#messing around with the kazoo again lol

[eyivibyemi]

✧ I won’t really write descriptions for these, but see original post tags for explanation/commentary on the song snippet ✧

[niallloverontheloose]

"Stiles made a divine move, but he was only capable of doing that because Scott refused to let Stiles sacrifice himself or anyone hurt Stiles"

Look at what well known harasser and rabid Scott Stan - Derek/Stiles/Peter/Sterek/Steter hater Claude Frollo just posted in the Stiles Stilinski tag on purpose:

https://princeescaluswords.tumblr.com/post/661308239644868608/stiles-played-a-deadly-game-of-goo-and-chess

Hello @princeescaluswords 

Aren't you tired of obsessing all over a neurodivergent character you claim to hate and of using every single ableist trope and stereotype to belittle and demonize Stiles in an attempt to prop Scott up? 

"Peter claimed that chess was Stiles game, but Peter does tend to exaggerate" Funny how Scott stans are so bothered by Peter praising Stiles and pointing out that chess is Stiles' game to Derek that they need to lie and make shit up in order to belittle/invalidate it, isn't it? And by funny I mean ABLEIST  

The most hilarious thing though is that according to antis' own logic, Peter exaggerated when he said he was impressed by Scott's ingenuity in Season 2, too. Everyone who watched Teen Wolf knows that Peter Hale was being blatantly sarcastic and only did it to manipulate Scott into going to Jackson (which Scott did by the way), since Peter never even bothered to hide the fact that Scott can go die a miserable death in a ditch alongside Gerard for all Peter canonically cares and openly mocks Scott "my plan is to get Stiles to come up with a plan"  McCall's stupidity throughout the whole series. Thanks for proving a point, Escalus!

"Yes, Stiles did pull off a divine move in the episode of the same name, but he was only capable of doing that because Scott refused to let Stiles sacrifice himself or anyone hurt Stiles in order to save others. He found a way to save everyone, by doing the right thing" 

Scott/Posey fans really love to erase canon and give Scott all the credit for his friends' heroic actions and achievements, don't they? Another trait they have in common with Canon Scott McCall 

1• Stiles played a deadly game of Go against the Nogitsune AND a game of chess against himself (Void Stiles) simultaneously, repeatedly outsmarted and outwitted the Fox Spirit that chose him as his vessel, and then defeated it by making a Divine Move. Scott didn't do shit except whine, growl, obsess over Allison, make out with his new girlfriend, get his ass handed to him by everyone, be his usual useless self and throw jealous fits/temper tantrums somewhere in the background. Where he belongs 

2• Scott McCall doesn't have any claim or authority over his friends outside of Scott stans' self insert power fantasies and delusions. Scott also threw a tantrum because he didn't want Stiles to sacrifice himself and lock himself up in Eichen House to save his friends and everyone else. And yet Stiles ignored Scott's whining and did it anyway. Stiles found a way to save everyone, figured everything out, and did the right thing. And he did all that without conspiring with Gerard behind everyone's back, or lying to everyone, around him, or dehumanising werewolves, or selling the Hales out to the hunters, or violating rape victims. Unlike Scott, who did all those shitty things and still failed miserably at everything 

3• No one hurt Stiles in Teen Wolf Season 3B because everyone loves Stiles and no one wanted to hurt him. Not because a whiny, pompous, narcissistic fuckboy with a dumb true alpha title ordered them not to lol

4• Scott McCall doesn't have the authority to allow/or not allow anyone to do anything. Much to his and his fans' eternal chagrin 

"You probably would have figured something out. And Scott did. Repeatedly"

Again, that was sarcasm. Both Stiles and Theo used Scott's own narcissism, inflated ego and delusions of moralistic grandeur against him and mocked him for his self righteous hypocrisy to his face. And neither Scott nor his fans even noticed. Also: when did Scott ever figure something out exactly? When he tried but failed to assassinate Gerard? When he thought that he had gone from being utterly shit at lacrosse to being a star athlete in the span of a day because he was just naturally talented? When he threw Derek Hale under the bus and framed him for murder so that he could be free to stalk Allison and play lacrosse? When he claimed that Kira was a werewolf? When he accused Morrell of going around murdering people? When he assaulted and kidnapped Liam and then called Stiles because Scott can't even clean up after his own mess, let alone take responsibility for his own failures and shitty actions? When Theo played him like a cheap kazoo throughout Season 5? Seriously, when??????

