#how to describe action

[keferon]

THE NEW CHAPTER OF MISTAKES ON MISTAKES UNTIL IS OUT AND YOU ALL KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS~~~~~~

Spoilers for ch 74 below >:)

Head in hands. And then they all happened to be self sacrificial idiots.

Infinitely delighted by the fact that Optimus automatically decided to catch whoever was falling and only look who that was afterwards. 100/10. Peak Optimus writing.

[trafalgardlawless]

listen i do appreciate canon marineford for the tragedy it is. however it does happen to also be extremely funny.

ace is on his knees on the execution platform, the same place the father that he despises and has tried to define himself outside for his whole life had knelt, thinking this might be the most fitting ending to the life long crashout ace started when he found out who his father was

and then in comes LUFFY, his cheerful persistent little menace of a brother, who has come to COP CENTRAL to break ace out PUBLICLY.

Not only that, but he’s staged a mass break out of the formerly inescapable prison IMPEL DOWN (HE WASNT EVEN LOCKED UP IN THERE? SO EVERYONES A LITTLE BIT CONFUSED AS TO HOW THAT HAPPENED???)

He also kind of looks like shit? But he’s fighting like he’s on day three of a methamphetamine high so no one can be sure how injured luffy Really is.

side note: luffy tanked a lung full of Kills You Dead Toxin and then got shot full of Lowers Your Lifespan Drug and on top of all that, DEMANDED the Super Lowers Your Lifespan Drug when he realized he might need anything resembling recovery time.

as an elder sibling myself, ace might’ve been truly grateful for being loved at the end, but i KNOW there’s a part of him that was INFURIATED that his kid brother managed to crash out harder than he did like OMG STOP COPYING ME FRRRRRRRRRR.

[queen-boudicca]

[eveningalchemist]

Black Sails ended in 2017. Vine died in 2017.

Coincidence?? I think NOT!!!

[Video Description: a compilation of clips from Black Sails, with the audio replaced by Vines. transitions are a ship, the Walrus, exploding. a full description of each Vine is written beneath the cut. end ID]

I think we're gonna be friends kazoo kid vine over Silver and Flint in the we might be friends by then scene.

Screaming kid good morning vine over Joshua trying to jump scare Gates.

Don't fuck with me vine over Jack Rackham fighting for his first prize with another pirate captain.

The fuck this shit I'm out song over Silver watching Flint beat Singleton to death. Silver jumps overboard after.

The when will you learn vine over Max shouting at Eleanor during their break-up scene.

The yeet vine over Flint tossing Richard Guthrie's wig off the boat.

The free your mind vine over Vane's speech before he fights the logging camp leader. Fast-forward though the fight to Vane getting his face kicked in.

Sail! vine over a beautiful opening shot of the Walrus. A crew member shouts. Cut to the Walrus being blasted apart with cannon-fire.

Today I will be playing Mozart vine over Miranda about to play on her clavichord before being interrupted by Flint collapsing at her door.

Kitty! I want to sing you a song vine over various scenes of Randall and Betsy, the ship cat.

Do you ever want to talk about your emotions vine over Gates chastising Flint outside in Nassau, cut with Billy interrupting.

Gimme your fucking money vine over Eleanor arguing with a pirate crew, followed by Vane throwing Ned Lowe across his cabin, cutting to his warning sign that reads, I angered Charles Vane

Saw you hanging out with Katelyn yesterday vine over Billy confronting Dufresne about his betrayal, with pirates reacting in the background.

I am the sand guardian vine over Flint and Silver on the beach after the Walrus is wrecked, cutting to Dufresne walking away from them.

It is Wednesday my dudes vine over the island's Puritan priest practicing his sermon in a field looking distressed, overlaid with the scene of Miranda seducing him.

Barbecue sauce on my tittles vine over the scene of Gates and Flint drinking during the storm, with Gates giving a solemn speech. Cutting to Flint laughing drunkenly.

Welcome to Chili's vine over Anne going to Max's room, interrupted by Jack appearing while they are in bed.

Harry what's for dindin vine over a crew member walking up to Silver while he's giving his goings-on report. He punches Silver in the gut and Flint makes an 'oh' face.

Bop-It! vine over quick cut scenes of Jack, Anne, and Vane, including various fuck-you jack moments.

Welcome to my meet or greet vine over Colonel Rhett of Charlestown welcoming Flint into the city, unfriendly.

Dad look, it's the good kush! vine over Vane rolling a cigar, cutting to Blackbeard standing in his tent looking tired.

It's an avocado vine over Woodes Rogers receiving Eleanor's embroidery attempt.

Do you have any ice? vine over Thomas Hamilton explaining his plan to pardon the pirates to Flint, who looks baffled.

