#tw: eye injury.

[mad-hunts]

blood, sender cleans blood off of receiver.

'whenever you're a part of gotham's underground, it's just a rule that you're going to make some enemies, and that means you have to be prepared for anything.' that is something that barton remembers telling his kids once in an attempt to warn them against ever letting their guard down around other people — and somewhat of a mantra that he himself liked to abide by. which, seemed very relevant right now, seeing as he was staring down at the bloodied corpse of someone he originally thought was on his side. but it seemed like the man was quick to change his alliances whenever he was offered a better deal by another villain to be their new inside person and all they had to do was kill him before they could officially switch to working for them. or, perhaps former police officer would be the more appropriate way to refer to him now.

cyrus mitchell was his name. and for a while, he served as barton's 'inside man,' who would report back to him whenever his name was so much as whispered in gotham city's police station for a ridiculous amount of money. but having the ability to be three steps ahead of everyone would always cost you in one way or another. to be able to protect yourself and those you loved, barton did have this idea that you had to sacrifice something, as that seemed to one of the quickest ways to gain power over someone or perhaps even a whole system; both on a physical and mental level. though with that sacrifice came risk, since people like cyrus were obsessed with the idea of living the good life and whenever a new, better offer for work flew into their lap... they immediately wanted to take it. if only he hadn't gotten so greedy.

barton was still breathing heavily from all of the energy he'd just exerted while he was doing something rather unsavory to cyrus's head, which actually caused it to look like less like a head in the end and more like a mess of gore, as well as blood. all of the adrenaline that he had been feeling before was now something that he was beginning to come down from; which made barton to begin to really feel the aching that cyrus, the slimy bastard, had brought about in his legs when he had him pinned down to the ground stomach first for a good five minutes or so. so as you can imagine... with all of the craziness that had been going on around him, barton's mind had failed to remember that someone was actually supposed to be meeting him here soon.

mya, barton thought her name was? thus, he was rather startled by the other suddenly being in his vicinity — in his workshop — and failed to find the right words to say to her for a moment. barton put on his best smile then and tried to ease the tension in the room with a quip, ❝ ahh, right. you're here. don't mind him, he's just going to be hanging around for a little bit... up until i gather enough strength to pick him up and carve him like a thanksgiving turkey, ❞ a breathy, but also sadistic chuckle came from him as he reached for one of the rags that he typically kept near his autopsy table. that's when his vision suddenly stopped working on him and he had to bend over the table to keep himself standing. his eyes, particularly his left one, felt like they were their own individual fountains now as his body seemed to remember that... yes, that man had gone for his eyes and he was pretty sure, had probably cut deep enough directly below them to cause them to overproduce tears because they were damaged.

that's when he felt it. it must've been mya, because there was no one else here at the moment, who had taken the cloth from him and was now wiping at the blood running down his face. barton still couldn't see anything so he had to grope around blindly to loosely grab her other hand's wrist. a shaky groan left his mouth as red-hot pain ran through the areas that she was wiping clear of blood, though that was likely not her intention. he pulled on her wrist then and tried to bat away the hand she was actually using to help him, ❝ ugh, what are you doing? stop it. you're hurting me. ❞

another attempt to bat at her hand, and that's when he decided to try to open his eyes to see her rather than keep them closed. which proved to only hurt him further... great, just great, he thought. mya could kill him if she wanted to right now and he'd be utterly defenseless.

[sayruq]

[ehlihr]

WHEN YOU DIE || OFF Animatic

here’s my silly animatic i did over yesterday and today. hope u enjoy!

[mipmoth]

Reunion but MAIM KILL INJURE

They're fine now

[ilk-insolence]

SPOILERS!!!

For Chapter 10 of @story-monger's incredible fic "by touch, by sight"

TW: for Eye Trauma

This fic has some of the most incredible characterizations I've ever read. The brothers, April, Splinter, Casey Jr., Draxum. Chefs kiss. I love them all so much. Especially Mikey, the writer gets him so good

[myrathefarmer]

Hermit Horror Week Day 7: Season 9 - The Storyteller 🪶

Alt Version

[st-hedge]

From what I’ve managed to understand this is their way of flirting

[rosenkranz-does-things]

unfinished meal (close-ups under the cut)

[my-darling-boy]

(TW injury description)

I am SO glad you asked I lose my mind over this man. Sidney Beldam! He’s most known for his miraculous recovery from a major facial injury sustained while he served as a young sergeant in the First World War. If you’ve read the Facemaker by Lindsay Fitzharris you might recognise him! Sources differ slightly about his story, so I’ve pieced it together as best I could. The photos below were from about February 1919!