As Peter, Lydia, Malia and everyone else have pointed out, Stiles is the clever, super smart one who always figures it out and never takes advantage of his talents.

Meanwhile, Scott is just a self righteous, judgemental, below average hypocrite who always takes the credit for his friends' heroic actions and accomplishments, judges and/or condemns others for things they never even did and conveniently gives himself a free pass for, and can't even plan his way out of a paper bag without his friends' constant help and support 

"They portray Stiles as chafing chained to a sub-par relationship with Scott, but Stiles literally has a break down when he thinks he’s done something for which Scott won’t be able to forgive him"

Nothing demonstrates Scott fans' ableism and utter lack of empathy more than them trying to cheapen Stiles' trauma and make it all about their fav. Stiles Stilinski got mentally and physically violated by a Fox Spirit who chose him as his vessel; sacrificed himself and locked himself up in Eichen House - supernatural prison/mental institution - to save everyone else; got abused by the wards; repeatedly forced to kill people; couldn't sleep; has been suffering from panic attacks since he was a child; remembered when his mentally ill mom abused him and called him a monster during his childhood; was stalked and brutally assaulted by Donovan; had accidentally killed his abuser to defend himself; and then got gaslit, dehumanised, judged and victim blamed by Scott for it; got blackmailed by Theo and abandoned by the abusive best friend whose ass Stiles risked his own life to save throughout the whole series ("You need me! You trusted him, too!") And yet Scott Fans will try to make it all about Scott instead... which is another trait antis share with Canon Scott 

Scott/Posey fandom's jealousy, ableism, hypocrisy & obsessive hate boner for Stiles and Derek specifically are as blatant and as creepy as ever. Teen Wolf got cancelled due to shitty ratings years ago, and Posey's career followed it down the drain immediately after. But his stans are still out there foaming at the mouth, spewing ableist garbage, and throwing tantrums just because people don't like their shitty fav and have the audacity to prefer Stiles and Derek to Scoot 

BUT SCOTT FANS ARE NOT OBSESSED 

[miss-choco-chips]

hey so I had a quick question about twisted soulmates! so tim knows who his soulmates are, jason knows tim is his soulmate, damian thinks tim is his nemesis, but does dick know? do they all know about each other? love the story!!!

 (2/2)  I also love how you call ra’s a cheap kazoo at the end it really fits him

---

Hey sweetie! I’m glad you liked it. Twisted Soulmates has a very special place in my heart, it’s the first long-ish fic I wrote for the fandom and it’s received so much love, it amazes me. And yesss Ra’s totally is. I read that in a post I saw in Pinterest about someone saying that to “play someone like a fiddle” isn’t a fitting insult cause fiddles are hard to play and should instead say a kazoo, and I thought Tim would think so too.

So to clear the soulmate mess a bit.

….This got really really long so I’m gonna put it under the cut. Also, beware of spoilers of the possible second part!

 Dick knows Tim is his soulmate, but it doesn’t get directly addressed in the fic by anyone else than Tim, and that was on purpose. Dick didn’t get his mark at the same time Tim did. Or rather he did, but he was in costume and didn’t see his own wrist, and then his parents died and the trauma kinda fucked things up and the name got erased. Like, he repressed the whole thing so hard he forcefully forgot about Tim and removed him from his own body. That is, until Tim went to ask him to be Robin again, and when Dick touched him he was bitchslapped by the feeling of the name appearing on him.