Somebody left an ice cube on the ground vine over Silver walking into Nassau's tavern to call-out the pirates for taking pardons. He hits Dufresne with a mug.

Get on top of the fridge vine over Flint yelling at Billy during the storm. Cut to Billy clinging onto a yard as the ship nearly capsizes.

Look at this graph vine over Silver trying to use navigation instruments and explaining them to Madi. Madi looks increasingly concerned.

Road work ahead? vine over Jack in Roger's carriage as they are approached by pirates on horseback. The carriage crashes.

You should get the orange soda vine over Eleanor and Max talking in her office after Eleanor's return from London. Eleanor is the orange soda woman and Rogers is the waiter.

Two bros chillin' in the hot tub vine over quick cuts of scenes of Silver and Flint, including sitting on the beach after the doldrums, staring at each other across a gap, and Madi in between them giving Silver a pointed look.

Release all of those sounds that are trapped in your mind vine over Vane talking to Eleanor while he's in prison. Cut to Eleanor screaming in the corner.

The fuck is in the air vine over Jack arriving in Boston and complaining about the snow.

I love you, bitch, vine over Vane getting punched by Eleanor, then getting a noose slipping around his neck as she watches.

It's finals week vine over Silver scenes across all seasons, from pleading his innocence in season 1, to getting his leg removed, to trying to save Muldoon from drowning, and then pulling a gun on Flint in the final episode.

[genericpuff]

All That Glitters is Not Feminism - An Analysis of LO's Brand of "Feminism" and What Remains of its Fanbase (The Twist)

Alright y'all, I've been waiting a hot minute to talk about this because I wanted to see how it fully panned out before saying anything about it. And it's not even specifically about LO, but I do think it's very adjacent to it in a way that I'm sure you'll be shocked to hear. Much of it speaks to how we prop up white writers even at the expense of POC.

This is 'the twist' attached to my first post that I made just a couple hours ago that concerns an entirely other topic but I feel ties into this subject very well.

If you haven't heard, there's this author who recently fucked around in the Del Rey publishing scene.

Her name is Cait Corrain.

In the original tweet calling this person out, names were not dropped, but it was made very clear that what Cait did was unacceptable behavior.

You can read the entire thread that started it all from Xiran here:

There's also a GREAT recap thread from one of the affected authors, Bethany Baptiste:

I want to make it clear that Cait Corrain isn't just a debut author.

Cait Corrain is - or now, was (foreshadowing is a literary device that-) - a debut author who had an agent, a publishing deal with Del Rey (an imprint of Random House which is a MAJOR publisher) and even an upcoming Illumicrate deal - meaning, her book was going to be packaged in a monthly loot crate subscription shipped directly to people's doors, quite possibly one of the best marketing deals a debut author could ever get, usually unheard of in this industry. All the pre-reviews were strong and positive.

Cait's book was literally set up for success. All she had to do was sit back, relax, and watch the fruits of her labors roll in. She had written the book. It was ready for release. The hard part was technically over.

But I guess the racism brainrot got to her because as it turns out, since April - for EIGHT MONTHS - she's been making alternate accounts on GoodReads to review bomb the indie and debut works of her friends and peers, most of whom were POC and did not have the same opportunities set up for them as she did. There are loads of receipts to back this up that you can find in those above threads ^^^

To say that this is appalling is an understatement. This was an intentional and deliberate act of racism by a white queer writer who claimed to be "jealous" - of what, I can't imagine - so much so that she deliberately sabotaged her peers, people who had supported her and her book.

And then when she got caught? She doubled down on it and claimed it was a "friend", also an alternate account she made up.

The exchange between her and this made-up person is actually the funniest shit out of this entire thing, it's so poorly written and as soon as people noticed the time stamps were out of order, that was when it truly cemented her newfound clown status.

"oooooh he's standing right behind me, isn't he?" energy right here LMAO

yes keep expositing cait, that's really selling the "this is a genuine conversation that really happened with a real person" bit 🤡

Anyways, it became abundantly clear that Cait was just going to continue to dig her heels in over something she caused.

This has been a hot topic in the UnpopularLO Discord, not just because of how crazy of a situation it is that we had to talk about it - and we have people within the community who work in the literature and media sector - but because we noticed one very telling thing in the list of series that she had review bombed in her very own personal act of wrath.

You see, Cait made one fundamental mistake that led to her undoing - she didn't just review bomb the works of her peers, she positively reviewed her own book and others.

What's her book about though?

It's an Ariadne x Dionysus retelling set in space.

It's literally another "modern retelling" of Greek myth.

And wouldn't you know it, guess who else created a modern retelling of Greek myth that she included in her positive review raiding while she was sabotaging the work of her actual peers?

