cw:injury

Okay, Satan. Here ya go, lol. 

The sound of the loud crunch of metal hit Keith before the actual impact. He had just enough time to call out to Red before he was being thrown out his chair, crashing painfully into the dashboard in front of him just before everything went black. 

When he came to minutes later, everything was deathly silent. Red was motionless beneath him, and he placed a shaking palm to the floor, frowning at the absence of the familiar hum. 

His side throbbed painfully when he shifted into a sitting position, and it took his mind a solid two minutes to supply the previous events: Galra attack, Blue getting hit, Red taking a hit going after Blue, both crashing to an unknown planet beneath them, Lance…

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(Here you go, @princess-tentacles !! This was so much fun to write! Enjoy!)


Uno. Dos. Tres.” Lance counted gently, scattering kisses on Keith’s cheeks after each number with a soft grin. “Now you try.”

“Uno… Dos… Trace.” Keith attempted, frowning slightly when Lance began laughing.

“What?!”

“’Trace’? Where are you from, Texas??”

A deadpan look from Keith had Lance laughing harder as he cleared his throat, shifting in place next to Keith on his bed as the blue paladin leaned his lips closer. “Tres. Come on, Keith. You gotta do the tongue roll.”

You’re a tongue roll…” Keith bit under his breath as he exhaled, trying again. “Tres.”

“Well, you have the word down at least… so that’s deserving enough of a kiss.” Lance teased as he leaned down, his nose gently brushing against the other’s before he planted a soft kiss on Keith’s chapped lips. “We can practice the tongue roll later.” Lance rose his eyebrow, wiggling it slightly, which sent a blushing Keith into a laughing fit.

“You’re an idiot.”

“Hey, whatever helps you learn it.” Lance teased, leaning his head back down with a smile, “now, let’s keep going. Cuatro…”

Enemy fire rained down on a mission gone sour. The group had gotten separated in the fire fight, with Keith and Lance being the last ones to attempt to make it to their lions. They had a clear view of Red and Blue ahead of them, but between their position behind safe cover and the salvation of their lions stretched a dozen or so Galra sentries. Half with blasters, half with swords.

“I’ll go in and distract them, you make a run for Blue. I’ll be right behind you.” Keith said quickly, already crouching for attack. He could take them, he thought. His primary objective was making sure his team was safe. Making sure Lance was safe.

“That is the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard, they’ll outnumber you in a heartbeat! Keith!” Lance reached out, but the stubborn red paladin had already pulled up his shield and bolted out of the safety of their cover. This sparked gunfire from the sentries toward Keith, and away from Lance’s position. He cursed under his breath before he began the dash from his cover to Blue. About half way, he glanced over to Keith. Not so surprisingly, Keith was kicking ass. Lance felt a swell of pride in his chest, though that emotion was immediately trumped by fear as he witnessed a sword-handed sentry set to swing at Keith from behind. He immediately brought his bayard up into position, lining up his shot with an exhale. He brought the sentry down, the blast whizzing right past Keith’s helmet. This caused the red paladin to give a brief look over at Lance, eyes wide with gratitude.

Though as much as Lance had gained the attention of Keith, he’d gained the attention of one of the few sentries left. Before Lance could pull up his shield, and before Keith could cut it down, it fired a shot at Lance– a direct hit to his chest plate bringing him down hard.

Lance!!” Keith screamed as his bayard tore through the last of the sentries before sprinting toward the blue paladin, heart pounding in his ears.

Keith dropped down, pulling Lance around so he could get a better look at the damage. The armor was shattered around the impact point, melted around the edges. He couldn’t see the injuries beyond the hole in the chest plate, but the way Lance’s face was scrunched with pain said everything.

“Lance, are you with me??” He tried to keep his voice steady, glancing around to make sure the coast was still clear. “You’re fine, you’re okay… come on, we need to get you to the lions–”

The scream of pain that erupted from Lance at Keith’s slightest tug told him he wasn’t taking Lance anywhere.

Keith’s shaky hand reached up to press the comms button on his helmet, “Shiro! Lance is hit! I can’t get him to the lions! I– Shit–  I need help!”

