#Now and then I see a passing sentiment of frustration towards writers who write fic where black gets redeemed but leopard doesnt

[bonefall]

Two questions! What's Leopardstar doing after her death? She got dammed so hard that there was a comet in the sky iirc, and Starclan happily gave Mistystar her lives, so I imagine that Lep is PISSED that her murderer is being welcomed as a hero, while she's rotting in the DF. I would like to know how she feels about Tigerstar's plans, since BB Lep was an active supporter of his idealology

I thiiiink the fallen star thing was a joke, but it is a very funny image to think that any damned spirit becomes one tbh

But actually! Leopardstar and Mudclaw are both kind of ashamed of what they did. Leopardstar is more resigned to her fate, while Mudclaw eventually decides he wants to atone and gets involved with the StarClan bridge.

Being around Tigerstar and a bunch of the worst offenders of TigerClan has brought a lot of it back. Distance had made her begin to feel that there was no need to "throw the kitten out with the tonguewash." Tigerstar himself was bad, yes... but is it *really* so wrong to want a pure, strong Clan? What's wrong with putting RiverClan first?

But now she's back under his claw. Being spoken over, used as a pawn, just like old times. She hasn't confronted the CORE of how her ideology is bad, but she does remember know how humiliating this situation was, and how terrible Tigerstar really is.

But at the same time, she is proud. She cannot let Mistystar go unpunished. She wants "revenge," though, to her "revenge" is a rematch.

On the day she died, Mistystar attempted to poison Leopardstar's food, in a way unintentionally similar to how Leopardstar poisoned Crookedstar before them. So she recognized it right away. It struck her in that moment that she was sick of these dirty, dishonorable tactics.

So she pushed it aside, leapt to the top of the stump, and announced that she had learned of a pack of vicious rogues on the border. "Mistyfoot and myself will confront them. Alone. Don't follow."

Mistystar only won the fight through luck. There was a stone in the river where they fought, and she smashed Leopardstar's head on it until she stopped moving.

So, Leopardstar uses this in her death to hold a grudge. I think on some level she knows it's an excuse, or perhaps a quirk of her pride, that she feels her death was unfair. She believes she gave leadership to Mistystar by covering for her own murder-- and she WANTS that perfect fight.

But before the BOTTE, I plan for her to have a conversation with her apprentice. Hawkfrost's arc is to break free of his father and his legacy... and he needs to speak to his proud, strong leader, who he comes to realize is being used like a tool.

It's another step in his revelation about cycles. How he was used, how he's done the same thing to Ivypool, how people have been doing this to his loved ones long before he was born.

#Now and then I see a passing sentiment of frustration towards writers who write fic where black gets redeemed but leopard doesnt #But understand this; I LOVE Leopardstar. #And I thought a lot about the story I was gonna tell in my redux of TNP #And this story works better with her. Largely because of her supporting cast #Between Misty Sedge Hawk Moth and Storm #They all come together to tell this story much better than Black Russet and Tawny can #And on a less important note... I hate how much they tried to soften Leopard. With all of her supporting material #But ive gone off about her before and im sure I will again lmao #But shes MY spotted mean girlboss and you will pry her from my cold dead hands #LET GIRLS BE PROUD. LET GIRLS BE CONSUMED BY IT #Better bones au #BB!Leopardstar

[jennycalendar]

as a romani woman who's always felt hurt by how romani people are portrayed in canon and viewed in fandom, its so nice to see this kind of allyship from a gadhži. its incredibly frustrating having to know that to a lot of people in fandom we'll be nothing more than a Villain and im always so appreciative for those who work against it and talk about the racism towards us in both canon and fandom

oh gosh this means a lot to me? i am constantly feeling that i'm really doing the bare minimum here, so this ask is .... simultaneously really heart-warming and really Makes Me Wanna Kick Some Knees (the knees of the people causing these problems. to be clear). i literally got an ask within an hour of my response to that ask about angel going "i think that the fandom sees the romani as shortsighted, not evil" discounting the fact that i am a goddamn jenny calendar fic scholar who has read everything that she's in and has been keeping fucking track of the way people write her larger romani background.