Now, I think it goes without saying that what I'm about to say should be taken with MOUNTAINS of salt, I'm sure a lot of you are reading the headline and going, "Ugh, really? You're gonna make this about LO? Could you give it a rest already???"

I need you to understand, with the current state of Rachel's fanbase and 'modern' Greek myth literature as a whole, at this point Lore Olympus - and the works that are literally inspired by it such as A Touch of Darkness - has basically become the shopping cart litmus test of basic decency. It's like when someone says they like Harry Potter - you can't take it automatically at good faith anymore, because there isn't a whole lot separating someone who simply liked Harry Potter as a kid and still rewatches the movies from time to time from someone who fully supports the politics and agenda of J.K. Rowling. No, not everyone who still watches the movies or reads the books fondly is a TERF by default, but it's justifiably a reason for suspicion when the consequences are often too dire to risk.

There's this thing that's been happening in the LO fanbase that I frankly saw coming, but has really recently started to hit its peak. It's what I call the "Kanye Effect", where the comic has become so absurd and backwards in its misogyny and white feminism that the only people who seem to be left supporting LO are the people who are legitimate white feminists and misogynists - because all the normal level-headed people fell off the comic ages ago (or transitioned into the critical side of the community).

I mentioned it in my last post, but it bears repeating - Rachel's fanbase has literally been shipping Hera, a victim of abuse, with her abuser, Kronos. I'm really hoping a lot of them realize how fucked up that is now that Hera herself has called it what it is - abuse - within the comic, but I also can't count on the LO fanbase picking up on that or even noticing it with how quickly people swipe through it each week, it's very apparent at this point that most of LO's readers don't know how to chew their food and don't pay attention when Persephone and Hades aren't onscreen.

But I'm digressing. Or am I? We're talking about Crown of Starlight after all. The debut Dionysus x Ariadne sci-fi/fantasy romance that was quite literally advertised using Lore Olympus as its baseline-

This. This is what the ongoing cultural erasure and white feminist uwu-fication of Greek myth is doing to the literary zeitgeist surrounding Greek myth as a whole. This is why we criticize Lore Olympus and works like it that are created by disingenuous people who only seek to use the assets of Greek myth material as a way to shoot themselves up into fame and stardom. This is why we demand better standards in the literature and webcomic industry, so that people like Rachel and Cait can't use their privileges to quite literally erase the source material that they used to make themselves famous in the first place.

If anything, Cait's actions didn't just affect the people she negatively review bombed, or the people she was affiliated with, but also the people she positively reviewed. While I don't support what Rachel creates, she wasn't the only one who Cait went out of her way to review positively from her alt accounts, there were many others as evident in the Google Doc - but all this really does is tarnish the legitimacy of these books and their ratings by artificially jacking up their numbers that are advertised to others.

Making Greek myth fanfiction or fun creative retellings was never the problem, but it's now being sabotaged alongside so many other genres and mediums by toxic white individuals who can't even keep themselves from committing hate crimes, let alone create something purely for entertainment that's transparent in its illegitimacy, lest it destroy the illusion that these people are qualified to speak over those whose voices are being stifled, often by these very same people. Many of these writers get caught and are still allowed to continue what they're doing - that was certainly what we feared with Cait.

Until today.

It was revealed today that Cait's book will no longer be featured in the Illumicrate May 2024 box.

Del Rey has dropped Crown of Starlight from their publishing schedule.

Daphne Press will be hopefully following suit.

And, most telling of all, Cait's own agent has severed ties with her.

For anyone not familiar with the inner workings of the publishing industry, Cait has essentially been blacklisted. Without an agent or a publishing house, she'll have to entirely rely on her own resources through self-publishing. Unless she manages to sneak her way back in under an alias (which I wouldn't put it past her to try) she no longer has access to the mainstream publishing industry that was already guaranteed for her before she let her 'jealousy' get the better of her.

Her career was already made for her. She had a red carpet laid out for her debut. Her book was getting good pre-reviews and she had quite literally nothing keeping her from her success. The best thing she could have done was nothing. Somewhere in her head, she made up a threat that didn't exist, and sealed her fate in acting on it, a self-fulfilling prophecy.

I think in these situations such as with Cait Corrain, Rachel Smythe, and - also recently and relevant - James Somerton, we need to become increasingly aware of how white voices are still overpowering POC voices, not just in their actions, but in the opportunities they're given over others which they then use to further stifle the voices of those they feel "threatened" by or feel entitled to speak over. While neither James nor Rachel have used sock puppet accounts to "take out the competition" (at least as far as we know lmao) James did quite literally steal the words and voices of queer writers who were deserving of their time in the spotlight, and Rachel's work is being quoted as "rewriting Greek myth" as if its blatant gentrification and appropriation should be marketed as some sort of positive.