But the thing is, Dick is a young man, emphasis on the ‘man’. And this weird little kid is, soulmate or not, a *kid*. Dick is uncomfortable as fuck in this situation. He gets fond of Tim with time, they become friends and he mentors him to make sure what happened to Jason won’t happen to him, but he’s very carefully keeping him at arm’s length in anything soulmate related, because he won’t ever see a twelve year old as some romantic partner just because some cosmic force says he’s destined to be that. Maybe in the future, maybe not, but certainly not when there is this age difference that creeps him the hell out. He has his relationships with other people, which Tim respects because he doesn’t think he has any say on the matter, and they honestly love and care for each other (Tim is crushing hard but he’s a teen and Dick is his hero, that would be expected even without the soulmate thing), and everyone kinda turns a blind eye to the whole thing (except from some of the Young Justice gang, but that’s another thing entirely). Sure, Dick’s girlfriends (or at least the ones that are in the know) look a lil uncomfortable when Dick takes them home and they meet this tiny, starry eyed kid who does his best to be polite, but except for that it might as well be a taboo. The most Dick does is when any danger comes near Tim and he outright freaks out, like when he got Ra’s mark and he flew all the way from San Fran just to fret, but, again, the do love each other, so that might or might not be because of their bond.

Jason as explained gets the mark when he’s attacking Tim at Titan’s Tower. He already had the Joker on his other wrist, so there was no place for doubt. That’s why he left Tim alive, instead of finishing the job like he intended to. The second attempt on Tim’s life was made under Pit influence, because Tim rejected his offer to be his Robin, which Jason’s highly damaged mind translated to rejection to him as a soulmate, which in turn made him really mad, and… yeah. He *does* want to get to know Tim properly and apologize, he felt awful about it all once his mind got cleared up, but like… regret doesn’t just erase all the pain he brought his soulmate, a fact he’s perfectly aware of. So when shit hits the fan with Tim and Dick, Jason is away on a self-discovery trip with the outlaws where he works through his issues, hoping to get himself to a place from where he could start a new relationship with Tim (only if Tim is cool with giving him another shot; he’s hopeful but not going to press, the decision will be firmly in Tim’s hands). He doesn’t know about Dick and Damian, but he does know about Ra’s because he once heard Talia ranting about his father being too ‘soft to his nemesis’, which got him curious enough to investigate. It makes him feel even worse, because the poor kid’s nemesis AND soulmate actively tried to hurt him, which… is really fucked up. So Jason is a hot mess right now, but he’s on the path of redemption.

Damian’s thing was another mess altogether. Damian hasn’t met his nemesis yet (I’m still not 100% sure who is gonna be for him), so when he gets to Wayne Manor and gets his mark as he’s hitting Tim… well, the kid’s been groomed to think of his Father’s other kids as enemies already, its not too much of a leap to consider Tim, his direct predecessor and the one he has to live up to, as his ultimate foe. He also knows about his Grandfather having Drake’s name, so his proud little head gets a high at the idea of having the same nemesis as Ra’s, like some kind of validation to him, like he could someday be equal to Ra’s if he has his same nemesis. Tim tries to correct him, but he’s also busy dealing with the fact that a ten year old is another one of his soulmates, and a murderous one at that, so he’s probably not explaining himself as well as he could, and Damian walks out of that encounter totally sure that Tim is his nemesis (he didn’t see Tim’s wrist, so as far as he’s aware, he’s on the same wrist as Ra’s and thus Drake’s nemesis). He doesn’t know about Jason, but he learns about Dick later on, after he becomes his Robin. They are bonding one night and Dick tells him about his soulmate and nemesis (he’s probably trying to explain something about morals and whatnot to him using that as an example), and Damian can’t even suspect of Dick having it wrong, because the one he claims as his nemesis is one of his worst foes, and no matter how bad, Tim couldn’t be worse than him, so, by elimination, Tim IS Dick’s soulmate. This freaks him out, badly, and he does his best to avoid telling Dick about his mark, because he is still sure about Tim being his nemesis, and that means he is destined to hate the one dick is fated to love; Dick would never choose him above Tim if he was aware of this. He’d never love Damian more than Tim, and that makes the child in him even MORE mad at Drake because jealousy.

So by the time Tim says ‘fuck it’ and basically elopes with Ra’s, Dick is unaware of Jason and Damian; Jason is also unaware of the other two; and Damian only has half the information.

They will find out about the others though (and in Damian’s case, about Tim being his soulmate instead of nemesis), when they find out about Tim’s disappearance (he’s with Ra’s but he’s not exactly advertising it so not a lot of people know where the fuck he is) and join forces to look for him. But that will happen in the second part, if I gather enough brain cells to write it lol

Also, a bit about Tim, if you’re interested!