“We’re on our way, Keith! Sit tight!”

“K-Keith…” Lance whimpered out, his breathing rapid in panic, “h-how bad is it? God I can’t even– I can’t– I’m sorry–”

Lance panicking was the last thing he needed to be doing right now.

Taking a steeling breath, Keith pulled off Lance’s helmet before cupping the blue paladin’s cheeks. “Lance? Lance, look at me. I need you to stay calm.” He looked around, scrambling for anything to take the panicking paladin’s mind off of the situation. He only needed a little time before the others got here for backup.

“Let’s–let’s practice counting again, okay?? I still need your help so let’s count together.” Keith rushed out.

Lance opened his eyes slightly, looking at him as he sucked in a tight breath and gave a nod.

U-Uno… Dos…” Lance started, voice wavering.

“Uno… Dos… Tres–”

A shaky gasp and chuckle left Lance’s lips, prompting Keith’s mouth to shut abruptly. “What? Is everything okay? What’s wrong–”

“You… did the tongue roll.” Lance muttered with a weak smile, “I-I knew you weren’t a hopeless case…”

Keith blinked a few times and chuckled, brushing Lance’s sweaty hair off his forehead as he caught sight of the other lions flying toward their position. They were going to be okay.

“When we’re back at the castle I expect extra kisses for that one. Now, let’s keep going. Cuatro…”  

I got tired of the submissions from people who are on good terms with the Crows, and appear to think that this is an easy thing to be. The Crows are just as frightening as the Gentry, in many ways. If you start to think of them as safe, or trivialise their regard by assuming you can buy it with minor things - scraps of food and respectful nods that cost you little to nothing - then you are going to have a very bad time.

Thus, as a public service; a trilogy of anecdotes:

The first thing they tell you about the Crows is this: Some say that if they love you they will lead you home, no matter how far you have wandered. But the crows do not love many.

Once, there was a student who paid faithful tribute to the Court of Crows. She offered food and trinkets at noon each day, and sang to them when the moon was full. She presumed herself safe, that she had bought the shade of their sheltering wings.

Then she watched as her roommate, her dearest friend, was Taken out from under one of the Crows trees. In her furious grief she swore revenge, but with summer break just around the corner, her friends thought she’d get over it. That she’d cool her head.

She came back with a shotgun, and a box full of neatly-stacked shells, and her friends and fellow students paid the price for it. Those were a bad few days. People lost friends.

No-one ever saw her again, or a body. But Jim from down the hall swears up and down the janitor came away with a bucket full of red water.

Do not anger the Crows. Do not presume their favour. It is theirs alone to grant, and they owe you nothing.

Once there was a student who took heed of the stories of the Crows. He left them offerings and read them poems, and this they tolerated, though they never showed him special favour.

He grew resentful of this lack, and stepped up his efforts. He bought them lavish gifts; outcompeting those who left them food or trinkets. He praised them during his breaks, striving to outdo those who simply nodded with respect. Every time they fluttered and shifted on their branches without gracing him with affection, his ugly fury grew.

Iron and salt stop only the Gentry. He found a feather on his pillow one morning, jet black and ragged-edged and stained with blood. Rather than taking this as a warning and a caution, he showed it to all who would look; let words boil out of his mouth that put form to what he felt he deserved. The next night, he dreamed of harsh croaks and cold air, and sharp beaks pecking out his eyes and tongue.

He woke up blind and mute, never to covet them again.

Do not insult the Crows. Do not try to buy their favour. It is not a thing to be sold, and you are entitled to nothing.

Once there was a student who was Taken by the Gentry. He laboured under Their affections until they released him into Elsewhere; uncaring as to his fate. Knowing what would befall him if he lingered, he searched desperately for a route that would lead him home.

A black shape took wing from the trees above him, and thinking himself safe, he sobbed in relief. He had always paid his respects to the Crows, and now he wept with joy and promised them much if they would lead him back to safer lands. More came, and he followed the ever-growing flock deeper and deeper down forest paths.