It's all too common for these deeply-rooted prejudices to rear their ugly heads and for the people who carry them to act out in this way while justifying it as "jealousy" or "a mistake". This isn't jealousy. This isn't a mistake. This isn't someone "starting drama". This is genuine, targeted hate, with the intention of snuffing out the voices of others who should be empowered, not silenced.

All that time and effort, and for what? Racism and petty jealousy? It just goes to show, it doesn't matter how many opportunities you're given, how high up on the ladder you already are - it won't fix the deeply-rooted insecurity and racial pettiness that spurs people on to do such horrible things.

I've spent enough of my time and words today talking about Cait, and James, and Rachel. So to end this off, I want to join in with all the others who have highlighted the books that were review-bombed by Cait, and help in uplifting them so they can have successful debuts. I'll be pre-ordering a few of them, so I'll be happy to make dedicated posts for them in the future after they release. Please consider purchasing them for yourself if you want some new reading material <3

The Poisons We Drink by Bethany Baptiste:

So Let Them Burn by Kamilah Cole:

To Gaze Upon Wicked Gods by Molly X Chang:

Mistress of Lies by K.M. Enright

Voyage of the Damned by Frances White:

(I'm sure there are plenty others so if I missed any here, please let me know so I can add them here and check out their books!)

If there's any silver lining to this, I hope that it makes people aware of the media they consume and who it's being created by. I hope it makes people more willing to seek out the books that aren't getting the same opportunities as Cait Corrain and Rachel Smythe. I hope it's a wake-up call to the industry that matters like this need to be taken seriously and that POC writers are still being silenced under their own noses. And most of all, I hope it's a reminder that we shouldn't even need at this point that this behavior is not okay, no matter what level a person climbs to - that just because someone is part of one minority doesn't mean they're not capable of sabotaging another. It sucks that that has to be said, it sucks that despite these groups being so intersectional there are still people within them who submit to their deeply-rooted insecurities and find ways to feel threatened that they use to justify hateful behavior.

Having a platform is a privilege. It should never be weaponized against your own peers or those who you simply feel "threatened" by for no reason beyond your own imposter syndrome or doubts or internal struggles. Because as much as you may feel like you've earned where you are, that never gives you the right to weaponize your opportunities against others who were never given those same opportunities in the first place. "Feminism" is not using your power to crush "other women". "Progressiveness" is not exclusive to the progress that only benefits you.

I wish only the best to those who were affected by the actions of Cait Corrain. You deserve to be heard and seen and appreciated for the work you do and the abuse you've had to tolerate. I look forward to your debuts in 2024 <3

[st-just]

I have a friend whose, like, 7 for 10 on reccing me things I end up eally liking, but he always does so in a way that's almost designed in a lab to make them sound unappealing to me. Just incredibly vexing dynamic.

[sob-dylan]

hey what the fuck? this is ridiculous.

[clarabellashere]

Daryl Dixon x Reader

tw: +18, smut (without sex because I don't know how to write that 😭)

no use of pronouns for reader

Animalistic, that’s how you would describe your feelings. 

When the end of the world is upon you something changes within yourself. Some would say that a part of you dies, humanity vanishes, but deep inside, you know nothing of you is different, you are no different than before, you have always been like this, felt like this, suppressed the need and hunger. 

You used to feel so weird when eating in public, something akin to shame of your inappropriate behavior when any sane person would know that eating an apple while walking is not inappropriate or “weird”. The hunger has always been there, your primal instincts have always been in you, embedded in your genes, your dna. 

Humans always forgot that they were animals. Now there isn’t really a difference, we survive and eat like any other pig, any other animal. 

There’s not much thinking, you act for your survival. And there definitely wasn’t any when you kissed Daryl Dixon. You had an appetite and acted upon your needs. And like the animals you both are, he answered by deepening the kiss and evolving you in his arms, flexing his muscles and pulsating with adrenaline. 

You were both on a run, being surprised by a dozen or so walkers in the abandoned grocery store. Your bodies drenched in sweat and black blood from the corpses, hollow breaths and heat emitting from your bodies. Your eyes locked once the last one of them dropped to the ground, gun and crossbow still aiming. You didn’t feel the small rise of your lips, Daryl did. 

Oh, how he loved that smirk of yours, that something tingling in your eyes. Your hair definitely escaping from your hair tie and sticking to your wet forehead. He fixated on a small bead of sweat glistening and traveling from your neck, to your clavicles until deep inside where he could no longer see but couldn't stop thinking about. 

With his eyes traveling from your chest to your body he lowered his crossbow and as his gaze went to your eyes, he walked closer to you, the proximity making you lower your own gun and rotate your body to his, stepping back once he was close to you, way closer than you have ever been. The cold wall making a gasp escape from your lips. 

