#cursed scars

[missnobodymadness]

Saw this head icon base from IfIWasaPlant on deviantART and it was perfect for family trees, so I decided to create Sahamara's.

Unfortunately I didn't know how to draw beard from this angle so Rastakah and Ushiva are missing theirs, Dakarai's and Ushiva's manes are also very different from this but once again, I'm no artist and my mouse is not cooperating anyway. ^^'

I decided to add their height and weight because I really wanted to show how massive they are. You can see the jump on sizes, this is because Sahamara has gigantism but I wanted to make it as real as possible, I didn't want to make her an actual giant, just way bigger than the bigger females of her species.

Also, Rastakah is a real tank, while he is shorter than his mother, he has a more robust body, his mane is also distinctively big and thick, South African lions usually don't have belly hair as well, which makes him even more of an interesting specimen.

Tishala was killed at birth by her mother, who planned to kill all of her cubs to punish her father for what he did to her, she was the runt of the litter, she'd be WAY smaller than her brothers if she ever made it to adulthood, I'd say she'd be around 3'6" or even less.

While not as evil, Rastakah takes a lot after his father, especially his desire for power and efficiency defending his territories.

His brother is a bit smaller than him but is an extremly skilled fighter and hunter as he is extremely agile. He is the brains of the coalition, just like his mother who is extremely intelligent.

[ell-arts]

Cursed Scars update when??

😬

Eeeeeeeeee-

This is going to break a lot of hearts or none

But Cursed Scars has been discontinued indefinitely... It's no longer going to get updated :(

I suppose it was expected; I haven't posted a new page since 2019, and no new pages have been in the works ever since. Needless to say, I lost the drive for it.

Cursed Scars was one of those ambitious projects where I wanted to create an entire full-length PMATGA fan-comic, both for myself and for others to enjoy. It had the usual unrealistic goals for a novice comic-maker; perfectionism, complex character arcs, a long plot with many gaps, estimated 200+ pages, self-indulgent headcanons, you name it. I loved the project, truly I did, but with how ambitious it was and how busy I got in real life, it was inevitable that I lost the motivation to work on it. Plus, a lot of time has passed since I came up with the idea and I've since grown out of some of what I've planned for the comic. I now look back and viscerally cringe at some of the concepts I had, lol.

Like any artist, you're going to grow and develop your artistic voice over the years - this can range from a change in style or even a change in taste, both in art technique and storytelling.

Sometimes that also means that, while you may be letting go of one project, you might find yourself more invested and proactive in a different project.

That's me with The Veil at the moment.

Not only is a fanfic much more doable than a comic, but I also haven't felt such a passion for a PMATGA fan-work as I had with The Veil. Like, I've already made it to 7 chapters in the story, whereas I barely surpassed the chapter 2 mark in previous fanfics. The Veil has a strong foundation in plot and goal, and it's what's keeping me motivated to continue it. The same goes for Call Me Cyli, and many other fanfics that I'd like to do in the future.

Sadly, I can't say the same for Cursed Scars.

So, while the comic has barely gotten out of the prologue stage and only has 11 pages, I'd say it had a good run and deserves its retirement (even though it didn't achieve much, lol).

For what it's worth, anyone can check it out if you're curious about it. Just remember that it won't be continued. And PLEASE ignore the old art style (good grief, look at those trees and HORRID CONTRAST AND OVER-SATURATION-)

[skygoldart]

I made a series of card designs based on the canon and fanon curses from the life series!

The Canary Curse:

Based on the tale of miners bringing a canary in a coal mine to test the air. If the bird dies, the air is unsafe. This player will die first.

The Widow Curse:

This player is fated to final kill a close ally, friend, or partner. They make close connections that ultimately are betrayed, purposely or accidentally.

The Red Insanity Curse

This player will go insane once reaching their final life and gain a bloodlust that reaches beyond anything in their previous lives. They become reckless and completely unhinged.

The Enchanter Curse

This player gains an unhealthy obsession with enchanting tables to the point of life loss, endangering allies, and losing everything.

The Coal Miner Curse

Also a reference to the canary in a coal mine. This player will die directly after the canary

The Isolation Curse

This player will die alone away from anyone else, or to an act by their own hand.

The Allies Blessing

Rather than a curse, this card is a blessing. Allies or players who have landed themselves in good graces with this player will come to win a season in the near future.