Tim knows they are they soulmates- even when things get twisted when Ra’s, who is his nemesis, treats him better than the people supposedly destined to love him. Its very confusing, and while a part of him is sure of it, the other is like… maybe Ra’s is his destined one, after all. In the end, Tim decides it doesn’t really matter. Ra’s can be his nemesis, soulmate, whatever- he’s taking him down, hence the last scene where he smiles at having deceived him. And Dick, Jason and Damian might or might not be his soulmates- he doesn’t give a fuck either, he’s not gonna forgive them just because Fate winks at him and pushes him towards them. Oh no, hell no. He’s basically giving up on love, soulmates and all that jazz. He’s gonna use his unique position to do his best to take Ra’s down, even if that means he goes down with him, because he’s a very depressed boy who only feels something when in immediate danger, and sadly the most danger he can be in is inside the lion’s mouth- travelling around the world with Ra’s.

This got really long, anon, sorry! Hope you’re having an amazing day!

[blondecarfucker]

Bed of Roses (Chapter 12)

Roger Taylor x Reader

BoRhap!Roger Taylor x Reader

Fic Summary: It's 1971. You just moved to London to study, and you find a band on a local pub after a bad date. The encounter doesn’t go the way you expect it, and neither does what follows this evening as you try to deal with loving Roger Taylor.

Fic Note: So I’ve had this story in my head for the last three weeks and finally decided to write it down. It’s completely planned. It will have 21 chapters and it’s divided in three acts: Dusk, Night and Dawn. It’s will be a bit angsty in the future, and it will most likely have some smut as well. I hope you guys enjoy it! Tell me what you think about it in the asks/comments/messages. PLEASE REMEMBER THIS IS NOT THE LAST CHAPTER OF THE STORY. If this is your first time stumbling upon Bed of Roses, thank you for stopping by! The rest of the story is in my masterlist, the link is in my bio - can't put the link here or else the post will disappear from the tags.

Chapter's notes: So this is a bit of a more introspective chapter - a bit shorter as well. I love writing these too - mostly set up as it was a few chapters earlier. But what is being set up in this chapter? Well, I guess only time will tell... lol I sound like an asshole. Sorry guys. Hope you enjoy this as well, and sorry again for not posting yesterday

Words: 1866

---

ACT TWO - NIGHT

“Everything is more intense at night.”

Chapter 12

You murmured the lyrics to White Queen (As It Began) as you kept on reading On The Road. The constant view of fields bored you in the first few minutes of your ride back to London on the bus, since you told Roger to keep his car around - and visit you when he got the chance - and now you were missing class on this Monday morning, hoping to make it in time for your work in the afternoon.

You were annoyed at yourself again - how you, once again, was unable to balance your relationship with Roger and your professional life. Your parents asked you about this sometimes, when you told them you would be out for a week to accompany him on tour, and you pretended to have everything under control. They sent you to England to study, and you did so - but you also loved Roger, and loving Roger was an activity that took a lot of your time and energy.

Those two sides of your life were usually in friction, conflicting, and sometimes you were scared you'd have to choose. But when you were wrapped around Roger's arms, it was easier not to think about it. Now, that you were alone, missing class and about to go to work without makeup, with dirty hair and casual clothing just so you wouldn't have to lie and call in sick - something you had to do many, many times before - it was harder to avoid these thoughts.

Also, you quickly found out that your work at the Sir John Soane’s Museum was uninspiring, unlike it would be if you actually got to work to the British Museum. You were not an Architecture major, but you were hired because your professor was close to the manager, and said you were one of his best students. And you could provide background to the neoclassical art, so it was fine. But it was far from what really got you studying Ancient History, and you were still working there just so you could network your way to the British Museum.

You knew that you could probably use Roger for this, and he would definitely try to help, using Queen's influence. But just the thought of this made you want to disappear; you were already known in your university and work as The Drummer From Queen's Girlfriend, and not that it was something that you were embarrassed of - you loved Roger and you were close with the rest of the band - but you wanted to be known as your own person. You even knew that most people thought that you were recommended by your professor for your job because he liked Queen and you arranged for them to meet, which was obviously not true, but if you acknowledged the rumours enough to deny them, they would only get stronger.