i think one of the problems is also that jenny as a character is written so clearly as someone who is stepping away from old traditions and customs, and the romani in the buffyverse are portrayed as locked in the past and unable to progress (because, again, the show is egregiously racist towards romani), so of course in fic if you're not thinking about what you're doing you're going to go "well, she's not like her family :)" and kinda lean into that. i sometimes worry that my fic does that too sometimes. i know one of the things that meant the most to me as i was writing what you make was 1) presenting jenny as part of a romani family that is full of a lot of joy and community (nora and donovan!) and 2) introducing non-white-passing romani to the narrative (donovan and his kids!) sort of shifting the focus away from jenny's family being romani as the problem & towards the idea of jenny's IMMEDIATE family having a lot of complex generational trauma that motivates their approach towards angelus. like, enyos as someone whose immediate family was slaughtered by vampires and who has never been able to process that loss, yknow?

but yeah! it is horrible and disheartening to see all the ways that people will bend over backwards to go "there's no anti-romani sentiment in btvs OR in the fandom :) it's just that the romani were trapped in the past and not good at what they did and didn't understand that angel REALLY deserved to be redeemed, and also enyos got what he deserved and jenny was a lying [anti-romani slur] spy :)" like hglksdhglksd the number of times i've just seen that slur tossed around IN FIC, or by people who are talking POSITIVELY about jenny! there's been a shift away from it but it was still very present in fic from the mid to late 2000s! (and still also now in fic where jenny is a supporting character who the writer doesn't care about!)

thank you for this ask. to know that saying stuff about how fucking horrible this fandom is about this (and other things) is making other people feel better & safer here -- i am so glad that this has a tangible positive impact somewhere! yesterday felt a little like shouting into the void especially as i look at spuffy fandom, which is STEEPED in racism in a way that i rarely see white spike/spuffy fans interacting with or wanting to talk about. i am determined to carve out a corner of the internet that feels good for nonwhite btvs fans, because it is HARD OUT HERE.

#asks #this got long! but! yeah! #i truly feel that if you wanna be a jenny fan you HAVE to reckon with the racism within the text #and the fact that she was just slapped with a romani identity to make her More Mystical #which is gross!

[dancing-deacon]

Let Me Be Your Lover Boy(The End)

BoRhap!Roger Taylor x Reader

Summary: When an undesirable meeting with Roger Taylor knocks you off your feet, the drummer will do anything to get you to fall for him.

(A/N) I have finally got this chapter out after lots and lots of writers block and other struggles haha. I hope you enjoy this last chapter and thank you all for reading my first attempt at a multi chapter fic! I’m going to be trying to write more short fics until I get another long idea so let me know if you want to be tagged in any of those! Thanks to all those who have supported me throughout this journey!

Get Caught Up! Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

Masterlist

It’s been days since you’ve been in contact with Roger. After the events that occurred that dreadful night in your hotel room, Freddie bought you a plane ticket to go back home. Well, his home, that he has been so gracious to let you stay in while you saved up money.

Being in his large home alone has been quiet. It’s just been you and the cats, who have comforted you in the late nights that you lay awake, wondering what Roger was doing, or who he was doing it with.

You first arrived back on a rainy morning, the day after your talk with Freddie. He hadn’t asked if you wanted to leave or even if you wanted to come to the last concert of the tour, he knew your answers.

You were barely in the door of Freddie’s house when there was a knock. You wanted the knock to be familiar, but it wasn’t. It still made your chest heavy and full of hope to see Roger on the other side of the door as you made your way towards it on the marble floor. 

“Hi, are you (Y/N)?” A sweet-looking blonde questions, hunching under an umbrella.

“Um, yes, I am.” You say, unsure how this woman knows you.

“It’s such a pleasure to meet you!” She shoots out her hand eagerly, which you shake hesitantly. “I’m Mary,” she finally states.

Your demeanor instantly changes. “Oh, you’re Mary! I’ve heard so much about you.”

Her smile brings light to the dreary day, her face, though the first time seeing it, is familiar, comforting.

“Freddie called, said you went home early and asked me to check you got back alright.” She spared the details of exactly what Freddie had told her, but you assumed she had received all the juicy gossip.

“Thank you, I’m alright. Just about to settle in.” You look at the floor, the pattering on the rain on the gutters breaking the silence.

“Well I best be going then, have a nice day (Y/N). Again, so nice to finally meet you.” Mary grins and turns slowly, making sure you don’t have anything else to say. You wonder if Freddie asked her to see if you’d talk about Roger, or if she’d ask about him. Mary knew it wasn’t her place, you haven’t even met before.

You’re about to close to the door when the rain is interrupted by her voice again.

“You’re even more beautiful than he said,” she states over her shoulder before walking down the steps. Your mind wants to assume Freddie said so, but your heart knows Roger’s words.