Born in 1897, Sidney was about 17 living with his mother in Cambridge, England when the Great War commenced. While he didn’t enlist initially, he was soon conscripted when it came about in 1916 though thankfully he was in a non-combatant role driving lorries transporting soldiers to boats headed for France. It’s where he learned he enjoyed driving! However in April 1917, Sidney was transferred to the Machine Gun Corps and eventually rose to the rank of sergeant where only 7 months later, his life would change forever.

During the battle of Passchendaele, one of the muddiest most gruelling segments of the war, Sidney was on the frontlines when a shell burst, sending a shrapnel fragment tearing diagonally through his nose and the right side of his face. The young soldier collapsed face first into the mud which ended up saving his life as falling backwards would have caused him to choke on his own blood. For three days Sidney laid in a mangled heap floating in and out of consciousness while vermin scurried about his body and the other dead and wounded around him. No one would ever know the details of those agonising three days, but the trauma he experienced there left him with a lifelong phobia of rats and cockroaches. After the initial wounded had been cleared out, a wandering band of stretcher bearers discovered Sidney alive after one man touched him with his boot fully expecting him to be dead. Miraculously, he was still clinging to life.

The 19 year old sergeant was rushed down the line and then transferred to two different military hospitals where his wounds were hastily stitched in an effort to save his life before infection could spread. Unfortunately, closing the gap where he was missing flesh in his cheek caused his upper lip to be pulled into a sneer and a sunken depression formed where most of his nose was missing around the bridge. Still, he was lucky to be alive, which he later used to remark. Well he was luckier still as he would be transferred to Sidcup military hospital in Kent where he would become a patient under Sir Harold Gillies, the man often considered the pioneer of modern plastic surgery. When he arrived at hospital in 1918, his wounds were healed but his face still bore the heavy trauma of his experience. If you want to see his photographs upon arrival, I won’t post them here but if you search his name, the photos are everywhere. IMO they’re not graphic but I know it can upset some people.

Gillies went to work trying to restore Sidney’s face. This required him to reopen the wound in his cheek where a skin flap was grafted to allow his upper lip to return to normal. He also folded down a skin flap from his forehead in order to create a new nose. Behind his facade, a series of tubes and canals had to be inserted for proper sinus drainage and other unnamed functions. While his initial handful of surgeries did most of the work to reconstruct his face, Sidney underwent over 40 surgeries between 1918 and the 1930s, some reconstructive and some to evacuate the tubes behind the flesh, meaning the common cold was a routinely painful affliction for him. Gillies understood operations were traumatic for the men at Sidcup, especially since most required more than one, and so made a point about creating a lighthearted ward environment, one Sidney says was quite jolly with the staff doing everything they could to make them feel comfortable and dignified as possible. And while I thought the topmost photos were the most updated case study photos for his recovery, I stumbled upon another set from 1920 in the Faces of War by Andrew Bamji I have not seen posted anywhere!

And lads listen. In such a sweet little twist, while Sidney was still recovering from the bulk of his major surgeries, a local pianist by the name of Winifred volunteered to play for the resting servicemen, all of whom had some form of disfigurment or amputation. Carrying in her sheet music, she and Sidney laid eyes on each other for the first time and she later remarked how his smile instantly lit up the whole room! For them, it was love at first sight. The two were soon married, and although it was in the 1920s, I don’t have an exact year for this. This most likely came after Sidney was finally discharged from service in 1921. There is a photo of their wedding and y’all look how SWEET!!

Between his initial surgeries and army discharge, Gillies asked if Sidney would be his personal chauffeur, an offer he took up quickly as he loved driving from his time with lorries during the war. One somewhat humorous account tells of Gillies—who was a bit scattered at times—asking Sidney to renew his driver’s license as the surgeon left it until the last day to take care of; Sidney in a rush waited in a long line at the county hall before jumping the queue and begging the administrator to expedite his employer’s license as it was needed to drive him to the hospital the next day. The man refused, even for a surgeon to get him to his patients. Sidney went to another staff member who was friends with Gillies and begged him the same. The man cheerily agreed but was still in need of a signature from the stubborn administrator who again refused... at least until he found out Harold Gillies nearly won a golfing championship, at which point he took Sidney to his personal office to expedite the license as he was happy to do business for a skilled golfer (apparently saving people’s lives doesn’t matter as much??). A no doubt perplexed Sidney was finally able to get back to the hospital on time!