The Winners Curse:

The final player of a season, the winner, will die after winning. To their own hand, or by other means.

Some curses are now broken! I still wanted to draw them despite that lol

Are there any you think I missed?

[eliotbaum]

some Lydia expressions 🌤️

[arctvros]

cult leader off duty

[luxites]

what have you been entrusted with? ⟡

[ithinkdogshouldvote]

Jay nightmare arc WHEN!?!?

[aceofwhump]

SFX make up done by Lucy Rowley for the @NetflixUK series @CursedNetflix last year on Daniel Sharman. Designed by Erika Okvist (source)

[krashlite]

OK part 1 of how I think the curses work in the Life Series

This is something I'm gonna come back and update over time :]

Part 1 (you are Here!) , Part 2

[adastra121]

Not too many thoughts on this, just...

Kuras dealing with phantom pains of the wings he no longer has. The scars on his back have long healed over and faded with time, but occasionally, he still feels a tingling or a sharp throb where his wings should be. It shouldn't make sense, but the human form is odd like that. He encounters so many of these bizarre phenomena in his own facsimile of humanity. He's had centuries to grow accustomed to these pains — and in some ways, he has — but they continue to catch him off guard, makes him feel almost…mortal.

Leander's scar, the one that stretches over his arm to a good part of his chest and shoulder, and ends at the side of his face, continues to give him trouble even though it is healed. Most days, he feels a certain tightness in the scar tissue of his left arm and shoulder and most days, the discomfort is manageable. He doesn't even notice it most of the time. And on the days he is actually bothered by the pain, he tends to conceal that suffering from others. He's used to wearing a mask, after all.

Vere's heightened sense of smell and hearing gives him a deadly edge over his prey and he revels in his mastery of those senses. But having a sensitive nose and ears can also lead to an overstimulation that borders on pain, especially in a large city such as Eridia, constantly bombarding one with a racket of sounds and jumbled voices, strong offensive odours stinging your nostrils, and everyone's souls are too bright and suddenly, the shadows are too loud and restless. Unfortunately, he can’t always choose where he goes when he is leashed and those are the days that the fox is far more brutal on his hunts.

Ais dealing with the occasional migraines that come from having an eldritch entity and entire hivemind locked into one’s head. It's a never-ending cacophony that slams against the walls of his skull as if it means to burst out. The pain comes in waves, pulses, almost like the push and pull of a tide, or the beat of a collective heart. When it happens, he usually isolates until the worst of the headache passes. He's used to getting through things alone now, as ironic as that sounds with his link to an ever present Groupmind.

Mhin on bad pain days where it’s not the imminent-transformation kind of pain — but it’s one of those days where their bones don’t feel like they fit beneath their skin. They are cursed with a monster inside of them, and some days, the condition feels agonizingly literal, like there is a physical beast writhing inside them, knocking against their organs and making their bones creak from the strain until they are forced to break and knit back together in the wrong way.

Just the Touchstarved LIs dealing with pain.

[spacetravels]

a few moments to yourselves

[fantasykiri5]

Two days late, it’s a Geminitay for day 20 of @hermitadaymay !!

[zu-is-here]

before you forget

[arctvros]

the king of curses

[ipostmysimpingstuffanonymously]

Some of my headcanons of what could happen after the battle

Which Gege will definitely not do let's be honest, there is gonna be a time skip, no character interaction and depression but oh well

Love the Gojo and Yuji one, will post that one separately hahah :D

[necrotic-nephilim]

"I think you need a little something to remind you of who you belong to." - JayTim

send a quote and a ship and I'll write a short fic!

god this one is so good. this idea just. sat in my brain goo for days until i had the time to write it. this takes place like. right around Search For A Hero and before Battle for the Cowl, i would say, with dead Bruce and all, but before Red Robin. very fucked up one-sided feelings bc Jason is Jason and i love him. it's like 3.6k words and my partner edited it for me so. enjoy <3

It took Tim longer than it should’ve to notice the change.

With Bruce gone, Gotham was in upheaval.

No matter how much Tim did, there was always more. A new villain to fight, a new gang to take down, a new murder to solve. Gotham knew that the Batman was gone, for good this time.

Which meant they knew someone, something, could kill Batman.