Leaning against the closed door you stare into the parlor room to where you first befriended the boys. All except Roger, who gave the most lustrous look to you through the mirror, when you looked almost at your worst. The first time you gazed back into his blue eyes, the ones you wanted so badly to forget not 24 hours ago.

Each of your footsteps echo as you make your way up Freddie’s staircase. Stopping halfway up you turn around, remembering that night, wondering whether it was a blessing or a curse. How Roger’s eyes followed you until you were out of view, how they burnt deep holes in the back of your head. The word you uttered to him to break the tension or was it because you desire so heavily to speak to the handsome man that accidentally knocked you down. Either way, you’ve never felt that way from anyone before, Roger was different in so many ways.

Getting into bed, you desire to stay there the rest of the day, and that is exactly what you do. Time in passing spent daydreaming about Roger.

---

The next morning, you’re awoken early, the sun is barely streaking its orange rays through the curtains. Rustling downstairs makes your stomach turn. The tour had ended, Freddie was home, and you were hoping he was alone.

You don’t look in the mirror before heading downstairs, you know Freddie wouldn’t care about your old shirt and shorts you slept in, just about your wellbeing over the whole Roger debacle.

You step across the cold floor, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. When you stop dead in your tracks at the top of the stairs.

Your eyes are wide, you rub them again, wondering if what’s in front of you is truly real.

Opening them once again, the sight and smell hit you. Dozens of roses and sunflowers are scattered across down the steps. You stomach grows tight, and your breathing shallow.

You place your foot gently between the stems, gripping the railing, turning your knuckles white. “Oh my god.” You whisper to yourself.

You take the last step of the stairs and turn your head into the parlor, making direct eye contact with Roger Taylor, dressed to the nines in a sexy black suit. You instantly feel underdressed in your pajamas, but Roger doesn’t seem to notice. His eyes never leave your bare morning face, the most beautiful thing he has ever laid his eyes on.

Roger gives a small flick of his hand behind him, where you notice Brian, John, and Freddie, sat tight in the corner. Brian begins playing his guitar. You instantly recognize it as Love of My Life, you roll your eyes lightly, but blushing at the sentiment.

Roger outstretches his hand to you, but you ignore it, looking off to the side. You have so much you want to say to Roger, yet no words come to mind.

Roger frowns at your lack of touch, lowering his arm back to his side, sticking his hand in his pocket.

“I’m sorry.” He finally says, searching for your eyes. “I shouldn’t have pushed you so far.”

You look up at him, his eyes begging for your response. “Me too Rog, I shouldn’t have snapped.” You can admit your mistake. You overthought, you had so many good things and none of that would be affected by yours or Roger’s feelings.

Roger sighs and steps a little closer to you, your apology giving him the confidence to say his next words.

“(Y/N), I love you. I’ve never felt this kind of adoration for anyone before in my life.” Roger’s eyes grow big, he wrings his hands together waiting for a response.

“I know, Roger. You’ve told me before.” You whisper, Roger taking a step closer to you, his eyebrows raised high in question.

“I’ve what now?” He smiles thinking you’re joking with him, even though now is not the time.

“After finishing your album. You got smashed. You let it slip.” Roger’s face turns a bright red, not remembering a thing from that night after recording.

“Well, what’d you say to that?” He looks past your shoulder, afraid to make eye contact with you.

“I took you home. I didn’t think you meant it, as I now know you didn’t mean the rude comments when we first met.” You cross your arms, hiding into yourself. You’ve accepted Roger, believing in his best self, knowing how hard he has been trying to be perfect…for you.

“I meant it, with my whole heart. I guess I needed some liquid courage to admit it.” Roger rubs the back of his neck uncomfortably, afraid to advance towards you any further.

After a moment, Roger shakes his head in frustration and finally steps towards you, his face an inch from yours. A fresh cigarette and his familiar cinnamon scent fills your nose. You fight every urge to lean into him, pressing his lips to yours, giving him you entirely.  

Roger takes a deep breath in, matching your eyes with his, gleaming in the morning light. “Right now, fully sober, fully aware of my feeling, I am telling you. I love you, more than anyone or anything. I ask of you, give me the chance to show it, and hopefully one day you will feel it too?” At this moment, Roger’s eyes turn to innocence, full of hope. Of all the times he has looked at you, this was the truest expression of his heart.