After his army discharge and most likely about the time of his marriage, Sidney moved back to Cambridge where he worked for the council as a rent collector. He was so well liked, apparently even from the people he collected from, that he soon worked his way to Housing Manager for Cambridge. About this time, he had a daughter, Pam. Every account I read of him, people gush about how sweet he was. His wife recalls how Sidney was always adored by all his family and friends. His granddaughter Marilyn McInnes in an interview said, “He was the most warm and optimistic and loving man. I adored my grandfather, I was constantly on his lap as a small child. I never noticed anything funny about his face, I guess I thought all grandads looked like mine.”

Sadly, Sidney Beldam passed away from cancer at about 80 years old in 1978. But considering the man was given 6 months to live and ended up living for 60 years more surrounded by a large and loving family, I’d say he certainly had a full life. There is a picture of him and his wife in the 60s and they are absolutely charming!!

But anyway that’s me done rambling I’ve a massive crush on him. His story makes me genuinely happy to tell and I’m so glad you asked!

[nell0-0]

AHHHH! He lost his EYE in the war! AHHHH!

I am perfectly normal about your last comic. I swear. Very normal. Just...not at all sobbing and emotional over it. You should know that. Definitely. ;_;

It's so good and so sad!

Yep ;u;

Glad you liked it tho!

Take the broken mask drawing as symbolism (?). A piece of him is now forever a part of Mask, and there's no taking that back.

There are many protrayals of Fierce Deity out there, but I like to think he ain't necessarily mean (quite the contrary), just a bit out of touch with how hylians work and feel. Fierce Deity deemed some things necessary for Mask's survival and well being, and not necessarily all of them were free of consequences. It was done with good intentions tho. If only he bothered to explain/tell Mask that...

Tormenting Twilight a bit is fun sometimes too ksksks

> Context about the ask HERE

> Twili Twilight looks HERE

> Continuation of this HERE

[macksartblock]

familiarity breeds discontent

[ancientbygone]

I SEE HER FINGERS BENDING BACKWARDS TWIST AND TURN AND TIE THEMSELVES TOGETHER BECKONING BEHIND HER BACK WITH FINGERS DRIPPING RAINBOW PUDDLES SINGING TO ME “COME AND DRINK OF MANY WATERS”

[daifei]

boo!

[gearbroth]

funny cowboy and funky frenchman hee hoo

[konjkitkatty]

OMG I NEVER SHARED MY LAMBSONA, this is kinda old but HERE HERE!!

the picrew itself and uncensored version is under the cut⬇️ i am, as usual, late to the trend🤧

The uncensored piece for that yummy yummy eye injury

and of course the picrew AND the link to the picrew

[absolutelynotsanebaby]

I've had this one-shot in my docs for a while, I decided to post it here. It's villain au, specifically a moment in Cole's time in the temple with Yang. You can find more info on this au here. The tag for this au is 'villains.au'.

CW: graphic violence, abuse, blood (in the form of ectoplasma), eye injury.

Fic is under cut:

The door to the bunks slams shut with a deafening bang. 

Cole stares at it from down the hall. Behind him, Lloyd and Nya are crowding but also hiding in a way. They don’t move past his shoulders. Distantly, Cole wonders where Zane is before coming to the conclusion that he’s in the Bridge, staring at a wall or—or something. 

“What’s his problem,” Lloyd hisses, voice suspiciously wet. Cole looks down at him and finds Lloyd’s eyes shining and lip curled up in a scowl, clearly hiding a hurt expression. His cheeks are all red and Cole finds his hand is reaching out to rest on Lloyd’s head.

For a moment Lloyd looks conflicted, face going through a series of expressions—confusion, anger, sadness and then it’s all wiped away. He leans into the touch anyways, though without looking Cole in the eyes.

Cole runs his fingers through his hair softly, thumbling along Lloyd’s forehead. It seems to calm Lloyd some, his shoulders slumping a bit. He looks up at Cole with tired eyes, bags under them, and glances at the bunks.

