oooo i LOVE your whump, can i please suggest maybe keith for the concussion square? perhaps he and the team are trying to complete a mission but they can’t get back to the castle until the mission is over? (or if thats too complicated maybe a lonely keith dealing w a concussion in the desert) again live your stuff ^^
@badthingshappenbingo
Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Square: Concussion
Also fulfills: Whumpay Day 10, “I Can Still Fight”
Warnings: head injury, temporary memory loss, mild blood, death mention
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Being slammed into the wall isn’t anything new. It happens fairly regularly, really, which is something he should probably be more concerned about. But hey, he’s constantly fighting aliens that are easily twice his size. Getting thrown kinda comes with the territory.
Which is why, when the Galra he’s fighting tosses him like a ragdoll across the ship’s corridor and his head cracks against the metal surface, Keith isn’t shocked or surprised. His vision goes dark instantly, and when it comes back he’s slumped on the ground, the battle continuing around him. His temples are throbbing from the noise, and there’s an intense pain spreading from one particular point on the back of his skull.
That doesn’t really concern him, though. What does concern him is that he doesn’t remember being in the middle of a battle. He remembers…breakfast? Maybe? And maybe some training afterward. Yeah, he and Shiro had fought one-on-one after breakfast. But now he seems to be on a Galra ship, surrounded by both live Galra soldiers and sentries, and the team is…somewhere nearby, he assumes. They’re not yelling at him in his comms, so that’s a plus.
Oh wait. His comms. Keith pushes away from the wall and sits up, the pain flaring in his head as he does so and the corridor spinning around him. Gritting his teeth, he reaches a hand up tentatively and prods at the worst spot on the back of his head. His gloves come away sticky and wet.
What was he thinking about, again?
A flash of red a few feet away catches his attention. He squints at it, trying to bring it into focus. It’s a helmet, he thinks. His helmet? Yeah, maybe it’s his helmet. He does wear red, after all. Red like his Lion. Like the big, metal, alien spaceship robot Lion that lives in his head now. Crazy. He’s pretty sure she’s trying to say something to him right now, actually, but all he’s getting is flashes of warmth.
A sentry’s sword swings by his head far too close for comfort. Keith jolts backwards, regretting it immensely when the whole spinning and pain thing happens again. Right, the battle. The one he doesn’t remember starting, but should probably work on finishing. Otherwise somebody is probably going to kill him, and Shiro will shoot him if he dies.
Heh. That’d be pretty pointless.
Somehow he gets himself to his feet, swaying slightly, putting one hand on the wall to make sure he doesn’t fall right back down to where he just came from. He feels like something is missing, though. Somewhere, he’s got a…uh… Muscle memory leads him to flex his hand and summon his sword. Sword? Yeah, it’s a sword. It’s also a weird word, a…bayard, that’s it. The word always plays in his mind in Allura’s dialect. Bayaaaard. It’s funny, saying it like that. He snickers a little before remembering that he’s supposed to be actually using the bayard.
That’s easier said than done, though. His arms feel really heavy, like maybe somebody put weights in his armor or something. Probably Lance. When he finally manages to lift the sword and swing it at the nearest sentry, he misses completely. Which is weird, because he was almost positive he saw it go through the robot’s torso. Maybe…yeah, he’s definitely seeing double. Or…triple? Quadruple? It’s really hard to tell, there’s sentries and guards everywhere and it’s almost impossible to pick out which ones are real.
Oh, well. Keith dives into the crowd with all of his usual gusto and none of his usual coordination, swinging wildly. Eventually his sword actually makes contact with something, and he turns to stab it, nearly falling over but righting himself at the last second.
His head really hurts.
“Hey! McMullet! There you are.” Lance appears out of nowhere. Like, poof, there he is. Except there are two of him, too, just like the sentries, and that is not what Keith needs in his life. One Lance is quite enough, thank you.
“We’ve been calling you on the comms and you weren’t answering.” Both the Lances lift their rifles and fire at some distant target. “Guess that’s because you don’t even have your helmet on.”
Oh yeah. His helmet. That was a thing that he’d been thinking about earlier. It’s…on the ground somewhere? He should probably really have it on. But when he spins around to try and figure out which direction it was in, he just gets super dizzy again.