Roger made his choice. Now it was time to make yours. Staring deep into your blue eyes, all you can see is his truth, he wants you and only you. He would do anything for you. You make him want to be his best self.

With a sweet smile you nod at him, “I love you too, Rog.”. Without breaking your eyes away, you lean in a place a deep kiss on his lips. Your heart flutters, hoping he can feel your love. Without pulling away, you intertwine your fingers with his, prepared to face the world together.

Taglist  @emmadarling20 @sunnnymercury @roger-taylor-stole-my-heart @blissfully-queen @anita-e-taylor @mrs-rogertaylor @emma-worthington @jennycidesstuff @rogerswig @roger-taylor-owns-my-wigg @perriwiinkle @violetpond

#roger taylor #ben hardy #queen #borhap #bohemian rhapsody #borhap cast #ben hardy!roger taylor #borhap!roger taylor #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor x reader

[queen-scribbles]

Taking Liberties

For @pillarspromptsweekly​ fill 86: Fanfic. Adi and I had some fun with this one, seeing as she’s the only muse I could see doing something like this.

“So,” Adela began as she plunked down next to Sagani on her log perch away from the campfire, “how much of what you told Kana about Naasitaq was actually hokum?”

Sagani laughed. “Hardly any. Most of what he asked, I knew. There may be a few fudged details in there, but for the most part it’s the Hound’s own truth.”

“Alright, good.” Adela played with one of her rings. “‘Cause I think he’s serious about writing it all down and making a book, and if he does I want it to be right.”

This earned a skeptical look from the dwarf. “C’mon, Adi, you’re a scholar. You should know better than most that people rarely pass down history and cultural stuff completely correct.”

“Yeah, but that’s just more reason we should do our best to get it right when we can,” Adela said with a shrug. “Keep that to a minimum.”

Sagani raised an eyebrow, hands going still halfway through repairing her armor. “Are you tellin’ me that you, with your love of details and thirst to know everything, have never made somethin’ up to fill a gap?”

“Not that I’ve written down and presented as fact.” It was technically true.

Unfortunately for her, Sagani was uncannily perceptive about technicalities. She narrowed her eyes. “Adi.”

“Well,” Adela tugged on her necklace as heat rose in her cheeks. “There was a theory I was pretty attached to in school...”

“Adi.” Gods, she had a good Mom Voice. Which made sense.

Adela huffed at her bangs, which settled even more lopsided than they’d been originally. “Alright, alright. Auroch’s shadow, did your kids manage to keep anything secret from you?”

That earned a laugh as Sagani resumed patching the slashed hide armor. “Not much. Now spill, Watcher. This sounds like a good story.”

Adela glanced toward the others, all still busy setting camp or preparing food.  “Sure, why not. We have the time...”

~<><><>~

It was hard waiting for class to be over today, which was a first. Normally, Adela never wanted it to end. But today she had a question for Master Izel, and didn’t want to bog down the lesson for everyone else.

And so she took her time gathering her things after the teacher had ended class and given them their home assignments; carefully stacking books before sliding them into her satchel, repeating the process with her loose pages of notes. Finally, the other students had all left the room and she could ask her question without holding up anyone but her teacher.

“Master Izel?” she started as she approached his desk.

“Yes, Adela?” The grey-streaked orlan peered over his spectacles at her with a smile. He probably knew she had a question even before she started dawdling. She asked a lot, after all.

Adela rocked up on her toes, playing with the strap of her satchel. “That explorer you talked about yesterday, from the Vailian Republics, you never said what happened to her in the end.”

“Ilhana Guiserre?” Master Izel ran a hand over his hair with a wry smile. “That’s because no one knows what happened to her in the end.”

“Well, why not?” Adela gestured broadly to emphasize her point. “She was one of the foremost traders and explorers from the Republics’ founding, she discovered safer routes to Aedyr and the Deadfire; how did they not pay attention to what happened to her?!”

He chuckled, toying with an apple one of the other students had left on his desk as they passed. “The thing with being an explorer, Adela, is no one much cares unless you find something exciting. That’s why she briefly retired after her attempt to find Ukaizo; she came up empty handed on a quest that cost every pand she had, and no one found her a ‘worthwhile investment’ for quite some time.”

“I care!” Adela protested. “Everything’s important, because everything tells us something about the past or other kith, or both, and I just can’t believe the last mention of Captain Guiserre, Ilhana the Bold, is a footnote that her ‘retirement’ only lasted three years. It’s ridiculous.”

