#it might take a few weeks though

[the-narrator-tsp]

is this blog on hiatus?

It's sad to say, but yeah probably

[welcometogrouchland]

[ID in ALT] I've made posts before about Talia/Dick co-parenting Damian moments (will never happen but let me dream) and this came to me in a vision. Took me ages to finish for some reason 😭 and then even longer to post

[ego-meliorem-esse]

I secretly enjoy Arthur as a woman and I'm making it your problem

Late 1880s ish i think but dont look too deep into it lol

[palmclan]

PREVIOUS

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FIRST

[happistar]

Day 30: Deactivation

WOOOO squipril is finally over. Missed a lot more prompts than I would've liked but this was fun. Honestly just a nice reason to draw the squip again haha

[osamusriceballs]

The Accident Part VIII

Atsumu x fem reader

Warnings: None

Words: ~ 2k

About: You finally meet your good friend <3

Part I II -> Next part

"You know each other?!"

You stare at Atsumu with wide eyes, who just stares at the short blonde next to you and raises his eyebrows as if he just had an epiphany.

"Where have I—wait. Karasuno. Karasuno's manager! You're a friend of Shoyo-kun!" Atsumu's eyes shine when he talks about Karasuno, and you furrow your brows when you remember that it's the name of Yachi's old school. "Shoyo-kun? Like—Hinata Shoyo?" You ask, recalling a bright orange-haired man you've met a few times already when Yachi had invited you to drink with her and her friends. They had always been a lively bunch, definitely growing on you the more often you saw them.

"Hmm, we work together," Atsumu nods, and you blankly stare at him while you try to digest that piece of information. You know that Hinata is a professional volleyball player. Very professional. Olympics level professional. He offered you cards to his games quite a few times, and you had politely declined, not wanting to cause him trouble, but he had sent you tickets anyway for a game in a few weeks.

That probably means that Atsumu is a professional player too—or he might be some kind of manager, according to the vague statement that they are working together. His physique and his posture tell you that he potentially could be an athlete- you would believe that in a second.

"Working together like... playing volleyball too?" You ask for clarification, tilting your head curiously while you watch his reaction. His lips curl into a smug smile, and the confidence he's radiating now makes your legs turn into jelly.

"Yeah. I'm a professional, just like Shoyo-kun. He loves my sets, by the way. Always aces them with no problem."

His eyes capture yours and you hang on his every word, definitely surprised by the development. You're married to a probably very famous professional Olympia volleyball player. You're not even sure what to think about this; the new details just made the whole situation more absurd and unrealistic. The only good thing is that Yachi apparently knows him. You could maybe get more information out of Yachi about him later.

"I—wait. The marriage—you married ATSUMU MIYA?" Your attention shifts to Yachi, who turns almost worryingly red, and you quickly step closer to her and reach for her arm, trying to calm her down. "Yes, but it's okay. He's a good guy, okay?" You smile encouragingly, and Yachi takes a few hasty loud breaths before she nods.

Atsumu watches you both and awkwardly clears his throat, a faint blush covering his cheeks at your words, and rubs the back of his head. "I'll leave ya two alone then. I'll call ya, y/n."

The last thing you see is his smile before he turns around and walks away with his hands in his pockets now. His broad back is evident, especially when he's wearing the white dress shirt, and you can't help but admire the man for a second before Yachi enters your sight once again.

"Y/n! - what happened?!"

xxx

"I can't believe you're married to Atsumu Miya!" she exclaims, still sounding shocked as she repeats the same sentence for the third time after you managed to tell her the fully story during the car ride. Both of you sit on her comfortable plush couch, adorned with a few of her stylish designer blankets. You're glad to be in a familiar place finally, but you can't help but to think about Atsumu. Will he call or leave a message soon? You wouldn't mind him calling today already- just to make sure you have his number. Nothing else. Just to clear that whole marriage thing. And nothing else.

You nod with a mild smile an attempt to calm her slight panic. Atsumu has assured you that everything will be taken care of, and you find yourself actually trusting him. "It'll be okay. You mentioned he's a good guy, right? I mean, he's friends with Hinata."