“Hello, are you even listening to me? Why aren’t you wearing your helmet, Mullet?”
A fist knocks against the side of his head. It isn’t hard, but it’s enough to make his vision white out with pain. He might even scream, he’s not sure. He does know that the floor he finds himself staring at while one hand clutches his throbbing head is looking more and more appealing.
“Whoa. Dude. Are you okay?” Lance has his back to him, shooting out into the crowd of enemies, but he glances back over his shoulder at Keith with eyebrows knit together.
Yeah. Of course he’s okay. He’s fine, he just needs Lance to keep his freaking hands to himself. “Don’ do tha’. Tha’s…’s not cool.”
“Yeah. Okay. Something is definitely wrong with you, we need to get you to Shiro.”
“No!” The exclamation sends pain stabbing though his head again, and he winces, pressing his fingertips into his forehead. “Nope. Don’…don’ need t’ get Sh’ro. Need t’ fight.”
“Keithy, somehow I think fighting is the last thing you need to be doing right now.”
Like he has a choice. They’re kinda surrounded by Galra, what does Lance expect him to do, lie down and take a nap? Even though that does sound very, very nice…
“Stop it.” Keith scowls, pointing a finger at one Lance’s face, then the other. He isn’t sure which one is actually the real one. “Both…both o’ you. Stop…tellin’ me what t’ do.”
Both the Lances’ eyebrows shoot up toward their hairlines. He looks funny like that. Keith smiles, but slaps a hand over his mouth to hide it.
“Yeah. Alright. You’re not okay, and there’s no way I’m letting you keep -”
A sword swings over his head mid-sentence, his last second duck the only thing saving him from being decapitated. “Quiznak!” Stumbling backwards, he grabs Keith’s arm and drags him back, too. The abrupt movement sends both his head and stomach spinning, and he groans loudly.
“Geez, why’d you have to be so big?”
Keith squints up at the giant, towering Galra. “Why’d there have t’ be two?”
“Keith, for Pete’s sake there’s not…never mind, just…don’t die.”
He isn’t paying attention to Lance anymore. His focus is on the soldier - soldiers? - attacking them. Lance is a long-range fighter, a good one, but he’s out of his element right now. That means this fight is mainly up to Keith, headache and dizziness or not.
Each strike of his sword against the Galra’s weapon sends waves of pain through his body. He’s fading fast, and he knows it, vision wavering in and out so that he barely sees the hits coming for him before they connect. The headache is intensifying to the point where he feels like his skull might just explode right there.
Then suddenly, he’s on the ground, staring up at the ceiling, wondering how he got there. The Galra appears over him, grinning, ready to run him through, and Keith wants to move, he really really does, but his body just…lies there, frozen. His thoughts freeze, too. Everything seems to move in slow motion, the sword coming down toward him…then the Galra jerking backwards, stumbling, and falling out of sight.
Lance. He must have found higher ground, and taken the soldier out with his rifle. Reliable, just like always.
He almost died.
For some reason that’s hilarious to him right now. He almost died, again, for the millionth time. Keith is still on the floor in the corridor of a purple cat alien’s spaceship in the middle of outer space, but now instead of being frozen, he’s cracking up. A full-on belly laugh that hurts his head as bad as fighting had, but he can’t stop. Tears are rolling down his cheeks.
“See what I mean, Shiro? Either he’s dying or somebody did some kind of alien body-swap on him. Look at him, he’s laughing! In the middle of a battle! That’s…that’s not Keith.”
Shiro’s face leans into his vision, a look on his face that’s a mixture of concern and amusement. “Hey, kiddo. What’s going on?”
Keith stops laughing long enough to stare at the white bangs that fall over Shiro’s forehead. “Y’re…turnin’ into an old man, tha’s what.” He snickers again.
“Right, right. I hear ya.” Shiro leans in closer, flipping on the blue lights of his armor, eyes darting back and forth across Keith’s face. “Yep, you definitely have a concussion. Your pupils are way off.”
“Yay,” Keith cheers quietly, sarcastically. “Love co’cussions. This makes…mmm…five? Six? I dunno, i’s hard to keep coun’ when everythin’s spinnin’ ‘round.”
“I’m sure it is. You’ve really gotta stop hitting your head so much, though.” Shiro slides his hand gently underneath Keith’s head, cradling it as he helps lift him to his feet and giving him time for the room to stop spinning before attempting to move him anymore.