That made Tim the fresh meat to go after. If the Batman could be killed, it shouldn’t be any harder to take down his Robin. Tim knew that every villain would want a piece of him and he had to prove himself. And for a while, he did. Tim was personally targeted by rogues, ready to be the Joker to his Robin.

Then it changed.

No one was pulling their punches, necessarily. But there was a change. Gangs that once had no problem facing Tim down were running in the opposite direction. Rogues gave up too easily, with an amount of fear in their eyes that didn’t quite match Tim’s reputation.

He should’ve noticed it sooner.

Tim knew something was wrong, at least. But he’d been so slow to notice it; now he was scrambling for answers. He’d interrogated half a dozen thugs and none of them gave him anything. Tim used every trick Bruce had taught him and still. He had nothing. It was just confirmation that they were hiding something. He was missing something, and he had nothing to show for it.

It reminded Tim of how the tide receded right before a tsunami- a quiet, deadly calm rolled over Gotham.

Someone was pulling strings. Someone was going right over Tim’s head, probably planning a big attack to sweep Tim undertow to drown in the chaos. And Tim didn’t have a single lead.

Waiting was always the worst part.

And still, the fires in Gotham burned. Whatever was going on kept getting pushed to the back burner so Tim could stop everything from human trafficking rings to street muggings. He knew he was stretched too thin, too exhausted to hold himself up.

It was a matter of time before Tim got pulled into a merciless riptide.

He just didn’t expect it to be in some grimy alley, losing a fight to a second-rate mob that jumped him.

Tim should’ve gone back to the Batcave when his shoulder got dislocated an hour ago by Harley Quinn instead of just setting it and carrying on.

He should’ve called for backup an hour before that, when he had to face all the Gotham Sirens on his own, leading to the chase with Harley in the first place.

And he definitely should’ve stayed home from patrol altogether, with ribs that were still cracked from a run-in with Solomon Grundy less than a week ago.

But Tim didn’t do any of that. Because if he was going to carry on any part of Bruce’s legacy, it was this: fighting until his body gave out under him.

Tim just hoped if this mob killed him, they wouldn’t dump his body somewhere embarrassing.

Though it was starting to look less like if, and more like when. Tim didn’t like to be pessimistic in a fight. There was always something more to do, one final trick to pull out of his arsenal. Just like Bruce taught him.

This time, though. Tim wasn’t so sure about that.

There was blood in his mouth. Blood in his eyes. He could barely stand, let alone hold his bo staff. It took every ounce of worn-out effort to block the endless blows raining down on his battered body, let alone try to punch back.

Tim always figured he’d meet a violent end.

He wasn’t sure where his comm link had skittered off to. It got knocked out of his ear under a particularly vicious blow to the head, cutting Tim off from any hope of backup. He was in this one alone.

Someone kneed Tim in his already brutalized ribs. He doubled over and groaned, falling to the ground.

He needed to get back up.

Tim’s arms were too shaky to support his weight. He just collapsed again. A steel-toed boot was raised above his head, ready to come down. Tim just closed his eyes and covered his head as best he could with his hands. Better broken fingers than a broken skull.

The boot never connected.

Instead, Tim heard gunfire.

He knew some of the men had guns, but this was a different kind of gunfire. The automatic kind, coming from a different direction. All Tim could do was watch with wide eyes as his attackers started to drop like flies tinged with red.

The ones who managed to survive the first volley of bullets were scrambling around, yelling at each other in a foreign language. Russian, maybe? It was hard for Tim to tell with his head swimming from blood loss, eardrums pulsing to the infernal beat.

From the darkness, a figure jumped down, landing in front of Tim, holding an automatic rifle over their shoulder. Tim blinked hard, trying to make out who it was.

“I only gave you miserable fucks one rule,” a cold voice growled. “Who wants to remind me what it was?”

Damnit. Tim knew that voice.

He was beyond screwed.

All the men froze. Stuttered apologies and pleas came out of half of them, messy and incoherent. They all sounded positively terrified, cowering in front of the figure.

“We didn’t know it was-”

“-just wanted to scare him-”

“He came to our territory first-”

“-but we weren’t going to kill him-”

Jason Todd fired a few shots into the sky, silencing all of them. Tim swallowed a mouthful of blood, his own heart reverberating against copper-stained teeth.

“I asked what the rule was,” Jason repeated slowly. He cracked his neck and pulled a knife off his belt, flipping it around for show.