“Just go sit down, alright?” Cole says, “I’ll talk to Jay.”

Lloyd is quiet for a moment before nodding and walking off.

Not before he mutters ‘what an asshole’ under his breath. Cole almost wants to snort. 

Of course, Nya doesn’t budge.

“Nya—” he starts but she interrupts, hands flying out in an angry motion. 

“No! You can’t—can’t tell me to go sit down!” she yells, her face is all screwed up. She tries to move forward but Cole steps in front of her. She glowers at him.

“I wasn’t going to say that, just…just let me handle him alright?” he explains, hands in a placating manner. 

“I can handle him.”

“I know.”

“He needs to get his head out of his ass,” she says quietly but with a viciousness, “he’s not the...the only one who’s hurt right now. Kai left all of us but he—he’s so—” she breaks off into an angry, growly sound.

“Trust me, I know. It’s just—Nya, he cares about you so much. I don’t want him to say anything to you that the—the both of you would regret, y’know?” Cole says, reaching out to gently squeeze her shoulders.

“I don’t love him.” she says back.

“I didn’t say that,” Cole squeezes again. Nya huffs.

“Yeah, yeah you didn’t,” she mumbles, “don’t you worry about it? What he’d say to you?”

“Nah, I got tough skin,” he grins and then hurries to continue before she gets mad, “not that you don’t! I’m just used to Jay, he’s my best friend and all.”

Nya raises an eyebrow, her expression is still pulled taunt and face flushed miserably but it’s—something. “Best friend, right, right, sure.”

She turns around, shrugging out of hands and begins to walk away.

“Hey now, I don’t like you’re implying there.”

Nya throws her hands up in a shrugging motion and turns the corner, exiting Cole’s line of sight.

He lets his shoulders slump. A weary, shaky sigh leaves him, expelling…some sort of feeling into the air. He waves it away. He brings his hand up to his face and just—rubs it. Presses into the crease between his eyebrows with an exhausted sort of energy.

Then he takes a deep breath and squares out his shoulders again. He glances at the bunk door and for good measure, takes another breath. He doesn’t really need to breathe but it makes Cole feel better. More steady.

He walks down the hall, his feet making no sound and grabs the doorknob. He goes still for a moment before turning it and opening the door. The room is dark and cold, they haven’t spent too much time in it as of late. It feels like too much of a reminder, he guesses. Kai’s bed is always empty.

Jay is curled up on—Cole’s bed actually. Cole’s eyes go soft. Jay is laying on his side, knees up to his chest and arms haphazardly thrown in between. Cole can’t see his face, it's covered up by the dark and also Jay’s stupid, curly bangs.

“Is there a reason you’re in my bed?” Cole asks.

Jay takes a moment to answer, “...it’s bigger.”

“It’s not,” Cole says as he sits down. The bed creaks a bit under his weight.

They sit in silence for a few minutes. Cole is trying to gather his words but he can’t seem to find them. His tongue is all heavy. He doesn’t know…how to help really. Ever since Kai left there’s been an open wound in the team. He’s done his best but he has the equivalent of duct tape and a dream when what he needs is cement.

Jay’s foot brushes against Cole’s arm. For a second, he thinks it’s an accident but then it happens again. Cole reaches out to brush his fingertips along Jay’s ankle. He’s got a little scar there, he realizes. Just a small nick on the back of his heel. Jay twitches a bit and Cole smiles faintly. He’s always been ticklish.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Cole asks quietly, letting the words reverberate into this quiet, vibrating silence they’ve made.

“No,” Jay says back, muffled, “what’s there to talk about.”

“Oh,” Cole’s voice goes deep and soft, “I don’t know, maybe why you’ve been so angry at everyone?”

“I’m not angry.”

“You were just yelling at Lloyd,” Cole recalls, resting his hand on Jay’s ankle, “what’d Lloyd do to you?”

“He—he…” Jay trails off, “...nothing.”

Cole hums, “you can’t keep doing that Jay, they’re getting mad.”

“I’m not,” Cole says.

Jay scoffs, bitter and resentful, “yeah, well, who isn’t mad at me?”

“Shouldn’t you be?”

“I think I got all my ‘mad-at-Jay’ out of my system already,” Cole says, “I don’t know if you remember but we kinda fought. A lot.”