Eventually, he reached a clearing where the bare earth was dyed crimson. Human bones lay scattered on the ground, pecked clean of flesh. The flock settled all about him, and at last he remembered.

Not for nothing is a group of crows named a murder.

Do not rely on the Crows. Do not ask for their favour. They are neither safe nor tame, and they are bound by nothing.

[x]

I went to Universal to train a puppy with my friend. She was using a wheelchair today (I lent her mine, it’s very comfy). Long story short an employee dislocated one of my joints .

We went to get off the Hogwarts Express and I went to grab her wheelchair for her and this guy who worked there said “Oh let me help her”. I said no, I got this it’s fine. He insisted I said no again. So he grabs the wheelchair out of my hands and lines it up for her to sit in

Obviously very rude. But here’s the thing. I’m disabled too. I have Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome. So when he grabbed the chair from me he dislocated my finger. It swelled up bad and couldn’t be reduced right away. I took a picture but that weirds people put so I’m not posting it.

I tried telling the supervisor but she didn’t really care and said well I don’t know what you want me to do about it.
Maybe train your damn employees?

I’m so mad. And that’s my good hand, so now both my hands are messed up.

I went to first aid to get ice to bring down the swelling so the joint could be reduced. They asked for what and I showed the EMT my hand and said well an employee dislocated my finger and he was like 😱🤤 and offered a ride to a hospital. I told him my friend will set the bone once it’s not as swollen. They offered a few times and made a note that it had happened.

My point is, if disabled people say they don’t need help. LEAVE THEM ALONE.

And because I know people will say contact the company etc: I will. I used to work there, I know who to talk to about it.

anonymous asked:

I love your ficlets!! Any chance you could do one for les mis where R has to babysit a (mildly) injured enj for a while/until he's better, featuring oblivious!amis who don't know they're dating? (Also featuring that gratuitous exr fluff that you do so well)?

(Modern AU)

It happened in the blink of an eye. One second Enjolras was standing on the stage, shouting into a microphone, and the next, he was curled up on the ground below the stage while clutching at his swelling ankle. 

The following five minutes were chaotic to say the least. The crowd quickly grew restless as the rest of the Les Amis fought toward the front to get to their fallen leader. 

When the idea of getting Enjolras home was brought up, Grantaire was quick to offer, much to everyone’s surprise, and the shock of the group only heightened when Enjolras didn’t argue for a different person. 

“Don’t kill each other,” Combeferre said as Grantaire started toward his car with one arm wrapped tightly around Enjolras’s waist. The latter could barely put pressure on his injured foot, and Grantaire took on most of Enjolras’s weight. 

“Never,” Grantaire called over his shoulder, lips curled up into a teasing smile despite the low huff Enjolras breathed out in response. 

*****

When Enjolras winced at the ice being placed atop his swollen foot, Grantaire spit out a hushed apology.

“It’s fine,” Enjolras pressed through clenched teeth. “It’s just cold.” 

“It’s supposed to be,” Grantaire fired back through a laugh, and Enjolras replied with a loud sigh. 

“I know that,” he muttered out. “Don’t be mean; my foot hurts,” he added, voice tired. His brows were furrowed deeply at his throbbing foot, and the mere thought of how far behind he could get because of this injury left his stomach twisting nervously. 

Grantaire carefully claimed the spot on the couch beside Enjolras. “What can I do?” He asked, and the sincerity dripping from his tone had Enjolras’s lips pulling up into a soft smile. 

“Kiss it and make it better,” Enjolras replied, but when Grantaire started to move toward the injured foot, Enjolras stopped the brunet with a firm hand to his chest. 

At Grantaire’s questioning gaze, Enjolras tapped lightly at his lips. 

“Oh,” Grantaire said, drawing out the word. “That kind of kiss,” he muttered before leaning forward to press his lips firmly against Enjolras’s. 

Enjolras replied with a deep groan, and he tangled his fingers into Grantaire’s unruly curls; however, the sound of a throat clearing had the two quickly pulling apart. 

Combeferre stood a few feet away with his arms crossed while Courfeyrac bounced on his feet beside him. 

“When did this happen?” 

“You’re dating?!” 