Yachi deeply inhales and takes a sip of her tea and nods. "He's close to Hinata. They get along really well. But let me tell you, Atsumu Miya in high school is something else. His serves were powerful and terrifying- not as much as today, but still enough to keep us all on the edge. Even Nishinoya had a hard time receiving them. Atsumu-san and Osamu-san managed to copy Hinata's and Kageyama's special attack effortlessly. It was insane. Maybe we can find a recording of it."

She grabs the remote to turn on the TV, and you lean forward eagerly at the thought of seeing more of Atsumu. "I wonder what Atsumu looked like in high school," you muse, taking a sip of your tea, its slight bitterness complementing the rich flavor. "He basically still looks the same. His hair got a bit brighter, and I think he grew a bit. And gained mass," Yachi responds, finding what she's looking for with an excited squeal. "Here!"

You both watch how a much younger Atsumu raises his arm and much to your surprise the whole crowd falls silent. "What- that's not normal, is it?" You turn to Yachi who seems slightly pale, probably because she remembers the moment vividly. "That's normal for Atsumu Miya. He was so good and popular that he got that special treatment. It helps him to focus. Oh, and watch his steps! You can tell what kind of serve he's going to make by the number of his steps."

You diligently nod and watch him serve again, taking six steps this time. The camera angle is a tad bit closer this time, and you don't fail to see his yellow-ish hair that definitely looks different compared to his looks today. He was very fit, even back then, but he is definitely more buff today.

You watch some more of Atsumu's powerful serves, his form screaming utmost perfection, and memories of the very same strong, muscular arms wrapped around you make heat rush to your cheeks. Yachi continues to share insights about his playing style, and you quickly try to focus on her words.

"...their combined attacks are difficult to anticipate. But look at how Kei blocks it!" You nod enthusiastically while you observe Tsukishima's impressive block. The video then shifts to another game, showcasing Atsumu in a black uniform adorned with yellow claw prints on his sleeves.

"Oh, that's from the MSBY game! You should have seen him; there's this amazing set—" Yachi's words trail off as the camera cuts to an unusual angle, revealing Atsumu's impressive thighs in full glory as he sets the ball with a ridiculously seductive smile. Your jaw drops at the unexpected sight- you know for sure you would have fainted if you saw that scene in live. How dare he look so good while setting the ball?? "Look, Hinata easily managed to hit that! And there's Bokuto-san!" You recognize the orange-haired spiker, sharing a smile and high-five with Bokuto. "I can't believe that they all actually know each other."

"Yeah," Yachi smiles and nods. "Hinata always talks about Atsumu-san. And Bokuto-san is close with Osamu-san, I think. I've seen him post a few pictures with Akaashi-san at Onigiri-Miya."

"Is that the name of his restaurant? Atsumu said he would take me there someday." Yachi gives you a side-eye, and reaches for her phone. "You've gotten pretty close, haven't you? You seemed really flustered when-" You quickly interrupt her, "No! I—I don't even know him. I don't even have his number. He was just being nice, we're not really close."

Yachi nods with a small grin, and hands you her phone. "Here. That's his Instagram. He's also often at Onigiri Miya. It seems like he's very proud of his brother's success. I though you might want to have a look at his life."

"Thank you." Yachi is truly a great friend, and you feel once again fond of being close to her. As you scroll through Atsumu's Instagram, you find a mix of game snapshots, some pictures with Osamu, in which he always has a plate full of food in front of him, and you can't help but zoom into the plates, impressed by the neatly arranged dishes. As you keep on scrolling, you almost gasp loudly when you find a very surprising collaboration with Calvin Klein, featuring a shirtless Atsumu from a very close perspective. At first, you keep on scrolling, too flustered at the sudden revealing picture, but curiosity makes you go back after a few moments, and you look at the picture again.

He looks good. His muscles are well-defined and he grins seductively for the camera while he poses, clad in only a ripped pair of jeans. It's almost unfair how ridiculously attractive he looks, but you still think that he looks even better when he's just woken up, just like he did this morning. You exhale loudly and curiously click on the comments.