Jay scoffs again but it sounds just a little bit more like a laugh.

Cole squeeze’s his ankle, “come on, Bluebell. Talk to me, it’s what I’m here for.”

Jay goes quiet and Cole resigns himself to waiting again. After a few minutes, Jay finally sits up, he does so slowly, pushing on his arms. Then he flops into a slouched over criss-cross position. He’s still not looking Cole in the eyes but he’ll take what he can.

Jay’s hands begin to mindlessly draw out patterns in the bed sheet. It's an anxious tic, Cole has noticed. He does it when he doesn’t know what to say.

That’s okay, he can start, “Jay, I know you’re mad but what happened with Kai isn’t your faul—”

“It’s not that!” Jay interrupts, then he deflates a little more, “Okay, maybe it’s a little that.”

“Jay–”

“But it’s just—just…how could he just leave like that?” Jay says. Cole’s been thinking the same thing, logically he knows it was that—damned staff. Twisted Kai’s mind. Kai loves them, he has to have faith in that, it doesn't mean it doesn't hurt though. “I can’t be him.”

Jay continues, gesturing desperately like he really wants Cole to understand, “I’m not—good at what he does. The on the spot plans and—and Nya. Lloyd. Hell, I don’t even know how you’re so good with them.”

“Listen, I get it dude. I’m out of my depth too,” he says, squeezing Jay’s knee, “but we just have to hang on.”

“So…” Cole starts, “you’re lashing out at them because you’re…not sure how to help?”

“I—I mean, when you put it like that,” Jay mumbles. Cole pats his knee.

“How long will we have to hang on?” Jay says miserably.

“I…I don’t know, Jay,” Cole says quietly. Jay sighs and then tips sideways onto his shoulder. He rests his head there, staring out forward. Cole slips an arm around his back. Jay leans into it. 

“I’m sorry,” Jay mutters, his voice is shaky, “for being mean. I really am trying but—but I’m probably going to be mean again.” Cole rubs his back.

“I know,” he says back, “but it’s alright, I’ll be there to rein you in.”

“That’s not your job,” Jay turns his head to bury his face into Cole’s shoulder.

“Sure it is.”

Jay goes quiet for a minute or so. He’s all wiry, all bony and thin muscles. Cole wouldn’t call him anything like small or delicate, Cole’s seen him take way too many hits that have sent him into a wall before and his shoulders are too broad but he feels so small sometimes.

Jay shifts, “I miss how warm you were.”

Cole’s hand pauses on his back before continuing to rub. He looks down at his hands, trying to swallow everything down.

“Yeah I—uh,” he takes a very quiet breath, “me too, buddy.”

“It’s not fair, y’know? You and Kai were always so warm but Kai’s gone and now you’re a ghost,” Jay mumbles,”’s not fair.”

“I know,” Cole closes his eyes, “I know.”

Jay opens his mouth to reply but the only thing that comes out of it is the sound of wood smashing against the floor.

Cole startles awake, stumbles and dragging himself away from where he thinks the impact came from. His eyes can’t focus and he’s—he’s still half asleep. He tries to sit up fully but the end of a staff stabs him dead center in the chest and slams him into the ground. His head bounces against the floor and he lets out a pained, shocked noise. 

“Cole, don’t you think it’s time to wake up?”

A staff member hit him in the face, shoving his head to the side. 

“A–Ah–!”

“Get up.”

Cole stumbles up finally, frantically backing away. His eyes—eye finally focus enough to be able to see what’s going on. Yang is standing in front of him, staff clenched in his hand and looking down on him with a vitriol. Cole breathes heavily. His—his eye hurts. It’s not fair that the one type of person who can hurt him without water—another ghost—is the one he’s trapped with.

“Yang,” he whispers. He covers his eye and yanks it back when it comes away—wet? No—No, not wet, just…slimy. His hand is bright green, it sort of looks like blood.

“Ectoplasma,” Yang comments. 

“Ecto—ectoplasma?” he stutters back, his hands shake.

“It’s how a ghost bleeds, child,” Yang says.

Cole backs away but Yang starts to advance. A ghost's steps are supposed to be—quiet, unheard but Yang’s are loud and heavy. Like a beat to a drum that hurts Cole’s ears. 