Grantaire sighed just as Enjolras carefully curled up against his chest, and he was quick to wrap a steady arm around Enjolras’s shoulders. 

“It will be four months on Tuesday,” Grantaire answered, and Enjolras sucked in a sharp gasp. 

“You remember the exact date?” 

“Of course,” Grantaire breathed out through a laugh. “I’m going to get it tattooed when we get married.” 

Enjolras shook his head, but his lips were curled up into a fond smile. “You are ridiculous.”

Courfeyrac frantically reached for his phone just as Combeferre breathed out a low “what the fuck?” 

One Bad Decision

a small fic based off of this prompt submitted to the wonderful @taylor-tut! i had such an urge to write it when i saw it, so here it is. enjoy!


Lance was absolutely trashed.

When his buddy had said the fraternity on the edge of campus was having a little get together and a few beers, he had agreed to join them. What he hadn’t expected was for the frat house to be holding literally the biggest party since he started.

The music was shaking him to his core as the bass pounded and rattled the house, all fragile items having been removed from places where they could fall, as he stumbled through the crowd of people dancing and drinking.

Another shot was shoved towards him, and before he could process it the clear, burning liquid was flowing down his throat and warming his insides. “Hey, dude,” he calls over the music to his friend whom he had come with.

“I’m gon’ get goin’! Got work t'morrow at 10.” His voice came out slurred and barely recognizable to himself before he waved and stumbled out the front door, feet dragging down the stairs. His limbs felt heavy with alcohol.

In the back of his mind his conscience something told him to not drive, that it wasn’t safe, but the drunk devil overpowered that voice. Instead, he grabbed his keys from his pocket.

His vision was blurred and doubling from the sheer amount of alcohol in his bloodstream, hands shaking slightly as he struggles to slide the key into the lock of his shitty car.

After a few attempts the metal finally lined up and he slid it in, unlocking the car and hopping inside. He repeated the struggle once he sat inside the hunk of metal and tried to start it, finally managing to turn the car on after 10 minutes of failing miserably.

Smacking his lips, lids drooping a bit, he pulled out of the crowded driveway and down the busy street, doing his best to avoid the cars that lined the sides as he headed out onto the main road.

Humming gently he flicked on the radio, clicking onto his favorite station to listen to something as he headed back to his dorm. Bobbing his head a bit to the beat, he saw his phone brighten out of the corner of his eye.

Turning to the phone to read whatever message had popped up, he saw that a friend of his was telling him to make sure he got home safe. He merely nodded before turning back to the road– just as he ran the first red light.

Thankfully it was late and there was no one else at the intersection, he told himself quietly as he proceeded on to the next light. This time he slowed to a stop– or rather, slammed down on the brake, and watched other cars zip past.

As soon as his light turned green he sped off, feeling the wheel jerking a bit beneath his hands and causing the car to swerve as they moved along the road.

One second he was coming up to a third light, the next second there was a car in front of him.

Lance all but screamed as he yanked to a hard left and the car skidded across the pavement as he tried to avoid the other person in the intersection, the front of his car smashing into the rear side of theirs.

He saw debris flying as he was sent into the front window due to not wearing his seatbelt, feeling the glass crack beneath his weight before his body was thrown around the interior like a ragdoll while the car skidded again and began to flip rapidly.

He knew he must have been screaming as it happened, as glass dug into his skin and his head thudded against the roof over and over, but he couldn’t hear it. All he could register was the pain, the blood, and the second car incoming as his own finally landed upright.

The moments blurred together as a skid was heard from outside and this new victim slammed into the front of his already wrecked car. He felt his body fly forward while the wheels rolled back, watched himself crash through the broken front window and roll down the hood before landing onto the ground with a thud.

In the back of his mind he heard yells from the people that had gathered, distantly registered the sirens as they called the paramedics, and stared up at the stars in the sky that spun around him like the world was just moving without him.

His vision went red as blood seeped down his forehead, sticky in his hair, and into his eyes. Then everything went black.