"I would pay real money to have him like this in my bed." "Christmas came early this year- and so did I." "Bless the Miya genes. I'd gladly help to spread them." "Thank you Calvin Klein. I'll make sure to get a pair of these pants." "*FAINTS* HE'S SO HOT, I CAN'T-"

You're startled when you notice how the comments get even more unhinged and shameless as you keep on scrolling. "He... has a lot of fans," you remark, scrolling back to the top and handing Yachi her phone back, to which she nods heavily. "He had his own fan club in high school, and ever since the Japanese team won the Olympics, the whole team has been very popular. Especially Atsumu-san and Sakusa-san."

You hesitate before asking the next question, uncertain of what the answer might bring. "Is there a reason why he's single? He seems like a decent guy, looks good, and he's probably rich. Isn't he the perfect catch?"

Yachi furrows her brows, thinking. "I don't know, actually. It's probably the same as with Hinata and Kageyama. They focus a lot on their careers; they simply don't have time for dating. I also found out that most volleyball boys can be a bit... intense. It's probably hard to find a partner that understands their passion. They prioritize training over anything else. I've never seen Hinata skip a day of training, no matter what happens. Their partners must accept that they put a lot of their energy and time into their jobs."

"Ah," you simply nod, slightly surprised by the revelation. You would have assumed that they have a very lively dating life, but it seems like they just live for work. Sounds a bit lonely.

"I also think that some fans are a bit obsessed with their private lives. There was an incident before with Atsumu-san and one of their fans- but things have calmed down lately, so you should be fine." Yachi reassures you, reaching for a cookie on the couch table.

"I think that—" she is interrupted by the sudden sound of a ringing phone, and both of you exchange confused glances before realizing it's your phone. Yachi's eyes light up, and she squeals, "Maybe it's him—I mean, I could have gotten his number through Hinata, but maybe he's got some news—"

You fumble with the phone, the unknown number undoubtedly belonging to Atsumu. Taking a deep breath, you nod at her and hold the phone to your ear, answering the call with a simple,

"Hello?"

[skitskatdacat63]

Hey, do you remember that really homoerotic scene from Skyfall? No? That's okay, here's a Vettonso version of it :)

- explanation & w/o text:

Hi hello, finally my weird psychosexual relationship with Casino Royale has come to fruition. Yeah this is directly based off a scene from Skyfall, but I def envision the vibe as being more like Casino Royale hehe. I can't believe I made that inspo board for this AU almost 4 weeks ago, and then ended up drawing a four panel "comic" about it. Ahhhh proud of myself, a bit, a tad. I think this took 20+ hours across the span of a week? God. Anyways I digress! The AU!!

First of all, their Bond song would be "My Way of Life" by Frank Sinatra. It's so toxic, codependent and obsessive, I'm in love with it. And it really suits Fernando and his motivations and outlook in this AU. Basically, MI6(in the context of James Bond) in this AU is an analog for Ferrari. It picks theses guys up, tells them that they're Ferrari MI6's most special boy, chews them up, and then spits them out when they're finished extracting all their talent and skill and life force.

Much like with Ferrari, Seb in this AU replaces Fernando after Fernando loses favor and becomes undesirable. Now Seb is the new golden boy, and Fernando has turned to a life of crime! Fernando resents Seb for this of course, but also becomes obsessed with him and the idea of him , and how they are connected. It's weird to watch someone else basically go down your exact same path and unknowingly make all the same mistakes(buying into the mysticism of it all too much, being overly cocky, having naive beliefs and goals, etc.) He is caught between wanting to doom Seb even more but also wanting to "save" him, by corrupting him and convincing him to work together.

Basically: He's both a Bond girl and Bond villain.

Fernando is in such a weird place in this AU. I think he's just very dramatic. Seb is just casually living his best 007(005?) life, and Nando is watching him with binoculars, whispering to himself: "DOESN'T HE UNDERSTAND THAT WE ARE NARRATIVE FOILS!?" Yeah he hates Seb, but like the song lyrics say, their lives and dreams are inherently tied up together. He would feel lost without Seb, because Seb basically, unknowingly, destroyed and then took over his life. Maybe he'll feel satisifed if he manipulates Seb into going down the exact same path a bit better.