With his eyes still fixed on yours, he touched your arm but didn't dare to move his hand, as if all the bravery he had in him vanished once he touched you, once he was sure it wasn’t one of the many dreams he had just like this. Once his skin was on yours, it was over. You didn’t care about being inappropriate, professional or any other crap you once used to hide your feelings, your needs. You launched yourself to him and pressed your mouth to his, tongue slipping in. 

Daryl didn’t hold back now, if you wanted him, he was yours. His body was yours. He hugged you tighter, your body fully pressed against him, your hands in his hair or on his shoulders, feeling him. His hands found their way under your shirt, loving the feel of your warm skin of your back against his calloused hands. 

Legs intertwined, moaning and gasping for air, sloppy kisses and playful bites in each other's skin. Animals is all you were.

[redrobin-detective]

Its so frustrating when you have an OC who you know so well, so intimately that it makes it almost impossible to accurately portray them. Like this stupid idiot lives in my bones, is imprinted on my neurons and I know them at a microscopic level... so why can't I give them life in a way that portrays a sliver of their existence?

[pronouncingitwang]

adam scott says in the "inside the episode" of 2.07 that it allows the audience to "see the magic of gemma and why she immediately took over [mark's] life and his heart" and dichen lachman describes the ep in the severance podcast as "the audience getting to know [gemma] and everyone seeing what mark had that he lost." well, what about gemma? how much do we really get to know her? what did she lose? why did mark take over her heart?

they had 50 minutes for a Gemma Episode and they spent half of it on dead wife tropes and her smiling at mark with come-hither eyes while not giving us a single new fact* about her or a relationship outside of mark and mark's family. a subversion of the dead wife trope is not just scenes later showing they had an imperfect marriage bc mark (or nobody) is the problem in all of those scenes; you need to disrupt the idea that she was the perfect wife, and i don't think we get that. so much of it is explicitly presented through mark's pov. she doesn't hurt him at any point. she's just there being lovely or victimized as he loves or neglects her. everything we learned about her past gives more depth to his current grief but contributes little to our understanding of her current suffering or motivations. that could change with time, but for a first try, i think it's an abysmally bad showing

* that wasn't in mark's 1.07 monologue, his conversations with devon and alexa, or the the you you are pdf, all of which i think did a better job than this episode

[thenamesapollo]

i got reminded of an old post I made saying that nightmare can't be a capitalist and I'm just realizing now that I WAS WOOBIFYING HIM

[arcade-confetti]

Fic where Bruce is doing his normal violence against Jason and ends up just actually accidentally killing him. Him waiting for Jason to get up, maybe even just walking off now that their little spat is over, maybe dragging him somewhere while unaware of the candle snuffing out. Bruce vs tangible consequences GO

[too-many-rooks]

In a world of heavy footprints, be untraceable. Wage wars! Get rich! Die handsome!

- The Mountain Goats

[hazmatmaid]

Hi! So what ARE your Spamton headcanons? How do you like to portray him?

Mighty kind of you to ask! Apart from much of these being made with the help of @val-of-the-north, I've been intending to draw his known eras in life, and this is the perfect opportunity to detail each:

Addi Spamton:

He's just some guy. A young adult with some semblance of direction in life, but neither the know-how nor the skill to get there. Despite this, he still talks himself up with confidence you wouldn't otherwise expect from him.

If I ever have any "cutesy blushy uwu" interactions, I dump them all here, where I think he's young and inexperienced enough for it to make the most sense.

He once tried to sell home insurance to a hotel guest.

All of his buddies mostly pity him for his abysmal luck (or whatever else might be holding him back), rather than simply looking down on him, even if they are embarrassed to be seen with him.

Just as prone to bullshitting (and getting pissed off when he's called out on it) as his future selves.

I don't consistently include his hairline in this stage, I mostly just draw it for my own convenience.

Big Shot Spamton:

A Spamton who knows success to not only afford basic cost of living, but to have his name and face on every sign, screen, and soda in Cyber World (and possibly beyond). Naturally, because of his aforementioned ambition, and unlike his former peers, he doesn't question if he deserves any of it, having an obnoxious, arrogant "I told you so" attitude.

His idea of gifts to his old Addison buddies is his own merchandise (once couldn't attend one of their birthdays, and instead sent them a giant cungadero-shaped cake decorated with neon signs, sparklers, and a picture of him leaning out the window).

Ain't no way he's not spending bank on hookers and cocaine.

If he has a softer side at this point in his life, rarely anyone would see it.

Present Spamton:

A 40-something Spamton who has long since abandoned much of his morals and inhibitions, even somewhat before his downfall.

