make him nauseous.
“Definitely infected.” His father sighed, wrapping up the soiled bandages with latex gloves hands.
“You said Harrison called a doctor?”
“His brother-in-law, yes. They’re driving down from the Tetons though so…probably won’t get here ‘til tonight.” His father shrugged, muttering as he left the room to dispose of the medical supplies. “Wish they’d hurry up and get here already.”
It had already been a day, and David was only growing less lucid. The dog whined softly, nudging Jake’s arm and receiving a scratch behind his ears for the welcome distraction. Jake had read the dog’s vest a dozen times, and it still managed to tug a smile to his lips. Of course his brother would name his dog Meowth.
“…pl’ease…” Jake’s eyes snapped to his brother’s trembling lips, slurred and half silent words rolling off hot breath. “…mn - don’t…h…hurt…”
“I know it hurts.” Jake swallowed, voice so soft it hurt to speak. “You’re sick. But you’re going to be okay.”
David only whimpered in reply, shivering under the thick blankets.
[Before Abandoned]
(Part of my Freelancers: Post-Retirement series)
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♢ — @bogachs asked: "do you know how to tango, docteur? this is a popular dance within natlan, i'm told." he says idly, a devious smirk decorating fair features, "…perhaps i should ask capitano to help me improve my footwork. for a warrior clad in armor more often than not, he is surprisingly gifted." he lets this thought hang in the air between them, before turning towards him, bowing slightly, inviting, "unless you would grant me this dance? an enticing challenge, wouldn't you say?" (tango with pantalone dottore, i dare you.)
unprompted asks: ALWAYS ACCEPTING
INITIAL interest boiled low, though the REGRATOR is still granted more of Dottore’s attention than he would have granted ANOTHER who spoke of something of feeble interest to him. TANGO? Did he know that? It took a moment to DRAG UP the memories from where they were tucked deeply in a distant, dusty corner of his mind. It was, after all, information that was HARDLY pertinent to Dottore’s work or travels. He’d OBSERVED it, not danced it. But that was fine, Dottore was EXCELLENT at replicating things from observation.
And then Pantalone says CAPITANO’s name and his body suddenly STIFFENS. It is no subtle change either. From RELAXED to looking as taunt as a bowstring ready to SNAP at the slightest loosening of control. The name ALONE was enough to provoke a reaction. But the ADDITIONAL compliment towards Capitano? Normally Dottore would agree — Capitano was gifted. But in THIS context? Dottore is not used to this UGLY, SNARLING feeling in his chest that suddenly explodes in all its fury. It twists and CLAWS at him like something trying to burst out and DEVOUR and SLAUGHTER. He wanted blood. It’s a terrible feeling. CORROSIVE, hardly the feeling fit for a man who valued logic. But it’s there, REARING its ugly head, demanding and restless. He absolutely WILL NOT be allowing for that. He hates that infliction, hates how easily it can be said. It leaves a BITTER, DISGUSTING taste in his mouth.
The THOUGHT of Capitano and Pantalone dancing such a dance. HE HATES IT. HATES, HATES, HATES. The ugly thought twists and screeches in his head like a siren. He’s used to BEING the monster, not having one rage against the flimsy boundaries of flesh in his chest that makes up his body. He felt like a creature with its hackles raised. NO. He won’t be allowing for that, HE DOESN’T CARE THE SCENE IT WOULD MAKE. If necessary, he would do so.
Had Dottore actually paid attention, he might have realized it was an INTENTIONAL PROVOCATION. But he wasn’t USED to them in this way. Wasn’t used to the dizzying intensity of JEALOUSY. So he didn’t.
He might not have MOVED, but it would HARDLY conceal the sudden intensity of the air around the doctor. At least until Pantalone’s voice cuts through UGLY RAVINGS. His head lowers a fraction at the bow, slowly allowing the rage to ease away. EASILY PACIFIED at such a simple gesture. (Later, Dottore might be both flabbergasted and infuriated at HOW easily such had occurred.)
“ I”m FAMILIAR with it. “ Dottore answers, finally managing to find the words now that it doesn’t feel like POISION might spill form his lips. “ I’ll grant you this dance, REGRATOR. I do hope you know what you’re getting YOURSELF into. “ Dottore allows for a flash of mouth full of fangs as he draws closer to the ninth. He’s sure Pantalone DOES, although the DEPTH or INTENSITY of it might have been MISCALCUALTED if one was able to pry open his chest and peer at the rage that had been in his chest. But already it was calming down with just a few words, heeding and obeying.
“ Shall we? “ He murmurs, pulling them both onto the floor.
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