About the drawings themselves. Still can't believe this scene is a real thing that actually happened, insane to me. But in this AU, after the events of these drawings, Fernando definitely kicked all his henchman out of the room, and fucked Seb in the chair. And then against the wall. And then on the floor. Hey man, Seb is already looking mighty delicious with his unbuttoned attire and being tied up.

I think the general plot would be that Fernando keeps trying to seduce him to the dark side, and Seb keeps making him think it worked, only to escape at the end of the encounter. Leading Fernando to just come up with increasingly more violent and kinky traps. Seb goes along with it(read: enjoys it), leaving Fernando satisifed, only to somehow escape and wink and make kissy faces at Fernando in the process. (Fernando smoking cigarette in bed: "How do I make him stay. Sigh.")

I like to think though that Fernando does win in the end, by realizing, ah wait shit I do need to actually explain my motivations to Seb. And Seb is so worn down by his job, not Fernando, and how he's being treated, that he listens, really actually listens, and realizes Fernando does really have valid reasons. And then they become evil crime husbands yayyyy. Wow you thought this was a espionage AU? Well it is, but just not the outcome you'd expect.

[oatbugs]

oh my god u rly are everyone you've ever loved !! for better or worse !! a part of you becomes them!

[hella1975]

just think this time tomorrow ill be publicly indecent in a spoons somewhere. i am so strong

[gerrydelano]

only one chapter left... then the epilogue of unknown length... and i'm free and finished and Wow it's almost over. ONE chapter left of the main story. Wow. Wow.

[icewindandboringhorror]

I have found a beautiful perfect humble rock specimen that is light yellow with a weird dark yellowy brown lining, somewhat resembling a chunk of smoked gouda cheese... effervescent

[httpiastri]

.

[chilapis]

Hello, hello; guess who is (quite possibly) back. <3

[sergle]

Sergle I have cuticle questions!! I got my nails done last week and the technician trimmed them (after putting oil on them). But two of them tore back to the skin, and the skin on all of them has been peeling back more than usual since then. How do I tend to my cuticles without the peeling and splitting??

HM okay so I'm not a nail technician and I can't say For Sure why your cuticles are peeling and splitting. But not everyone's cuticles take well to being nipped, that's why ppl generally recommend pushing them back or using cuticle dissolvant on them before trying to cut them- I'd recommend trying that route! not every nail tech is going to be Gentle w your cuticles, but if you use cuticle oil / moisturizer at home and you gently push them back on a fairly regular basis, the shreddiness should heal and you can still keep them from growing down the nail plate.

[thetomorrowshow]

blood on your hands

empires superpowers au masterlist (note: the masterlist is not currently being updated)

ough angst. takes place about two weeks after the end of ‘poisoned rats’.

cw: violence, mild gore, abuse, flashbacks, vomiting, death (of an oc)

~

“Oh, little bird,” Xornoth coos, and Jimmy stares blankly at their feet.

He’d messed up. They had given him a command—they’d wanted him to hurt the bystanders to send them away—and he hadn’t obeyed, leaving Pearl to escape.

He doesn’t know what the punishment will be. He hopes he has the strength today to accept it.

The doors to the meeting room burst open—two guards dragging a handcuffed man between them enter, hold him in a standing position, even as the man sways dangerously, blood dripping down the side of his head. Xornoth stands, pulling Jimmy up with them.

The man is middle-aged, balding, his button-up white shirt stained with his own blood. His eyes blink rapidly, his teeth chatter and lips tremble as if cold. Or maybe it’s a symptom of the severe stress he’s probably under.

“What’s your name?” Xornoth asks the man, who noticeably swallows back his anxiety before answering.

“K-Keith, I—sir.”

“Do you have a family, Keith?”

Keith’s face pales. “You—you leave them alone, they never did anything—”

Xornoth smiles, a repulsive sight. “You’re a construction worker, is that right? You have a pet dog. Your daughter has just developed powers of her own and you mean to celebrate this weekend.”

Dumbfounded, Keith nods. Quick as anything, Xornoth pulls Jimmy right up to them by the chin, forces him to look into Keith’s eyes. Jimmy sees terror, confusion—though maybe it’s just a reflection of himself.