Down with murder: this doesn't necessarily mean that I just see him as a mindless killer. Far from it, in fact. His role in Snowgrave is to take advantage of it in a calculated manner once he sees what's going on.

He is capable of kindness (or as close as he can possibly get to it), but it's more him reciprocating someone else's kindness. Even if he does do this unprompted, he probably has to relate to them, or see himself in them on some level.

This version of him is where I am most prone to claiming other absurd, wacky things of him (not that his BShot self is exempt from this).

While I tend to see him at this point as mostly self-serving, conniving, and planning all manner of revenge/murder, I don't think he's entirely beyond redemption and saving, but it would probably take another whole route of character development for him to get anywhere close.

[advluv4life]

I don't want to brag but I've gone from 10 words to 416 and after the past year of a drought I want to express that I am proud of myself. I will get these last two chapters out. I will do it.

[b0amagination]

Renovation and Rumination

Hasan and Declan - Chapter 4 | Previous

Declan spends some quality time loathing his situation. Hasan continues to be very helpful.

Content Warnings: Captivity, creepy whumper, foot whump, restraints, "field" medicine, painful wound cleaning.

Word Count: 2510

~~~

“And my question…?” Declan hesitated, trying not to think about what moving would feel like. 

“Let’s save it for another time.”

Wonderful. A non-answer. 

He tried to ignore the way his heart squeezed. He braced, then leapt forth. The jump cleared the shards and he crashed down on his knees and elbows, grunting from impact but keeping his feet carefully bent above the concrete no matter what. 

“Very clever,” Hasan praised, taking hold of his left ankle. The curious pad of a thumb traced the calloused sole even as Declan pulled away. “Looks like some pieces lodged pretty deep though…” They flicked the most embedded splinter and brought out a sickening keen. 

“Don’t!”

“Shhh, don’t you want these out?” Two fingers pinched and wiggled it now, encouraging blood to slide past as Declan pounded fists against the floor. 

“I can do- that myself!!” He wavered. 

“Are you sure? Your fists are trembling, an-”

“Just leave me alone!” His ankle finally slipped from their grip and thudded against the ground, followed by a spasm and cry. He could feel Hasan’s stern glare before he saw it and simply couldn’t bring himself to care. “Now get out!”

“...Fine. Don’t say I never tried to help.” But instead of turning on their heel, Hasan dragged him across the room by his handcuffs. They avoided what remained of the shattered plate and forced him against the opposite wall instead, next to the radiator. His struggle when they unlocked the handcuffs and forced a hand between the leg and floor was pronounced but useless.

Then, finally, they left.

Declan shuddered against the ground. Aches and pains pulsed through him and he only wished to wallow in self-pity until someone waltzed in to bring him home. Which would happen, he reminded himself. Eventually.

But blood was still dripping down between his toes and the glass would only be harder to wrench out if his body tried to heal around it or, worse, heal with it. His sibling’s adventures in piercings had drilled that far enough into his head. 

Therese, oh fuck, and Glen. They would-

He squeezed his forearm into the gap Hasan had pushed his wrist through, just far enough to bend the elbow and let his right arm pull further away. Leaning on his shoulder still made it throb and grind against the socket, but there was no other way. A carefully bent knee brought the challenge into view.

Fuck. By way of a cursory glance, there were at least seven pieces lodged in his skin. At least he’d be doing impromptu surgery with his good arm. Declan reached for the largest, poking out from his heel, and pincered it between his thumb and pointer finger before pulling it out in one swift yank. It slid free, lubricated by the blood in a way he really didn’t want to think about. The porcelain was flung across the room toward its brethren. 

The next came just as easily and he nearly eased up before reminding himself those would be the easiest on this foot. His hand hovered between two equally embedded shards, choosing the thicker of them to hold and tilt. That was definitely curved. 

Declan held his breath and pushed the opposite direction to dig out what had wedged itself inside, then pulled and hoped for the best. One sharp edge caught and set a patch of nerves aflame, but the ceramic came loose and fell out. Breath blew out shakily through pursed lips. 

The same technique worked with the smaller piece but left him with a thin slice when sweaty fingers slipped. He swiped them against his pants, not paying attention to the rusty streak that stained the moist patch. 

He wiped the sweat from his brow and focused in on one with only a corner sticking out. His nails were able to slide between it and the wound, but slipped off the smooth surface. As Declan tried again, the door swung open and he flinched hard.

Hasan stood in the doorway, of course–who else were you expecting, idiot?–and pulled a vacuum in behind them. Green eyes stared wide, only spared a passing glance by his kidnapper. 