One of the men was brave enough to step forward. “No one’s allowed to touch Robin. Sir.”

Tim’s breath caught in his throat.

What the hell?

Jason nodded slowly. “And last I checked-” he made a show of turning back to look at Tim. Under the helmet, Tim couldn’t begin to guess Jason’s intentions. “-there’s only one kid with a big R on his chest fighting with a bo staff. I was being pretty generous with all of you. Protection from the cops, from other gangs. All for one fucking rule.”

“Why are you protecting him, anyway? Vigilante freaks cause us nothing but problems-”

The man’s yelling was abruptly cut off by the bang of Jason’s gun and his brains splattering across the alleyway. A smear of pink landed on his bo staff; there was no coming back from that one.

“I guess I should’ve had two rules. No touching Robin and no asking questions,” Jason hummed lazily, as if he hadn’t just taken a man’s life. He shrugged. “I’ll add it to the tab.” He reloaded the gun.

Tim grabbed Jason’s ankle. “Don’t…” he coughed up a mouthful of blood, “don’t kill them.” It was pathetic. He could hold his own in a fight against Jason. He had before. But now, Tim couldn’t even stand and was left with barely enough strength to even grab Jason.

Like shooing away an insolent child, Jason pulled his leg free and clicked his tongue at Tim. “I’ll get to you in a second. Wait your turn.”

Then, he let loose. And there was nothing Tim could do but watch in horror.

Jason tore through every single one of the men like paper. their bodies dropped one by one because instead of the gun, Jason jumped in with his knife. For the fun of the fight, Tim guessed. Because it definitely sounded like Jason was enjoying himself, flipping through the crowd and throwing out a vile quip now and then.

In seconds, it was over. A pile of bodies with Jason as the indisputable victor, wiping his bloody knife off on his jacket. He walked over to Tim, perfectly casual.

Maybe he was saving Tim for the finale, to be killed by Jason’s own hand around his neck. That was the only reason Tim could think of for Jason being the reason rogues had pulled back so much over the past few weeks. Jason wanted Tim’s blood for himself, so he could make some kind of statement out of killing Robin. Or something like that, anyway.

“Up we go,” Jason said with a grunt, leaning over to Tim up like a sack of potatoes. Tim was hauled up with Jason’s hands under his armpits, then tossed over Jason’s shoulder, with an arm supporting him around his thighs.

At least the dead bodies couldn’t judge Tim for how utterly embarrassing he must’ve looked.

“Put me down,” Tim tried to say, but the words were so slurred they sounded like one long syllable. His head was spinning. Tim had heard of double vision, but never triple. Was that a bad sign??

“It’s pronounced thank you, actually,” Jason said, walking off with Tim in tow. Each step made all of Tim’s injuries feel far worse and he hissed, uselessly trying to claw at Jason’s back, the material of his gloves squeaking pathetically. “As in, thank you for saving my sorry ass, Red Hood.”

“Fuck you,” Tim sputtered. He was getting blood all over Jason’s jacket and it was the only thing he could see, as his vision got more tunneled by the second. “Where are you…” everything hurt and consciousness was slipping away from Tim.

Jason said something. Tim didn’t hear it. His hands went slack, followed by the rest of Tim’s body.

His last coherent thought was a long string of expletives cursing Jason Todd out.

It took over a liter of blood to stabilize Tim. Stitches on his arm, stomach, and forehead littered his battered body. He was still unconscious on Jason’s coffee table, with a makeshift IV drip giving him fluids, stripped down to his boxers.

Jason was torn between being supremely pissed off at Tim getting jumped and being sickly fascinated by the sight of Tim being bruised and bloody. Perfectly laid out for Jason.

Maybe he should’ve thanked that Russian mob before killing them.

Jason knew it was just a matter of time before that mob caused him issues. They were no real loss to his empire. He was lucky he caught them in the act before it was too late.

One simple rule and some idiots went out of their way to ignore it.

Tim was Jason’s meat and no one else’s. Jason hadn’t been ready to mark his territory yet. This sped up his plan. There were so many steps Jason had to skip to save Tim. He had been waiting for Gotham’s trust in Robin to grow secure and rooted down, putting Tim on top of the world. Then a new Batman would step up, probably Dick. It’d leave Tim aimless and vulnerable, quickly forgotten by his city the moment they had someone in a Batsuit to worship instead.