“See, pet? Keith here is a person with a life, one that he loves and wishes to return to. He has a family, a favorite food, and people who love him.”

Jimmy stares blankly at his master, some sort of emotion stirring beneath the surface. He doesn’t know what he feels. But he has a sinking suspicion that he knows where this is going.

He’s right. With a flick of their wrist, there’s a tentacle worming its way out of the ground, crawling up Keith, up his throat, up his chin and over his lips to his nostril, where it squiggles inside. Keith shouts, even as another tentacle rises up and slowly squeezes around his throat.

Jimmy gags instinctively, tries to turn away—he doesn’t want to see this—but Xornoth’s hand on his collar is enough to keep him in place.

Keith is begging, begging even as blood drips from his nose and mouth, even as he chokes on nothing, begging for anyone to help, and it’s horrible and suddenly Jimmy is screaming as well, begging for his master to spare a man who’s done nothing wrong—

Keith’s body slumps as the first tentacle exits through his mouth, bloodshot eyes rolling back into his head. Jimmy gags again, nearly vomits but for the emptiness of his stomach.

Xornoth pulls Jimmy by his hair, their mouth pressed against his ear, and their breath is foul when they speak.

“Keith’s blood is on your hands, pet. He died because of your disobedience. Obey me next time, and we won’t have to have a repeat incident.”

Then they throw him to the ground, into a pool of Keith’s blood. He falls hard, his bad hip popping out on impact. The next couple of minutes are blurry with pain as Jimmy gathers what little strength he has and rolls, popping it back into place.

Once he’s recovered enough to take in his surroundings, he finds that his master is gone. The guards are gone. The door to the room is shut.

It’s just him and the body. The body of a man with a family, loved ones, a career, a belief system. . . .

Who will tell his spouse that their husband is missing? Who will tell his daughter that her dad is never coming home? Will they know? Will there be a body to find? Or is Jimmy doomed to be the only one to know of Keith’s fate, never to make it out of here and find his family?

All because he’d been a bad pet. He’s a bad pet. It’s all his fault, it’s always his fault, this is just another person’s blood that he’s responsible for and there’s so much, there’s always so much pain. . . .

He gathers enough courage to approach the body after an hour, crawling toward it with cuffed hands to gently close Keith’s eyes. Then he backs away quickly, because even though it’s just a body he still wants to vomit just being in the same room with a dead person, especially one so brutally killed.

He makes his way to the opposite corner of the room, where he can only see Keith’s lower half between the table and chair legs, curls up in the most comfortable position possible with his screaming hip, and sobs drily into his hands. He’s shaking badly enough that he could break apart at any second, and there’s someone dead in front of him and he killed them, it’s his fault they’re dead. . . .

He stays there, waiting, praying that someone will come get him and take him to his cell, where he can wash his hands of this as best he can, where he can tuck the image of Keith’s head bursting from the inside that’s burned into his retinas deep in the recesses of his mind, never to be seen again.

No one comes.

They leave Jimmy alone with the corpse for two straight days.

-

Jimmy jolts up in bed, running for the bathroom before he even knows where he is. He barely makes it in time, vomiting his guts up practically before he can lift the toilet seat.

He wipes his mouth when he’s done, blows his nose to dislodge any chunks, flushes the toilet. His stomach is rolling, throat burning, and he can still hear Keith screaming like it’s still happening.

He’s too tired to get back up, too shaky to even consider standing. So instead he presses his head against the cool porcelain of the bathtub (it feels so nice against his flushed cheek, he’s so tired and everything is so fresh and raw) and falls asleep.

-

“Hey, can you wake up for me? It’s Lizzie, I’m here. . . . I’m here, Jimmy, can you wake up?”

Jimmy blinks awake, looks up at the blue-haired blob leaning over him. He blinks a couple more times, and that blob reveals itself to be his sister.

"Hey," he croaks, and her face twists in concern.

“What happened? Are you okay?”