Hunk groaned loudly as his movie night was interrupted by the phone, slowly removing himself from the couch where he sat with his housemates Shiro, Pidge, and Keith. He usually also shared it with Lance, but Lance had said something about going out and coming back late.

Quietly he grabbed the phone and paused the movie, much to the dismay of Pidge who had been very into it, and answered the phone. “Hello?… Yes, this is him.”

He felt eyes on him as he listened to the woman on the other end, feeling his stomach both drop and rise to his throat all at once before he slowly hung up and looked at them in horror. The words kept playing in his head, and he couldn’t help but echo them as he whispered out a response to their confused and worried expressions.

“It’s Lance. There’s been an accident.”

You are, you are, all the wonder in the world

Request: College klance where Keith is like bullied or something in some way gets incredibly hurt and acts like nothing is wrong but it keeps getting worse and worse and Well my boy lance is super worried

Summary: Keith keeps getting hurt. And every time he does he insists the same thing: ‘I’m fine.’ ‘It’s nothing I swear, Lance.’ ‘I can handle this myself.’ But how many times is Lance supposed to accept the lie? Brush off his worries and patch up Keith’s wounds? How many times does he have left before Keith gets so hurt he can never stand back up again?

P.S. I finally discovered how to make words italic after two goddamn years on this website.


The first time, Lance let it drop. Chose to believe Keith’s words and bury his worry, whittle away the time until Keith was willing to talk. He wasn’t badly injured. Lance was safe to wait a while.


‘Hey, Keith? That you, babe? I thought you were gonna be back an hour..-‘ Lance paused, head hanging around the doorframe, eyes popped and mouth drawn wide. ‘-…ago..’

Keith was limping. One foot steady, the other hobbled, he inched his way through the door with a face like thunder and a greeting to match.

‘Don’t ask, not talking,’

‘..Okay,’ Lance sung, spinning his heels to follow Keith’s figure as it passed towards the bathroom. Lance’s eyebrows raised in question as he noticed the backpack usually slung haphazard across Keith’s back, now clutched tight to his chest, protected. ‘Well.. when you get done with whatever emo shit you’re doing in there, I’m ordering pizza,’

Keith’s voice clamoured around the clang of the door in the frame. ‘Not hungry - order without me,’

‘What?! Keith - you’ve been looking forwards to pizza night all week!’

‘Have not.. Still not talking, Lance,’

‘You said - and I quote - ‘I would die before I miss pizza night, these midterms are kicking my ass, and I need the cheesy sustenance to live’,’

A grinding crash echoed from the closed bathroom door, eliciting a yelp from Lance’s lips. Twisting the knob, he pushed into the room, eyes scanning the entrance in search of the source, and found to his horror, Keith splayed out on the floor in a pile of books, muddied beyond all saving or repair.

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Imagine this:

Your fave slowly waking up in a hospital bed with no memory of how they got there or what happened. They try and sit up, and that’s when the pain hits them, h a r d. They cry out and flop back against the bed, pain still very much there, making it hard to breathe, hard to think. The heartrate monitor has sped up, beeping becoming more frequent. They still can’t remember anything, so they’re left scared and in pain and all alone with no idea what happened to them

To anybody recovering from a sports injury

I see you. I see the hours of researching what hurts and why. I see you making lists of what to do and when and why. I see you in the gym or at home doing new strengthening exercises. I see you looking up recipes with every anti-inflammatory food in the book. I see you put your headphones in, I see you turn the volume up and I see you tighten your ponytail. I see that dedication, that sweat, that grit.

And I see the utter and devastating sadness. I see the tears at night and fists clutching the bedsheets, I see the wild frustration, I see the grayness that shrouds you. I see your stinging pangs of jealousy when you see your friends or strangers doing what you love, pain free. I see you questioning how long it will take to heal, what you did wrong, when you’ll be back to normal. I see you thinking about it every day. I see the questions and I see the emptiness that this injury left.

Be strong. Chin up. Keep at it. Don’t give in and don’t give up. Your body is amazing. Keep doing your research. Keep strengthening your body and keep stretching it. Love it. Love yourself. Eyes ahead and heart awake.

I see you. Our reward is coming. It has to.