Master Izel smiled and reached over to pat her shoulder comfortingly. “A great many scholars share your frustration, believe me. Myself included, actually. But it remains that we don’t know. There are no answers, her fate is a mystery.”

That rankled, but it was clear Master Izel had no more to share, sympathetic as he was to her curiosity. So Adela headed home, but her desire for answers lingered, a near-maddening distraction as she did the rest of her readings and assignments. Finally, she couldn’t stand it any longer and started filling her free time with a much closer reading of anything she could find on Ilhana Guiserre. There wasn’t really anything to find that she hadn’t known already, which was far from satisfying.

Her solution was perhaps unorthodox, but in the end, very satisfying: she wrote her own ending.

It wasn’t proven truth, and she knew it. And she may have waxed poetic about these potential adventures, rather than dwell on the gritty side of them. But it was plausible, and after a week of dead ends and the book equivalent of shrugging, it was something.  Pulling from from what she knew of the woman and her history, Adela constructed her best guess at both what had pulled Guiserre from her retirement and her ultimate fate. She was so happy with her work--and with herself--that she showed her mother once it was done.

“Tell me what you think, Mama?” she asked hopefully. She was confident in her research and conclusions, but Mama had been a scholar even longer than she’d been alive. If there were holed to be poked, she would poke them, but gently.

“Is this an assignment for Master Izel?” Mama slid her spectacles down with one hand as she accepted the dog-eared papers with the other.

“No, I did it for fun,” Adela said, twirling an escaped lock of hair around her finger.

“I’ve seen you working on this for three days, dove.” Mama skimmed part of the first page. “It’s at least as well-written as half your school assignments.”

“Uh-huh.” Adela tugged the lock of hair. “I wanted an answer and none of my books had one. So I figured out what I think makes the most sense, and I just want you to check my reasoning.”

Mama smiled warmly and nodded. “Of course, darling. I don’t have any pressing studies right now, so I’ll dive right in and let you know what I think after dinner, hmm?”

“Sounds good. Thank you, Mama!” Adela gave her a slightly awkward sideways hug and skipped off to read a book. Mama would be honest with her, kind but fair, so she could go enjoy something else until the time came. Hovering wouldn’t change anything.

~<><><>~

“So... you wrote an ending to the life of your favorite explorer because nobody knew what happened to her?” Sagani said with an almost incredulous laugh.

“You know I hate unfinished stories,” Adela defended. “And I may have taken a few liberties, but I never claimed it as fact, just a theory on what happened to her. Also, I was fourteen, so, y’know, maybe that was how my rebellious phase manifested; not accepting widespread scholarly ignorance about an important historical figure-what?”

Sagani shook her head, still grinning. “Nothin’. What did your mom think of your, uh, theory?”

“Oh, she loved it.” Adela’s face warmed and she tugged on her necklace. “Didn’t find any flaws, and was, um, so impressed by the time and research I put into something I just did for fun, she mentioned it to Master Izel in passing during my review at the end of the school year.”

“What’d he think?” Sagani set aside the mended armor and flicked some jerky to Itumaak. “Since it was something that bothered him, too.”

“His interest was piqued and he asked if he could read it. He was a great teacher, who I admired and respected, so I made him a copy. He, uh,” her face went even warmer; positive this would sound like bragging(even more than the rest had), “he was so impressed he sent it to a Vailian academy, presenting it as a student’s essay on ‘the theoretical fate of Captain Ilhana Guiserre’. I... may have panicked a little when he told me. I wrote it more like a tale than a formal essay--it was for fun, after all--and was sure all they’d do was laugh. But Master Izel told me the format added charm more than damaging credibility, that it would be fine.” Adela dug the toe of her boot into the dirt. “He was right.”

Sagani’s eyebrows both rose. “Really?”

“Yeah.” She dragged her foot in an arc. “That was the Selona academy that asked me to come study for a year.”

“The one you turned down ‘cause your brothers kept getting sick.”

“Yes, that one.”

“You must’ve been a good writer,” Sagani teased.

Adela laughed. “Or maybe they just liked my ideas. Master Izel did say my frustration at the lack of detail available was a common sentiment.”

“Still, you impressed them somehow.” Sagani shrugged. “Thanks for sharing the story.”

“You’re welcome. It’s not one I like to bring up myself, ‘cause it sounds like I’m bragging, but you asked, so...”