And Roger did everything he could to get you out of the spotlight, knowing how much you hated it. Unlike Mary, you weren't mentioned in interviews, Roger only saying that he's taken when asked directly, and only saying your name in interviews when he did them drunk. But people always found out you dated him, somehow. And treated you differently as soon as they found out, always being nicer to you, in the hopes they can get something from the band, until they realize you were not gonna do that, and then being cold to you, saying that you were a snob.

You always considered yourself a loner, but dating Roger really took that away from you as a choice; it was now something you had to be. You never knew when someone really wanted to befriend you for your personality or for Roger, so you were not able to trust anyone that came close to you. That distance that you had to keep from others made you even closer to Roger and the band, and that was a bit scary to you - they were all quite different from you. You sometimes craved not having to worry about all this.

But the moments you were with the band and especially with Roger made you hopeful; hopeful that your professional life wouldn't mess up your love life, hopeful you would get the job you've always dreamed of. Both things were deeply associated in your head, your two ultimate goals.

And it was easier to be around them and not think about pessimistic stuff; yesterday night, after you and Roger got back from the woods and went swimming naked on the pond - immediately regretting it when you had to walk back in the cold wind completely soaked - you both showered and went back to the studio, where Roger and Freddie tried to emulate the sounds of an orchestra with their voices for a song called Seaside Rendezvous. You were all outside of the recording booth, laughing as Roger did his best to sound like a kazoo. Usually, you loved to watch Rog as he did a high note or one of his famous falsettos; his control over his voice was always impressive. But now, he sounded like a cat screeching. "It's a work in progress, dear. You know how it is", Freddie told you while you laughed non-stop with Brian on the couch.

You got back to reading the book for a while, and as you read "I think of Neal Cassady, I think of Neal Cassady", you realized you just finished reading Roger's favourite book. You were both always trying out things the other one liked, like it would help you get a better insight to each other. A writer you liked once said that there are questions that haunt every relationship, sooner or later: What are you thinking? How are you feeling? Who are you? What have we done to each other? What will we do?

You always thought about how dramatic that sounded, but it actually made sense to you after being with Roger for three years now. What's the point of a relationship if not trying to figure each other out and say, with certainty, "I choose you before anyone else in my life"? Belonging. Relationships are always about trying to belong with someone else, you thought.

The bus stopped and you grabbed your duffel bag. You moved to through the station and found your way to the underground, and you looked at your watch as you found a place to sit on the tub. It was a thirty minute ride to your work from where you were, and you were supposed to be in a meeting with an international researcher alongside your boss in ten minutes. "Fucking hell", you said to yourself, and an old lady looked at you, pursing her lips.

You looked like a teenager, in a button up skirt, a loose Fleetwood Mac shirt tucked in and yellow Chuck Taylors. You definitely didn't look like a respectful historian about to have a serious meeting.

You got to the museum, accidentally hitting one of the interns with your duffel bag as you went to the locker to store it and brush your hair. You said sorry, but you could still hear her talk to someone else outside the bathroom. "She's already twenty minutes late. I don't know how she keeps the job", the other intern says. "Well, she's a groupie. This is just her part time job. I doubt she's ever late to suck Roger Taylor's dick if he tells her to do so", the one you hit with your bag says. "I know I wouldn't. It must be nice to know you don't have to work, just look cute and have your legs spread open every night and boom, your life is easy. That's why she doesn't care if she's twenty minutes late. She has her boyfriend to pay for anything she wants", the first one answered.

You wanted to punch them in the face until your knuckles were bruised just to relieve the stress. At that moment, they represented everything you hated about your life; your stupid architecture museum job and the people that will never take you seriously because you're Roger Taylor's girlfriend.

But you had a meeting to attend, so you breathed in, looked at your visibly tired face - you wish you had some makeup on - and tied your hair up, so it would look less messy. You went outside, saying excuse me to the girls, and walked to the room the meeting was being held in.