“Shouldn’t you be squinting, dear? Your glasses are still over here.” They nudged his black frames with a toe.

“I- they’re not prescription.”

“Didn’t take you for a hipster,” Hasan grinned, then tilted their head as if actually considering the idea, but frowned when they mentally reassessed it.

“They filter blue light. Figured I should have some, considering I stare at a monitor for a living.”

“Stared.”

“I- excuse me?” Declan was still trembling, trying to grab hold of that stubborn piece and only slipping quicker as he bled.

“Stared. Past tense. Not. Any. More,” they enunciated. He shrunk back. The heel came down hard, snapping plastic and cracking lenses, drawing out another flinch and a small noise of hurt. “You won’t need those anymore. No sense holding onto them, right?”

The question didn’t yield a response, but a sniffle was far more informative than words would have been. He finally wedged his nails around the little shard and pulled it out, lobbing it across the room at his captor. A dirty look shot his way without further reaction. 

So Declan set to work on the next piece and pretended he couldn’t feel the weight of their eyes on his body. 

Eventually, they unwound the cord. Passed between hands, weaving around the vacuum’s pegs, gathering gradually on the floor. When he risked a glance, Hasan was still staring. Declan flung another bloodied shard. 

The abrasive shout of the machine was a relief when pitted against silence, finally swallowing Declan in something louder than the buzzing in his ears. Something like focus came over trembling fingers and dulled the pain as he dug out the last visible pieces and shuffled his other foot close. 

A few shards slid out before the plug came loose and his ears rang with the memory of a fleeting peace.

“You missed some,” he stated, deadpan, and flicked another shard.

“I’ll be back, Dec.”

“It’s Declan.”

They laughed softly.

“Sure, Dec.” Hasan bent and scooped up the abandoned tart, pinching it between their nails. “Mmh, gone cold. What a waste.” 

They left him alone again. His foot occupied him for a while thereafter: something to hone in on, the pain affording him a certain level of awareness. Removing the cause of the anguish was a relief, but losing his source of focus was… not quite so.

Of all possible sensations, boredom shouldn’t have come forth yet. Under the surface his nerves were boiling, of course, unable to focus his vision due to the acute stress, but there was no release. Nobody standing over him, forcing him to slice his feet open, shoving him around, spitting threats. Nothing he could do.

Each pull against the handcuffs made his shoulder scream, and the radiator was set in concrete for Christ’s sake. They were cinched so tight that the metal cut into his wrists without so much as a struggle. He’d sooner break his bones than wiggle out, but sitting still felt like acceptance. 

There were no ceiling tiles to count, but a few lights. Six to be exact: circular, embedded in the ceiling, bulbs probably a nightmare to change, but brighter than he might’ve otherwise expected. They showed off three bookshelves and a shag rug in the corner nearby. Pipes wound across the ceiling, down the walls, disappearing into carefully fashioned holes, but among them stood small metal hooks and rings with no discernible purpose. At the front of the room were the two doors. The bathroom shared a wall with him, and the other exit was on the wall adjacent. 

A shiver ran through him. Last night’s blanket lay abandoned just out of reach, even if he were to stretch out his legs, and the radiator’s cold pipes clearly weren’t on. Declan searched for a dial and located it above his head, but he couldn’t force a hand even half as high as it sat. Pushing up onto his knees and stretching his mouth wide, he managed to catch the dial between his teeth and crank it with a few tilts of the head. Now to wait and see if it would function. 

The jiggle of a handle triggered a violent flinch and footsteps followed, but neither door moved. Then the clunking of drawers and items rolling around in them, which only could’ve come from the bathroom. Probably hiding any further tools or opportunities. Declan pressed a breath through gritted teeth. That window was still in there, at least, and Hasan couldn’t take it away so easily. 

 Then came the whir of a power tool. It ran infrequently for only a few seconds at a time, but Hasan spent a long while in that room. When they finally left they did so through Declan’s cell, giving a short smile and wave before adjusting their headphones and leaving, locking the door behind them. Yes, point made… If he managed the impossible feat of standing, there was no reason for him to attempt an escape. 

Time went fuzzy for a while after. Something like sleep found him and, fretful and restless as it was, Declan savored every second away from his reality. But memories of the past day swallowed him when he fell too deep, only to wake up with tingling fingers. Moving his head to the ground only made it ache. 

Somehow, it was the hand on his shoulder that woke him with a jolt, flinching away and flashing bleary eyes to Hasan.

“Shhhh, it’s just me,” they soothed, drawing knuckles down his cheek and smudging a small trail of drool at the corner of his mouth. 