“M’ head really hurts, Sh’ro,” he mumbles after a moment.
“I know it does, bud. I know. Let’s get you back to the Castle and get that fixed, okay?”
“‘Kay.”
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one of the things that i think we should pay attention to, socially, about the disney v. desantis thing is that it is really highlighting the importance of remembering nuance.
in a purely neutral sense, if you engage in something problematic, that does not mean you are necessarily agreeing with what makes it problematic. and i am worried that we have become... so afraid of any form of nuance.
disney isn't my friend, they're a corporate monopoly that bastardized copyright laws for their own benefit, ruin the environment, and abuse their workers (... and many other things). this isn't a hypothetical for me - i grew up in florida. i also worked for the actual Walt Disney World; like, in the parks. i am keenly aware of the ways they hurt people, because they hurt me. i fully believe that part of the reason florida is so conservative is because it's been an "open secret" for years now that disney lobbies the government to keep minimum wage down, and i know they worked hard to keep the parks unmasked and open during the worst parts of Covid. they purposefully keep their employees in poverty. they are in part responsible for the way the floridian government works.
desantis is still, by a margin that is frankly daunting, way worse. the alternative here isn't just "republicans win", it's actual fascism.
in a case like this, where the alternative is to allow actual fascism into united states legislation - where, if desantis wins, there are huge and legal ramifications - it's tempting to minimize the harm disney is also doing, because... well, it's not fascism. but disney isn't the good guy, either, which means republicans are having a field day asking activists oh, so you think their treatment of their employees is okay?
we have been trained there is a right answer. you're right! you're in the good group, and you're winning at having an opinion.
except i have the Internet Prophecy that in 2-3 months, even left-wing people will be ripping apart activists for having "taken disney's side". aren't i an anti-capitalist? aren't i pro-union? aren't i one of the good ones? removed from context and nuance (that in this particular situation i am forced to side with disney, until an other option reveals itself), my act of being like "i hope they have goofy rip his throat out onstage, shaking his lifeless body like a dog toy" - how quickly does that seem like i actually do support disney?
and what about you! at home, reading this. are you experiencing the Thought Crime of... actually liking some of the things disney has made? your memories of days at the parks, or of good movies, or of your favorite show growing up. maybe you are also evil, if you ever enjoyed anything, ever, at all.
to some degree, the binary idealization/vilification of individual motive and meaning already exists in the desantis case. i have seen people saying not to go to the disney pride events because they're cash grabs (they are). i've seen people saying you have to go because they're a way to protest. there isn't a lot of internet understanding of nuance. instead it's just "good show of support" or "evil bootlicking."
this binary understanding is how you can become radicalized. when we fear nuance and disorder, we're allowing ourselves the safety of assuming that the world must exist in binary - good or bad, problematic or "not" problematic. and unfortunately, bigots want you to see the world in this binary ideal. they want you to get mad at me because "disney is taking a risk for our community but you won't sing their praises" and they want me to get mad at you for not respecting the legit personal trauma that disney forced me through.
in a grander scheme outside of disney: what happens is a horrific splintering within activist groups. we bicker with each other about minimal-harm minimal-impact ideologies, like which depiction of bisexuality is the most-true. we gratuitously analyze the personal lives of activists for any sign they might be "problematic". we get spooked because someone was in a dog collar at pride. we wring our hands about setting an empty shopping mall on fire. we tell each other what words we may identify ourselves by. we get fuckin steven universe disk horse when in reality it is a waste of our collective time.
the bigots want you to spend all your time focusing on how pristine and pretty you and your interests are. they want us at each other's throats instead of hand in hand. they want to say see? nothing is ever fucking good enough for these people.
and they want their followers to think in binary as well - a binary that's much easier to follow. see, in our spaces, we attack each other over "proper" behavior. but in bigoted groups? they attack outwards. they have someone they hate, and it is us. they hate you, specifically, and you are why they have problems - not the other people in their group. and that's a part of how they fucking keep winning.
some of the things that are beloved to you have a backbone in something terrible. the music industry is a wasteland. the publishing industry is a bastion of white supremacy. video games run off of unpaid labor and abuse.