He sits up, groans at the stiffness in his limbs from such an awkward sleeping position. For a moment, he’s not sure where he is. Then he remembers the previous night, the flashback-nightmare, running to the toilet. He groans again.

“Bad night,” he manages, grimacing at the sour taste in his mouth. Lizzie takes notice and helps him up, where he can lean against the sink and brush his teeth.

He doesn’t want to think about the flashback. He doesn’t want to think about it at all, but every time he blinks he sees it happening. He sees blood, he sees bulging eyes, he sees. . . .

He gags, pulling his toothbrush away from his mouth as he leans over the sink. He killed a man. He killed him.

Lizzie makes some noise of disgust as he spits out a bit of bile, nothing else in his stomach to throw up. He cringes automatically, one hand darting up to cover the scar on the back of his neck.

“How about you go lie down, yeah?” she suggests, stepping out of the way of the door. She surveys the room with a slight wrinkle of her nose. “I’ll clean up in here. Just go lie on the couch, grab a plastic bag or a bowl or something.”

Jimmy follows her directions robotically, taking a moment to rinse out his mouth before shuffling off to the living room, stopping to get a plastic bag from the bag of bags. He’s been laying on the couch for a full minute before he realizes he still has his toothbrush clenched in his fist. He keeps hold of it, not sure where to place it.

A few moments later, Lizzie reappears, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of him. She’s still in pajamas, Jimmy notices, her short hair tangled and eyelids heavy with sleep. She must’ve just woken up to find him on the bathroom floor.

Just lying there. Like he was dead. Like Keith. Like all the others.

There’s a lump in his throat and a sour taste in his mouth and his eyes itch really badly, but he can’t cry. He can’t cry when he survived, he made it out intact, while so many others are dead by his hand.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps, swallowing several times. “I—I don’t know—”

“It’s all right, you’re not feeling well,” Lizzie cuts in, running a hand down the side of her face. “I can call in to work, say I’m sick. Or I can call Scott or Joel to come take care of you while I work, but if you’ve got a bug I’ve probably got it as well. . . .”

“I’m not sick,” says Jimmy. When Lizzie fixes him with a disbelieving look, he adds, “Really. I just—I just had a bad dream. A . . . a flashback.”

The look turns to one of sympathy, and Lizzie moves as if to rub his arm, but holds herself back. “Do—do you want to talk about?” she asks awkwardly.

He shakes his head. There’s nothing they can do. Lizzie will just tell him that it isn’t his fault, that maybe he should talk about it in therapy, et cetera. More coping, no doing. No real owning up for his actions.

At least, that’s what Scott would do. Lizzie’s quite a bit more pragmatic than Scott.

“Well, maybe,” he says slowly.

She holds back a sigh, he notices. One of relief or frustration, he can’t tell. But he forges onward anyway, because this is not just something he can drop. 

He decides to just cut to the chase. “I killed people,” he says. Blunt, perhaps, but Lizzie doesn’t flinch.

“I know,” she says drily. “Believe me.”

She’s blunt too, of course. Jimmy swallows, then forces himself to go on.

“Four by my own hand and choice—at least, recently. Because they told me to.” He takes in a shuddering breath. He can do this. “Five others because of me—I think. I’m not sure. I don’t know. Maybe more. They—they killed people, to make me behave sometimes, and it’s my fault still, their blood is still on my hands because I knew what the punishments were like and I still—I still fought back. And . . . my actions had consequences. And too often, innocent people suffered them.”

Jimmy stops, overcome. He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, breathes in and out. He needs to confess this. There’s been guilt gnawing at his stomach for so long, long enough that he didn’t even realize it was there. He deserves punishment, he killed so many people, and hurt so many others. . . .

“I didn’t know them,” he manages. “I didn’t even know them. But because—because I misbehaved, they got pulled in and I had to watch them die. I was—Lizzie, it was my fault they died, they didn’t deserve it and—I don’t—”

He cuts off, tears choking his throat. He can’t look at Lizzie. He can’t bear to see the disappointment, the disgust, on her face.

Closing his eyes doesn’t help. Behind his eyelids all he can see is blood dripping from everywhere, places he never thought possible, eyes and ears and nostrils and cheeks—

He grabs the bag, just in case. He doesn’t think he’s going to vomit again, but it’s always a possibility.