When you opened the door, you saw your boss, a look of annoyance in his face, but you were soon distracted by the man across his office desk. He had really short hair, even shorter on the sides - that was a bit of a shock to you, used to seeing guys with long hair - and icy blue eyes. He was wearing a plain maroon sweater, his shoulders filling it perfectly, and fitting dark jeans. He also looked older than you - he was probably in his thirties. His smell filled the room and hit you - he smelled like cologne. Drakkar. It was a perfume you haven't smelled ever since you moved from New York.

"This is my Greek history specialist, Y/N. She's usually on time", your boss said, and you shot him a shy smile. "Sorry, I had a bit of a problem with my commute today", you explained, and you felt the two men analyzing you; your boss was not approving your look for the meeting, and the man was just mysterious. "Y/N, this is the researcher I told you. He works at The Metropolitan Museum of Art. His name is William Antigonos Argyros", he said, and that caught your attention. Antigonos and Argyros are greek names.

"Or, you know, you could just call me Will. But it's up to you", he said, and you had to hold a laugh. But something else caught your attention. He had an accent you knew very well, even though you only heard it from your own lips, nowadays. He had a Manhattan accent. "Sorry for asking, but are you from New York?", you said, and he shook his head in agreement. "Born and raised. But my parents are greek immigrants, so that's the reason for the weird names. William was chosen so I could fit in more nicely", he said with a smirk. You laughed a bit. 

"You sound like you're from New York, as well. Odd to meet another fellow new yorker in London while talking about neoclassical architecture. But I guess Ancient History was never Manhattan's strongest suit", he said, and you agreed. "Where did you study?", you asked, and he answered. "I actually studied in Greece. It was easier, knowing the language and such", he shrugged his shoulders. You were admired.

"Mr Argyros is here for his research on Ancient Greece's influence in architecture. It's for a new exposition at The Metropolitan" your boss said, and you and Will corrected him at the same time. "The Met", you said, and looked at him when you realized the coincidence. This could be interesting, you thought to yourself. You really needed a friend - just a friend, you reminded yourself. Just one friend that was actually like you.

---

Chapter 13

Masterlist

Taglist:

@taylorroger-s @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @its-nessi @anamcg317 @frenchieswiftie @queen-danielle-dani-dan @minihemo @shutup-sorry @theyrealllegends @killerqueenisthebest @ashagracelove @hardy-s @fuckinghurricanesoul @secretsweetscollectionblog @mrswinterhater @11mb0 @tamtam-go92 @derptatosaur @patrick-the-stumping @phantom-fangirl-stuff @the-hysterical-queen @rogerofmylife

[lazyfox411]

happy birthday keith: a sickfic

so a little while ago, I put out a post asking for suggestions on what to write for keiths birthday. @radiofreekerberos suggested shiro throw keith a surprise party (thank you sm btw), and I tried a lot of different ideas but nothing was coming lol so went to my default which is sicfics. and even then here I present the worst thing ive ever written :P

but the only way i wouldnt write for my boys birthday is if i was dead. 

Fall was a pretty good season. Pretty colours, Halloween, pumpkin spice everything, perfect jacket and scarf weather—usually. Today, Keith had realized too late, was perfect raincoat and boots weather.

He shivered, pulling his sweater tighter around his shoulders. He was already miserable, and now this. Granted, it was just a light rain, but he had also been plagued with a persistent case of the sniffles. After sneezing and shaking all day, suffering through school and work like a braindead zombie, Keith was more than ready to go home and rest, rain be damned.

When he had clocked out of work, he'd felt a nagging in the back of his mind, like he'd been forgetting to do something. But he'd done everything he was supposed to, hadn't he? Clean the tables, sweep the floors, empty the register, lock up. That was it. He'd done it all. Maybe he just felt off because he wasn’t usually the one to lock up he diner. It was Hunk’s diner, and he was usually the last one out, so naturally the one to lock up everyday. But today he'd left Keith in charge for the last hour before closing time, claiming he had some sort of important business to take care of. He refused to say what this business was, which was odd because Hunk usually never kept secrets. It was pretty much physically impossible for him, and even today he'd looked like he was about to burst.

It was odd, Keith thought, Hunk had been avoiding him most of the day. Unlike the odd feeling of a forgotten obligation.

Keith checked his bag. He went over all his possessions, taking inventory. Textbooks, work clothes, pencils and papers. A few assignments his professor had handed back today. Keith was actually pretty proud of those; they’d gotten good marks. Maybe he was forgetting an upcoming college project. He checked his phone, but there were no reminders.