the point of activism was always to bring to light that abuse and try to stop it from happening, not to condemn those who engage in the content that comes from those industries. "there is no ethical consumption under late capitalism" also applies to media. your childhood (and maybe current!) love of the little mermaid isn't something you should now flinch from, worried you'll be a "disney adult". wanting the music industry to change for the better does not require that you reject all popular music until that change occurs. you can acknowledge the harm something might cause - and celebrate the love that it has brought into your life.
we must detach an acknowledgment of nuance from a sense of shame and disgust. we must. punishing individual people for their harmless passions is not doing good work. encouraging more thoughtful, empathetic consumption does not mean people should feel ashamed of their basic human capacities and desires. it should never have even been about the individual when the corporation is so obviously the actual evil. this sense that we must live in shame and dread of our personal nuances - it just makes people bitter and hopeless. do you have any idea how scared i am to post this? to just acknowledge the idea of nuance? that i might like something nuanced, and engage in it joyfully? and, at the same time, that i'm brutally aware of the harm that they're doing?
"so what do i do?" ... well, often there isn't a right answer. i mean in this case, i hope mickey chops off ron's head and then does a little giggle. but truth be told, often our opinions on nuanced subjects will differ. you might be able to engage in things that i can't because the nuance doesn't sit right with me. i might think taylor swift is a great performer and a lot of fun, and you might be like "raquel, the jet fuel emissions". we are both correct; neither of us have any actual sway in this. and i think it's important to remember that - the actual scope of individual responsibility. like, i also love going to the parks. Thunder Mountain is so fun. you (just a person) are not responsible for the harm that Disney (the billion dollar corporation) caused me. i don't know. i think it's possible to both enjoy your memories and interrogate the current state of their employment policies.
there is no right way to interrogate or engage with nuance - i just hope you embrace it readily.
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asking and receiving (bonus below readmore)
[ID: A black and white, digital Trigun comic of Vash and Wolfwood. In the first panel is a close up of Wolfwood's mouth as he says, "Vash". Accompanying it is a close up shot of Vash's eye, widen and cheeks flushed. Wolfwood presses a knee against the open space between Vash's legs and says, "Tell me everything you want from me." Wolfwood's face is equally as flushed. He continues to say, "I'll give it to you. Everything." As he talks, a wide shot shows the both of them in white space. Vash is sitting, leaning a little back with both hands pressed against the surface he's sitting on. Wolfwood is in his white dress shirt, stripped of the blazer. He's still leaning in with one knee in between Vash's spread legs, his right hand touching Vash's lips and his left hand behind his back.
The shot closes in on Vash's mouth and Wolfwood's hand against it, pressing down on the lower lip as he says, "You have to ask though. Go on." His hand moves down to Vash's chin, gently holding it. With a shy and uncertain expression, Vash hesitantly asks, "Um... K... Kiss... Please?" Wolfwood, without wasting a second, leans in and kisses him and indulges by pressing deeper, eliciting a small noise of surprise from Vash.
Wolfwood moves away from Vash first and with a smile, asks, "What else?" Vash tugs on Wolfwood's left sleeve, wordlessly budging Wolfwood to give him his hand that was still behind his back. In the next panel, Vash utters, "Hold me..?" He's holding Wolfwood's left hand with his own while his right hand is reaching for his waist. Wolfwood complies, moving his left hand to Vash's shoulder and his right hand continues to touch Vash's cheek. Wolfwood asks again, "What else?"
More comfortable now, Vash leans in to kiss Wolfwood. Wolfwood catches him immediately, pressing his thumb against Vash's lips to stop him before demanding, "Hey. Ask." Vash looks back in surprise and Wolfwood meets his eye with a quiet, insistent look. They're quiet for a moment before Vash leans in again and curtly requests, "Kiss. Me." Wolfwood says "Good", smiling as he lifts his hand away, and meets Vash's lips. In the next shot, Wolfwood had adjusted his position, sitting on Vash's thigh. The hand that was once on Vash's cheek has moved its way to Vash's nape, pushing away the collar of his jacket with his pinky. His other hand continues to grip on Vash's shoulder. Still kissing, Wolfwood asks again, "What else?"