“Just acknowledging your strengths isn’t braggin’, Adi,” Sagani said. Both of them cocked an ear at Kana hollering dinner was ready. “It’s all in your attitude. You’re so nice it’s easy to tell you’re not tryin’ to brag.”

“Reassuring.” Adela smiled as they stood and went to join the others.

“And, Adi, one thing,” Sagani grinned. “I’m still gonna fudge the occasional detail for Kana.”

Adela couldn’t resist a giggle. “As long as it’s just occasional.”

After all, everyone took liberties once in a while.

----------------------------------

Yes. Yes, Adi got invited to the Selona Academy off what was basically a piece of very well written, very well researched, plausible historical fanfic. (Bc I do what I want, and hey, Dante’s Inferno is basically fanfic and that’s considered a classic. :P)

In writing this, I’ve decided Adi renames her ship Ilhana in Deadfire. Now I need to go back through her Deadfire-era fics and change that when necessary. 

#queens fic #pillars prompts weekly #adela tecali #sagani #and my tradition of giving cool names to one off characters continues #/sweats

[sicklylittlesnowflake]

•You never really go to parties and are always really uptight and we made fun of you for it/expressed frustration at this so you forced yourself to go to this party and shit you’re so sick and you won’t go home because we made you feel bad I’m so sorry how can I make it up to you?? (Keith is not a fan of parties but his friends eventually pester him into going to one despite being sick as a dog.)

(I started this fic with the intention of having it for whumpmas, so if that is not a testament to how slow I am as a writer, idk what is! Also, btw this is weird but I love when sicknarios I write get back to me, lol! And I did write this scenario with Keith and E from les mis in mind, so this is a great prompt! This is college au, btw, I find it kinda difficult to write alien parties lmao!)

Parties are the perfect culmination of everything Keith hates in life.

Bright, strobe, head ache inducing lights with a wide variety of flashing, psychedelic colours, ear piercingly loud music with a tremendous beat that makes his heart thump and thump and feel way too overwhelmed, warm, sticky bodies way too close too each other and making him feel suffocated, too much people, having fun and feeling free when Keith can only feel more trapped.

Too much people.

Too much.

Keith has spent so much time in solitude, in simplicity. And being thrust into a situation where there is too much all at once is alien to him, and he can’t help the rapid beating and thumping of his wild heart when he looks around for some sort of serenity.

Keith feels trapped in this room, the overwhelming humidity and heaviness of this air weighing down on him and compressing his lungs so he can’t breathe.  He hates watching all these people exhilarated, vibrant, alive. When he can only feel more lifeless by the second.

He feels like an alien like this. Like he isn’t part of this world. Keith doesn’t even feel like here’s here. He can’t even feel his body, he doesn’t feel like he’s connected to it, and he’s floating away. Looking down.  And he hates what he sees.

All Keith can feel is the pounding and raging headache that seems to pierce into his skull and the pain is only worsened by the tremors of the pulsating waves of sound from the obnoxiously large speakers that litter the place.

He didn’t even want to be here; Shiro had told him this would be good, that college was great, and he needed to start living that college life. Shiro said he needed to be more sociable, because he would make the best friends of his life here. Pidge would tease him , and so would Lance. And Hunk encouraged him kindly, and Keith did not have any energy to fight them. So he went. And he could not have regretted a decision more than this very moment.

Keith stumbles around the night club like he’s drunk, and he doesn’t have one single drop of alcohol in his body. If he can be drunk on a fever, he definitely is. Due to his feverish haze he’s lost Shiro and Pidge, and his only hope is finding Lance and Hunk who are probably the life and soul of the party.

In this haze he hasn’t even realised the tickle blossoming within his sinuses and before he knows it he’s doubling over with one loud, powerful sneeze that grates against his throat with no time to cover, and just aim towards the floor. He gets a slightly irritated look from some person, and honestly, he doesn’t even mind. Keith feels awful being this germ incubator in this tightly knit space. This cold is horrendous, and he’s probably just passed it on to a good three people and he feels terrible.

Keith stumbles and wobbles around the night club dizzily, the technicolor lights seeming like an acid trip he did not consent to, and it seems to be sending waves of messages to his brain to hurt and throb. He feels a tad bit of anger and bitterness towards Shiro, Allura and Pidge, and maybe a little bit towards Lance and Hunk, but in fairness to them, they hadn’t pushed him to go this particular evening, but they had in the past.

“You need to enjoy your college experience, Keith! Get out of your room for once, embrace your youth!” Shiro had told him, in a way that was so middle aged dad he wanted to tear his hair out but so perfectly Shiro he couldn’t help but be persuaded into it.