And that was supposed to be the moment Jason swooped in and claimed Tim. Protecting him from all the big mean supervillains who were salivating for Tim’s blood that Jason had been holding back for so long.

He would be Tim’s fucking savior.

But a no-name Russian mob had to go and screw it up. Leaving Jason sitting on his couch, feet propped up on the same coffee table Tim was sprawled out on. Every now and then Jason nudged Tim with his boot, just to check how out cold he really was.

The latest boot nudge to Tim’s hip actually got him to stir.

Tim groaned, trying to move. His attempt to sit up failed pretty spectacularly. His arm gave out and he slipped, head loudly bonking on the coffee table. With the concussion he definitely had, that had to hurt like hell. Jason smirked, lighting a cigarette. Another pretty groan out of Tim’s mouth before he managed to open his eyes, blinking hard to adjust to his surroundings.

Jason didn’t rush him. He just watched as Tim looked around the safehouse, craning his neck. He ran his hands over his body, feeling the neat bandage work. Finally, his eyes settled on Jason, widening slightly. Jason could see the wheels turning in Tim’s bright mind, remembering what had happened.

Tim opened and closed his mouth a few times, presumably trying to decide where to start. Jason took a long drag and blew the smoke in the direction of Tim’s face, making him cough.

“Why?” Tim finally said. His voice sounded a little raw.

Jason arched an eyebrow, playing innocent. “Why what?”

“You know what,” Tim snapped. He gestured to himself. “Why are you… doing this? Telling everyone I’m off limits and…”

“And saving you?” Jason finished, earning him a lethal glare. About as lethal as a kicked puppy could be, anyway. Jason snorted and shrugged. “Because I can.” No point in sharing a plan that was all fucked up.

“I don’t need your help,” Tim said through gritted teeth. He tried to sit up, slower this time. He still didn’t manage it.

Jason stared at him. “I’m sorry, would you have preferred Nightwing scrap what was left of you off the pavement after those asshats were through with you?”

“I can fight my own battles.”

“And lose them too. Clearly.”

An angry noise came out of Tim’s throat. “Did you just want to save me for yourself, or something?” Tim prodded, fist clenched at his side.

“Probably not in the way you’re thinking,” Jason said. He flicked ashes off of his cigarette onto Tim’s skin, pulling a hiss out of him.

Tim frowned. “What does that mean?”

“Figure it out yourself. Isn’t detective work your whole thing?” Jason made a show of adjusting how he was sitting on the couch as if he was getting comfortable. He moved to prop his feet up on Tim’s leg, one of the few places on his body that wasn’t covered in injuries. Using him like a little footstool.

Oh, that really pissed Tim off. Jason grinned wickedly, watching Tim try and fail to pull himself free. There wasn’t much weight on his leg, but he was still too weak to get his body to cooperate, leaving him to sluggishly struggle.

Tim’s face twisted. “If you think you could convince me to be your sidekick, you’re out of your mind.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of a lap dog, actually,” Jason tilted his head back. “Much more submissive and obedient, that way.” He didn’t hide the obvious innuendo in his voice.

Tim recoiled. “Very funny.”

“I’m dead serious,” Jason shot back. “I don’t kill for just anyone.” Contrary to popular belief, murder was purposeful, with Jason. If he killed a lot of people, it was for a specific reason. It was a careful image of the unstable madman to make people fear him. But in reality, it was all planned. Every single body in the grave was carefully counted.

“You’re psychotic if you think I’d ever… submit to you.” Tim’s mouth twisted just having to say the words, utterly disgusted by them.

Jason scoffed. “I think there’s a misunderstanding here, Drake.” He pulled a butterfly knife out of his pocket, flipping it open. “You already belong to me. Every criminal in Gotham knows you’re mine. You’re alive because I’ve allowed it. You’re protected because I called for it. It’s a done fucking deal.” He took his feet off of Tim’s leg and brought them to the floor so he could lean up close to Tim’s pale face. “Understood?”

Like a perfectly rational person, Tim tried to headbutt Jason.

Jason pulled back, more for Tim’s sake than his own. He caught Tim’s head with his hand, forcing it back down on the table.

“I didn’t ask for your protection,” Tim hissed, breathing hard. “You can go to hell, Jason. I can handle this city just fine on my own.”