In the next shot, Vash is starting to turn, moving Wolfwood with him. Vash asks, "Let me on top of you?" Wolfwood says, "Mhm" before asking again, "What else?" The next panel shows a close look of Vash's face. He's looking down, flushed and shy just as he had been at the beginning, but now, more decisive. Vash asks, "Wolfwood... Let me have you..?" A panel of Wolfwood taking Vash's hand into his, pulling it towards his chest. The next panel shows Wolfwood lying down where Vash had laid him. Vash's hand is on Wolfwood's chest, covering the cross of his rosary while Wolfwood's hand lingers against his, loosely pressing Vash's hand in place. He looks up at Vash with a shy smile of his own, flushed cheeks. He says, "All yours."
A panel shows a close up of Vash's tender gaze before he leans down to be closer to Wolfwood. The final shot is a front view of their positions, Vash's face turned away from the viewer; Vash is leaning over Wolfwood who's lying down with his right leg draped over Vash's legs. Wolfwood's left hand holds onto Vash's left arm. With finality, Vash says, "...Mine." End ID]
[ID: A follow up bonus comic in a looser, sketchier style. They're laying comfortably in bed when Vash asks, "What was that earlier?" referecing to the start of the previous comic. Wolfwood glances away and says, "To get you used to it. Asking. And getting what you ask for. Since you're alwasy hesitant about it." Vash's eyes widen, tight lipped. Wolfwood continues, "Knowing you, it'll be a tough habit to break..." When he says this, Vash can't help but laugh, unable to deny it. Wolfwood slowly brings a hand to Vash's cheek and continues to say, "So I'll keep trying -- whatever ways I can... to get it through your thick skull." Vash takes Wolfwood's hand with his, kissing the the palm gently. Wolfwood's eyes soften and holding onto Vash's cheek, he leans in to try for a kiss. Vash says, "Hey..." before stopping Wolfwood's lips with the back of his hand, a smug look on his face, "Ask." Wolfwood's embarrassed and with little irritation, asks, "Really?" Vash smiles, saying, "You're in need of practice too." They pause for a moment, Wolfwood looking contemplatively, before he's leaning in again, asking, "May I please kiss you?" Vash looks him in the eyes and says, "Yes." The comic ends with a "chu", indicating an off-panel kiss. End ID]
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Yk what I need??? NEED the batKids to just admire Bruce’s beauty ( USHSJSNSNS ur last post about Jason calling Bruce pretty just added fuel to the fire )
Love ur blog :)!!!
Thank you! And that’s so adorable! I just adore the image of Bruce, wide awake at 3 in the morning, applying concealer all over the swollen bruises acquired tonight.
The brush is thick and fluffy, designed to spread a generous amount while maintaining a smooth application, its bristles silver and pale. Dick thinks it belonged to Bruce’s mom, because he looks terribly sad using it.
“You should be asleep, “ Bruce sighs, not entirely delighted his ward is losing precious resting time. He’s read, clearly, that children need a minimal 8 hours of sleep.
“So should you! What are you doing up?”
“Getting ready for a meeting at 7.”
“You’re like, really pretty.”
Bruce pauses, skin blossoming with sudden, flustered heat, “Oh, thank you, Dickie, that’s very kind—“
Dick’s smile beams like moonlight, “So you agree. You think you’re really pretty.”
“…I haven’t watched a single movie in 12 years, so, I think that joke is wasted.”
“Dammit. Thanks a lot, trauma.”
Oh, but Jason? The tiny boy could watch Bruce for hours. His face is so interesting. B’s eyelashes are so long, and his eyes are such a pretty hazel, just like Catherine’s, and his smile is awesome.
He feels really special, because Bruce smiles for no camera, but when Jason asks him to take his picture, he does it without complaint.
“B, boys can be pretty too, right?”
Bruce pauses a bit, not entirely confident. Should he treat this as something casual? Should he break out the educational, but welcoming dialogue? Is it something else? Why aren’t there parenting classes?
“Hn. Yeah.”
“I think you’re the prettiest man in Gotham!”
“I’m afraid that’s not true, Jason.”
“What?! How come?!”
“Because the prettiest boy in Gotham is standing right in front of me.”
Tiny Jason squeaking and squealing joyfully while Bruce takes him in his arms, peppering his soft cheeks with kisses, while a teenage Dick rolls his eyes in the background, trying not to smile.
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