After coming up emptyhanded, he decided to push away the feeling and just focus on getting warm. The rain was freezing, and his teeth were chattering, nose running, fingers numb. He wasn’t sure if it was raining harder now, and that was why he couldn’t see, or if his vision was just going blurry because he was exhausted. He didn't care. He just wanted to be home, in bed. His clothes were soaked now, and his shoes pooled with water wherever he stepped, squelching on the pavement.

There were about two blocks to go until he would be home. Keith tried to focus on that. He plodded along, head down, trying and failing to avoid all the puddles. When he looked up to cross the street, his body couldn’t keep up with his eyes, and the world started spinning much too fast and he was stumbling out into the street.

A flash of headlights and the too-loud sound of a horn, the screech of brakes. The car slammed to a halt just feet away, spraying Keith in a shower of dirty puddle water. The driver screamed at him, but Keith couldn’t make out what was being said over the torrential downpour and the ringing of his ears. He scurried out of the road, trembling even harder because now not only was he freezing, but holy shit he'd almost been hit by a car.

The apartment door was locked. Shiro must not be home, Keith figured. He liked sharing an apartment with Shiro. It was easier on rent, and it was nice to not be alone. Keith had been alone a lot, and while he did like his solitude, Shiro had made him realize that being all alone all the time wasn’t all that great. Keith clumsily wiped the water from his face as he searched for his keys, and he didn't want to admit it, but he wouldn’t be surprised if a few tears had been wiped with it, because now he was thinking about a little raven-haired kid, all alone on the streets, no idea who his mother was, no clue where his father went, scared and hungry and tired and ready to give up. Until Shiro had taken him in and given him a real family, for the first time.

Keith finally found his keys, and as he slid them into the lock he was silently berating himself for getting so emotional all of a sudden. What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he get a grip? And why was he so cold? Pointless questions swirled in his mind, and the more he thought, the worse it got, until he found the strength to grip the door handle. At least he was pretty sure he did, he still couldn’t feel his fingers, all he wanted to do was get inside and go to bed, but there was still the feeling he'd forgotten something and not knowing was making him feel sick to his stomach—

“SURPRISE!!!”

Keith nearly toppled over backwards from the sheer force of the six voices all screaming in unison. He blinked, trying to take in the scene in front of him. Shiro, Hunk, Lance, Pidge, Allura and Coran were positioned around the room, wearing pointed paper hats and cheering and throwing streamers. Pidge had three kazoos sticking out of her mouth and was violently blowing out a tune that sounded oddly similar to “Here Comes the Bride,” and she was spread out like a starfish, holding a sparkly happy birthday banner that was nearly as big as her. Evidently it had been made by Lance, who was covered head to toe in glitter and waving around a bunch of balloons. Hunk stood behind the kitchen table in front of a cake. The yellow headband he always wore had been replaced by a weave of ribbons.

“Happy birthday, Keith!” Lance shouted. Keith just stared at him.

“You didn't forget your own birthday, did you?” Shiro asked. He had a large red gift box held in his arms.

Keith blinked again. He could see Allura and Coran out of the corner of his eye. Coran had his hands held behind his back. Allura’s were pulled up under her chin, excitedly awaiting Keith's reaction.

Keith continued to stare. The room fell silent. The banner drooped. The gift was set down. The balloons stilled. Keith just stared, at his friends, the decorations, the cake. It was too much. Too much noise, too many sparkles, too many people. Too much for his rain-soaked, pounding head to compute all at once.

He felt his face grow hot. His knees went weak, and he sunk to the floor, and before he could stop himself, he was sobbing.

He didn't process what was being said, but he heard voices, words. They sounded worried.

“Oh, dear.” Allura.

“Perhaps we surprised him too much.” Coran.

“Aw, gee, man, you walked all that way without an umbrella?” Lance.

“Guys, he doesn’t look so good.” Hunk.

Keith felt a pair of tiny hands gently finding his wrists, and he curled his fingers around them. Through a haze of tears, he saw light glinting off Pidge’s glasses. “Hey, Keith, what’s the matter?”