“Y–Yang,” he stutters, “Yang! Stop!” 

His voice is raw and shakes, his hands twitch out in front of him. He can fight, he’s trained to fight but he’s so—so scared—

“Stop!”

Yang strikes out and Cole screams, ducking lower and stumbling back under the staff that flies over where his head was. He can’t breathe—he can’t think! His feet are tripping over themselves. Yang slams his staff into Cole’s side, sending him sprawling onto the floor.

Cole chokes and grabs at his sides. He screams again when Yang’s staff slams into the ground besides his head. He pushes himself back by his feet, clutching at his side and eye bleeding. He throws his arm up just in time to block another hit to the face. Still it catches his chin and sends a shock wave of pain down his arm.

“Sloppy, weak,” Yang spits, “scared.”

“Yang—” Cole sobs. 

“Did you forget everything Wu taught you?” Yang says, spinning his staff and Cole flinches, sobbing, “or did he not teach you anything at all?”

“Why—why’re you—why’re you do–doing—” Cole’s voice cracks and he flinches again when Yang lifts his staff. He covers his face.

He tries to think—how to stop Yang and punch him in the face and so many other things but he can’t think. His brain’s all muddled up and his eyes bleeding and—and—

He sobs, voice cracking and hitching, crying without any tears. Yang steps forward, until his shadow covers Cole. He forces the end of his staff under Cole’s chin and forces his head to tilt up. He stares Cole dead in his eyes. 

“You need to be trained,” he says lowly.

“I’m not your student!” Cole yells back.

Yang lifts his staff again and Cole—Cole kicks his knees in. Yang flies back with a shout, slamming into the wall. He groans and Cole stumbles up, running away. He runs down the hall, turning the corners so fast he nearly slips. After a moment, he can hear Yang start to follow him.

Cole makes it to the stairs and stumbles up them. Yang catches up and grabs the collar of his shirt. Cole yells, throwing the both of them into the wall, pin–balling between them until Yang lets go with a grunt and a battered body. The walls creak but Cole flies up the stairs. Once he gets to the top, he turns around and kicks Yang down.

Then he continues to run. He’s on the second floor so now he just needs—needs to find somewhere to hide. He turns the corner and finds a series of doors, he freezes, panicking before he hears the sound of Yang stumbling up the stairs.

“F–Fuck,” he sobs and runs to one of the door—he doens’t even know which, just one of them and throws the door open. He runs inside and slams the door shut, his fingers are shaking badly but he manages to lock it. He looks around frantically.

He’s in a—closet? There’s a couple of dusty boxes and chests and Cole hits his knees. He shoves them in front of the door, leaving one behind. He curls behind it, shoving his face between his knees. 

He hears Yang start walking down the hall, his staff tapping ominously. Cole shutters, heaving a breath and struggling to muffle his cries. He slams his hands over his ears but it doesn't drown out the tapping.

He shakily extends his fingers to feel around his eye and flinches when they make contact. It’s—puffy and sticky with ectoplasma. He needs a mirror or something. His hand pats around where he’s curled up blindly. He jolts when he feels something. He runs his fingers over it and its—glass?

He grabs and brings to his face. It’s a glass shard, about as long as his hand and half as wide. The edges are sharp but it shouldn’t hurt him.

He positions it over his eye and sucks in a breath. It’s all swollen, puffed up and bright green. The skin around it is completely black. Ectoplasma is leaking—no longer dripping—out of the socket. Cole bites back a sob and lightly probs it, trying not to flinch.

It—it should heal. 

He hopes so, anyways.

Yang slams his staff into the floor outside his door.

“Cole!” he yells, loud and angry, “come out!”

Cole swallows a sob and presses his hands harder over his ears.

“Cole!”

“Stop—stop,” he whispers wetly, biting onto his knuckles to muffle himself. He curls into a tight, painful ball.

“Cole!” Yang screams, voice ragged and vicious, “this is childish! Come out!” 

“Jay—” Cole sobs.

It takes a long time for the tapping of Yang’s staff to fade away. Cole remains curled up behind the box. 

“They’ll come for me…they’ll come for me…” Cole mumbles into his knees.

“I just have to…wait…”

Jay shoves him down and lays directly onto his chest. He shoves his head under Cole’s chin.

“Oh-ho, sleepy?”

“Just shut up and sleep.”