“Yeah, just you. What a relief,” Declan grunted and wiped it away on his sleeve. That got a laugh from them.

“You’ve got quite the mouth on you, Dec.” A thumb and forefinger found his chin, the former sliding up over his bottom lip, but pulling away when he gnashed his teeth. “Quite the mouth, indeed. Of course, I should’ve expected that considering your former profession.”

“Screw off.” 

“Sure, sure.” Raised hands and feigned innocence stood and made their way to his lower half, a small briefcase clutched in the one that hadn’t violated his personal space. “Put your feet out, now.”

“I think you’ve hurt those enough for one day.” Declan’s voice shook as he curled into himself and watched their each and every movement. The latches of the briefcase flicked open, and they opened it to reveal bandages, ointment, and assorted medical supplies. A first aid kit.

“Let’s be reasonable, darling. Neither of us want to take care of an infection, and I’m offering to provide preventative care. Refusal would be quite idiotic at this point.” Hasan lifted a bottle of antiseptic and dangled it like a pendulum, letting Declan hear the liquid sloshing inside. “Fifteen percent alcohol, eighty-five water. And if you’re good enough I’ll give you ointment tomorrow.”

He stared for a few long seconds then relented, pushing bloodied heels their way with an intent stare. 

“Don’t fucking try anything,” Declan grit out.

“Yeah?” Hasan already had their hand around his left ankle, but held on tighter when he spoke. “Why not?” His free foot kicked out and they avoided it with a practiced sort of ease, running a fingernail across his wounded foot, and digging it into the deepest cut to wrench out a scream.

“That- don’t!!” An amused snort wafted over even as they relented, folding legs over his ankle to keep it in place as they sprayed a disposable towelette with antiseptic. 

“Brace,” was the only warning before it wiped across and let liquid slither deep beneath his broken skin. Declan gasped sharply, biting his cheek to keep quiet despite the way his chain trembled and clinked. The hurt dulled to a throb even as Hasan cleaned thoroughly, but it was still worse than a few seconds prior. A roll of gauze wrapped his foot up, cut with surgical scissors, and secured by medical tape. 

“Other foot, sweetheart.” 

Declan gave it up but wrinkled his nose.

“Stop calling me those names,” he frowned. Hasan looked up as they prepared another cloth. 

“Alright, dear.”

“No- I mean it!” 

They hummed, smiled, and pressed the towelette harder. 

“Don’t ignore me, you piece of shit!” Not a single second passed before a resounding slap echoed across the bottom of his foot and finally earned a cry. 

“I knew you’d be like this, you know,” Hasan breathed. “I knew you were a fighter since you walked in yesterday. Or- well, I suppose I practically dragged you.” 

The cut crossing his ankle had already attempted a scab, only to be scraped off by a rough swipe. Blood seeped into the gauze, and Declan could already imagine the way it would peel off when his wounds were inevitably redressed.

“All the more reason to let me go,” he muttered. The first aid kit snapped shut and Hasan crouched down with a key in hand. “Oh, really?”

“I’d like to see you run on those injuries but, if I’m being honest, I’d enjoy the aftermath far more. There’s just something about dislocating a kneecap that really gets me going…” Desire was the only applicable term for the tone that seeped into their honeyed accent. Sticky, sweet with desire.

The cuffs clicked open and Hasan grabbed him by the shirt, forcing Declan to his feet.

“Oww, ow! Hold on!” He couldn’t hide a nervous waver, no clue why he was being allowed up again. Each step threatened to buckle his knees and they halted, mercifully.

“Crawl, then. I certainly don’t mind.” A shove and he landed on hands and knees, incredulous.

“Jesus, no. Just give me a second…” The wall steadied Declan as he found footing on his own accord. He padded gingerly on the balls of his feet and followed Hasan to the bathroom door, graciously unlocked and swung open with a gesture to enter. He only realized they’d followed him once the door shut behind them both. 

Seeing that the window had been boarded up with wood sent a shudder through him, only stoking the frustration clouding his judgement. 

“What do you want?” The words were nearly a growl.

“I want you to relieve yourself and keep my floors clean.” 

“So get out.” 

“Ah-ah, you remember this morning, don’t you?” Hasan leaned back against the door. “You can’t be trusted, Dec.”

“Didn’t realize this was the fucking psych ward. No, wait…” He tapped his chin in an approximation of deep thought. “Yeah, even they aren’t this bad.”

“Yes, because what they’re doing is legal. Now use the toilet.”

“Turn the hell around,” Declan folded his arms across his chest. 

“Ask nicely and I might.”

“Please, Hasan. Turn around,” he sighed. They twirled a lock of hair around their finger as he did his business, only turning around when the faucet flicked on. 

“See? It can all be so easy if you have the barest modicum of respect,” they smirked. 

“Get over yourself, you prick.”

A smack over the head sent him tumbling back into the cell. 

Next

~~~

Tag list: @suspicious-whumping-egg @as-a-matter-of-whump