“I don’t really care if you can or not.” Jason pressed the knife to Tim’s throat, a dangerous warning against any more stupid attempts to fight Jason. “You can be Robin all you want. You can crawl back home to that disgusting cave and play house with all the other bats. I don’t give a shit how you live your life, Drake. So long as you know you’re mine at the end of the day-” he shrugged- “we can take all this slow. I was planning to anyway.”

“You were planning to…” Tim echoed, turning the words over as it sank in for him. “You were planning… what? To make me fall in love with you or something?”

Jason gave another nonchalant shrug. “If that’s how you want to dumb it down, sure.” The plan was far more sophisticated than that. Jason didn’t just need Tim to love him. He needed Tim to crave Jason, need him down to the marrow, and dedicate himself wholly to Jason. Be by Jason’s side as a strategist and partner.

They would get there eventually. Soon Tim would see and understand things from Jason’s perspective. His approach just needed to be a little more head-on.

More fun for Jason in the long run.

It was hard to read Tim’s expression. Maybe Jason was too hopeful to believe there could be some kind of arousal or intrigue there, but he could at least tell there wasn’t nearly as much anger as he expected.

Nor was there any disgust.

For a split second, anyway. Then Tim seemed to snap back to reality, trying to pull away from Jason and the knife.

“Over my dead body,” Tim said with as much venom as it seemed like he could muster.

“You know, I’ll do you a favor, Drake.” Jason lifted one leg over the table so he could sit on Tim’s midsection, making him yell in pain. Jason was a heavy son of a bitch, and his body weight did no favor for Tim’s sore ribs.

“What the hell are you doing?” Tim tried to shove Jason’s chest. He looked a little panicked, like a caged animal.

“I think,” Jason dragged out the words, just for show, “you need a little something to remind you of who you belong to. So I’ll be nice, to make sure you don’t forget it.”

He grabbed Tim’s jaw and jerked his head to the side. Tim cried out and tried to get away. He hit Jason in the chest as hard as he could. Which given his current state, was about the same as being smacked by a toddler.

“You should probably stay still if you don’t want a knife in your eye,” Jason warned. He lifted the blade and pressed it into Tim’s cheek, going deep enough to scar.

He didn’t even have to think about it. Jason knew exactly what he was doing the moment he pressed the blade to Tim’s skin.

A mark that anyone would recognize.

A mark just like the one Jason had been given, years ago.

The letter J could stand for a lot of things. And right now, it stood for marking Tim as Jason’s territory.

Jason dragged the knife down and curled it upward. Then he went in for the second cut, dragging across Tim’s cheek.

Tim had the sense to stay perfectly still while the blade moved. Pained noises came out of his throat and he was giving Jason a death stare, but he stayed still.

A perfectly obedient lap dog.

Jason hummed in satisfaction when his work was done. He flicked the knife closed and slipped it back into his belt, watching fresh blood pour down Tim’s face.

Now they matched.

For good measure, Jason bent over and pressed a kiss against the cut, holding his lips there and feeling Tim’s breath on his skin.

Jason pulled away, licking the blood off his mouth. His first time tasting Tim. It definitely wouldn’t be the last.

“I’m going to kill you,” Tim bit the words out through grit teeth.

Jason just smiled. “Don’t you have pesky bat morals about that?” He climbed off Tim, flicking more ashes onto Tim’s skin from the cigarette that had stayed between Jason’s fingers the whole time. He lifted it to his lips, breathing in. “Your suit is over there.” Jason gestured vaguely to the heaped pile of Tim’s suit.

“You’re-” Tim sputtered on his words. “You’re just going to let me leave?”

“I told you,” Jason hummed, wandering toward his fridge, “you can go live your life. I don’t care. You’ll crawl back to me when I want you to.”

“Like hell.” A loud grunt came from Tim and Jason looked over his shoulder, watching Tim slowly move. Every inch looked painful for Tim, but slowly, he managed to get his stiff joints to obey him.

All while Jason watched, offering absolutely no help.

Tim got dressed with a lot of swearing and groans of pain, occasionally shooting Jason a dirty look. He put a small bandage on his cheek, then limped away, leaving behind the shreds of his dignity.

Jason just smiled, finishing his cigarette and stubbing it out on the floor with his heel.

Tim would be back. He would make damn sure of it.