“Don’t be such a stick in the mud, Keith,” Pidge had whined.

“It’ll be so much fun, Keith! Plus, I heard that Lance is wearing a pretty cute outfit tonight,” Allura had teased, causing him to scowl knowing she had played with his heart and manipulated him with the promise of his crush looking cute.

And Keith couldn’t even find Lance, so there was about zero reason for him even being here.

As Keith continues to feverishly navigate around the crowded night club, pushing past bare, sticky skin and profusely overheating, he is suddenly tapped on the shoulder.

“Hey, will you kiss my friend?” A girl slurs, an arm sluggishly wrapped around her equally as wasted friend, giggling to her heart’s content.

Keith opens his mouth to politely refuse, but before he’s even aware his nose is itching horribly and Keith is doubling over with one loud, almost obnoxiously, heavy and sickly sounding sneeze he doesn’t cover.

The girls take a step back, giggling and backing away from him and fading away worth the crowd.

“Too bad, he was pretty cute though, just gross,” He hears one of them say before they disappeared entirely.

Keith sighs sadly, the girl was pretty, and he didn’t swing that way but he still felt kinda bad for being so gross. But his guilt doesn’t last long before he’s back to pitying himself and reembarking on his quest to find Lance.

He doesn’t even know why he’s so keen on finding the guy, he doesn’t really know what he’s expecting and maybe it’s his fever talking, but he’s not leaving this damn club without seeing his cute as fuck crush who is the reason he’s in this hellhole to begin with.

And it’s almost like a fairytale but it’s the sound of a beautiful melody, like a mesmerising serenade that captivates him him and lulls him over to the source.

He knows that voice anywhere.

He would know Lance’s melodic, tenor voice anywhere, it’s sweet and enthralling and it makes him feel all warm inside. Everything the little shit does makes him feel that way, but Lance’s voice is a siren’s song calling him and putting him on this spell and he’s forever his.

His voice has taken on an edge, a kind of rock and roll gruff to it that he finds insanely hot–maybe the fever adds to it though, he doesn’t know–and it’s sure tell sign that Lance is drunk.

“I guess I got what I deserved, kept you waiting there too long, my love. All that time without a word, didn’t know you’d think that I’d forget, or I’d regret, the special love, I have for you, my baby blue!” Lance sings, people dancing and bopping and head banging to his song.

Keith  manages to get a glimpse of Hunk who was jamming it out on the drums, and then he saw what he was looking for.

“Fuck,” Keith breathes out, “Allura was right.”

He did look pretty great.

He had his hair tousled and ruffled in a way that made him look so irresistible and adorable and these strobing lights that he hated served one purpose, and that was making his skin glow and his eyes twinkle and pop. His blue t-shirt hugged his body and his jeans were flattering and he looked so great. Keith wanted to faint.

Partly because of how attractive he looked, but also because he was now super light headed.

Lance looks beautiful and radiant, flashing a random girl watching one of those charming, flirty smiles that makes Keith jealous every time he does. He understands Lance isn’t his, but god he wished he was.

Keith shakes his head angrily, he’s never  his sentimental or sappy over Lance, maybe he really is that sick.

Then Lance looks over and they lock gazes, and this stupid lazy grin wipes across the boy’s face and any jealousy or bitterness or illness Keith is feeling seems to disappear when he does.

However Lance seems to realise his current state because his face drops. He quickly passes the mic to the random guy who’s playing the guitar and rushes over to Keith, albeit in a zig zagged direction as he seems to be tripping over his own feet.

“Keith?” Lance greets worriedly, only he can still remain appealing despite reeking of alcohol.

“Hey Lancey-Lance,” Keith slurs feverishly, before his nose twitches and he’s doubling over and aiming two harsh sneezes towards the floor.

“Lancey-Lan–god, you look awful! And Jesus, for you to be calling me that you must be running a–” Lance cut himself off and placed the back of his hand against Keith’s forehead and frowned.

“Dammit, Keith! That’s not good, we gotta get you,” Lance hiccups, “–home!”

“Why did you come, anyway, while you were this sick?” Lance frets, hiccuping again.

“M'not a stick in the mud,” Keith mutters feverishly, leaning into Lance’s side and nuzzling his face against his chest in exhaustion.

He pulls Keith into his embrace and kissed the top of his head, eyebrows furrowing in confusion, “What? What are you–oh.”