It wasn’t just Keith, of course. There were others. Four others before Keith, four lessons ignored until the fifth finally stuck. He doesn’t know their names, their occupations, their home lives. He doesn’t know if that makes it better or worse.

“Jimmy,” says Lizzie eventually. “I doubt that you’ll believe me right now, but anything that Xornoth did is not your responsibility.”

But it is. Those people would still be alive if Jimmy had just behaved. He could’ve been good, he could’ve been good and everyone would have been safe, but he acted out and it hurt him and others time and time again.

“They had their agency,” Lizzie continues. “They made the choice to do that, after subjecting you to inhumane conditions. That isn’t on you. You were just trying to survive.”

Maybe, somewhere deep within his mind, that comes as a relief. For some part of him, that’s exactly what he needed to hear.

It still isn’t enough.

“If that’s true, why does it feel wrong?” Jimmy asks, sniffling. “I feel—I feel like I ought to be punished, still. I knew there would be consequences, and I still chose to—I still—”

“‘Chose’ is not a word that applies, I think,” Lizzie says. “And really, that’s a very common abuse tactic. Imagine—say, imagine a man who gets angry at his wife—for, er, not cooking dinner right—and he throws a vase at her. Then he says that it was her fault the vase is broken since she made him angry. Is that an okay thing to happen?”

“No,” Jimmy admits after a moment. “But—it’s different.”

Lizzie sighs. “Scott is so much better at this,” she mutters. “I really don’t see the difference. Why would you—er, ‘misbehave’, as you said?”

Flashes of all the times he wilfully disobeyed a command zip through his mind. Every time, he did it—

“To stop someone from getting hurt,” he says, looking up. Lizzie’s watching him, chin propped on her hands. “I thought—I thought I could handle getting hurt, if someone innocent was all right. But then—it wasn’t always me. Who got hurt.”

“Don’t you see? You had good intentions, Jimmy. You just wanted to help people. Xornoth had no right to treat you so horribly, and when you tried to save others from getting hurt, they would turn your good heart on you.”

She’s right. If he wasn’t so tired, it would be easier to see. The guilt doesn’t go away, but the knot in his chest loosens a little.

“That’s exactly what Scott would say,” he mumbles. “I thought you’d be on my side. Instead I got therapized.”

Lizzie snickers. “It’s unfair how good Scott is at that. I would have called him, but it’s like, three in the morning. Did I at least help?”

“Yeah,” Jimmy says. “Sorry. It was—” he shudders, seeing it all over again— “It was a really bad nightmare.”

“Well, if that’s solved, I’ll head back to bed,” says Lizzie, getting ready to stand. “How are you feeling, though?”

Guilty. Like a monster. Like he needs to be punished.

Something on his face must betray that, because Lizzie pauses, offers him a sympathetic smile.

“Just because it isn’t my fault—I guess—that—that doesn’t mean they don’t deserve help,” he says. “Is there something I can do? For their families?”

“Maybe,” Lizzie says. She nods a little bit, her expression turning thoughtful. “I’ll call your boyfriend, see if he has any contacts that can figure that out.”

Jimmy groans. “Just—he has a name, don’t—”

“We’ll see what your boyfriend says!”

-

It takes time, but eventually a charity is set up for the families of Xornoth’s victims. However, after only two weeks, Lizzie silently hands Jimmy a list of ten names. At the top is Keith Rowland. He doesn’t know how she got the names. He doesn’t ask.

Jimmy makes his reparations in the best way he can think to. He leaves envelopes of cash with apology cards in their mailboxes, rings the doorbell, then runs. He stalks the families online, makes sure that they have everything they need at the moment, are comfortable and all set to continue their lives.

He doesn’t stop feeling guilty, exactly. There are moments when his heart clenches, when all he can see is gruesome death that he knows is his fault.

But there’s nothing else he can do. For the most part, he’s content. And every day, it gets a little bit easier to separate himself from the evil that Xornoth forced upon him.

[galavant-song-tournament]

ok after the current bracket ends, I'll run a best character bracket