Lance’s heart sinks, “Keith. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for teasing you, I didn’t mean to hurt you at all, I just..I wanted you to be with us. When you’re not here..I miss you.”

Keith shakes his head, “Not you.. you didn’t make me come tonight.”

Lance bites his lip, “Still. I contributed to make you feel like you were uptight and boring when you are nothing but exciting and lovely. I’m sorry Keith, please, let me make it up to you.”

Keith cant help but crack a weak smile, “I didn’t know you were an emotional drunk. I’m glad I came here tonight, now I can blackmail you.”

Lance can’t help but laugh a little, “But we’re taking you home right now.”

Keith sneezes loudly into Lance’s chest, muttering, “Sorry.”

Lance smiles softly, tapping him on the nose, “Alright, Mullet. Enough, we’re going home.”

“But they’re having so much fun..look at Hunk..he’s jamming out..” Keith points over to Hunk.

“And you..need to keep singing..” He insists tiredly.

“No way, you’re too sick!” Lance protest as he began to walk Keith out, simultaneously pulling out his phone to order an uber.

Once they arrive outside Keith let out a sigh of relief to feel the fresh air, basking in all the space and the soft lighting. His head seemed to ease up a little bit.

However the cold quickly began to seep in, causing him to shiver violently. Lance pulls off the jacket he had tied around the waist and helped Keith out it on. He then pulls the boy into a hug to share his warmth.

“Thank you,” Keith manages to choke out before erupting into a series of harsh, heavy coughs.

Lance could only smile weakly, obviously feeling guilty but pushed it aside to wave over to the Uber driver and guided Keith in.

***

Lance hauls Keith onto his bed, with him muttering about taking out the aspirin because they’ll both need it the next day, and heads straight towards the bathroom to collect a damp towel for him. Once he returned he laid the cloth gently over his forehead and pulled a chair over, sitting beside him.

“Shiro called. He was wondering where we were, I told him you were sick and he feels awful. They all do. Pidge says Korean takeaway is on her tomorrow, if you’re up for it,” Lance explains softly.

“You’re not a stick in the mud, Keith. Okay? You’re not boring. You’re not any of these things we made you feel and I’m so sorry we ever did. You’re sweet and kind and such a great friend and– I’m so sorry, Keith, we should’ve understood. I love parties but there are days where I just don’t even want to get out of bed, I should’ve understood, showed you some compassion. I should’ve..”

“Lance, stop.”

He looks over Keith, feeling guilt and feeling responsible for Keith being this sick. He feels awful, he had made yet another mistake. He feels so stupid for being unable to read in between the lines, his jokes going too far and he hadn’t even noticed it. He just wanted  Keith to be with him, to be happy. And he had to go and fuck it up.

“You’re really good at hiding how you feel, Lance, but you can’t hide it from me, stop feeling so guilty,” Keith croaks.

“I can’t help it, I was hurting you and I didn’t know,” Lance murmurs.

Keith coughs harshly, feeling his chest rattle from the force of it, “I’ve felt worse pain.”

“That doesn’t make it okay.”

Keith smiles softly, “But you didn’t mean to hurt me. I know you never would try and hurt me. ..you said..you missed me when I’m not there. Yeah, I was hurt, but now I feel wanted.”

Lance manages a smile, “Always. You’re always wanted.”

“I hope you know that.”

“I know now,” He slurs feverishly.

Keith coughs again, and when he finishes he looks over at Lance with bleary, glazed eyes, and giggles, “You looked very hot tonight.”

Lance blushes hard, his eyes widening, “U-uh..n-no, you’re the feverish one, you’re hot.”

Keith scoffs before yet again coughing, “Don’t play dumb, you’re smarter than you give yourself credit for. You know what I meant.”

Lance shakes a little, so unused to being the one flirted with rather than the one initiating it, Keith did this thing where he shook his entire world and turned it upside down and he’d lose control.

“You’re not..you’re..you’re..uh..pretty. Uh, pretty cool. Pretty handsome. Whatever,” Lance blurts , extremely flustered.

Keith grabs at his hand with the sweetest look in his eyes, “Sing for me, please. It makes everything feel okay again.”

Lance swallows as his hand was grabbed, but he let himself relax into his touch and let it happen. He smiles.

“I’ve got no use for moonlight, or sappy poetry. Love at first sight is for suckers, at least it used to be. Look, girls are nice, once or twice, til’ I find someone new..but I never planned on no one like you.”

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