“I-I-I-I’m-I’m ss-sorry,” Keith cried. He wiped furiously at his eyes, fists stilled balled up with Pidge’s teeny little fingers. He could barely talk, his throat felt so tight. How could his face fell so hot when the rest of him was freezing cold?

“Hey, it’s okay, Keith, it’s okay.” Keith felt a strong, warm hand on his back, and he leaned towards it, into Hunk. Hunk was warm, and it helped ease Keith's shaking.

“I’m sorry,” Keith repeated.

Shiro looked down at him thoughtfully. “What’s wrong?”

“I just…don’t feel very well.”

Suddenly there was a hand brushing his bangs from his forehead, blessedly cool on his too-hot face. Keith sighed in relief as Shiro moved closer and shifted the hand to cup his cheek, and press against his brow.

“He’s burning up,” Shiro said. Keith got the feeling Shiro wasn’t talking to him anymore, because everyone else seemed to jolt to attention.

“You mean he’s sick?” Lance asked worriedly.

“Aw, Keith, why didn't you say anything?” Hunk frowned.

“Didn't give me much of a chance,” Keith mumbled, chasing the last traces of tears from his face. He was still shivering.

Shiro wrapped an arm around his shoulders and helped him to his feet. “Let’s get you some dry clothes, huh?”

Keith nodded, and before he could protest Shiro was scooping him up off the ground. There wasn’t really any sense in trying to wriggle free now, Keith figured, was there? He coughed wetly, congestion settling in his lungs. He really should have taken an umbrella.

“We’re terribly sorry, Keith,” Allura said softly. “We thought a surprise party might be a good way to celebrate your birthday. I see now we were wrong.”

Keith shook his head lightly, managing a soft smile. “It’s okay, Allura.”

“Is there anything I can do? Perhaps Coran and I could run to the drugstore to get you some medicine?”

“Ye—” Keith was cut short by a harsh coughing fit.

“That would be great,” Shiro answered for him.

Shiro brought him to his room, helped him towel off his hair, and found him some dry pyjamas. Keith changed, and crawled into bed. The soft enclosure of blankets made him sleepy, and he vaguely thought that this was the most content he'd felt all day.

“You do know it’s your birthday today, right?” Shiro sat next to him on the bed.

“I, uh…might have forgot.”

Shiro sighed. “I’m really sorry, Keith. This whole surprise party was my idea. I know we never really did anything for your birthday other years, but this year I thought you might enjoy it. I'm sorry I've ruined your special day.”

“Shiro, you didn't ruin anything. I'm sorry I messed it all up by getting sick. I—" Before he could say anything more, there was a knock at the door, and Lance, Hunk, and Pidge appeared. Hunk held a steaming mug of tea in his hands, which Keith accepted gratefully.

“How do you feel now?” Lance asked. He sat on Keith's other side.

Keith decided to just be honest. He'd probably already made a fool of himself anyway. “I feel cold.” The rain had somehow seeped into his bones, and now he was chilled all the way through. Shiro put an arm around his shoulders and rubbed the goosebumps that dotted Keith's bicep. Lance found his way to Keith's side, and Pidge spread herself over his legs. Keith felt their warmth, their love and support, and he was pretty sure it was the best birthday present he had ever received. He told them as much.

“Oh, speaking of presents,” Hunk jumped up, “you still haven’t gotten to open yours.” He ducked out of the room and returned moments later with the red box. “From all of us,” he said.

Keith inspected it closely. Nobody had ever really given him a birthday present before, other than Shiro, and that had always been something like a candy bar, or a pair of socks. Not that Shiro didn't care, of course, he just knew that Keith didn't like making a big deal over things like that. This year was different, though. Keith had begun to come out of his shell, and Shiro had noticed, or else he wouldn’t be surrounded by all his closest friends right now.

Keith tentatively tore at the paper.

“Come on, dude, don’t be scared,” Lance grinned. “It isn’t gonna hurt you.”

Keith ripped the rest off, and opened the box. From the folds of tissue paper inside, he produced a thick, leather-bound book.

“Open it, “Shiro encouraged.

Keith flipped open the cover. The paper inside was a warm, off-white colour, thick and grainy. Each of his friends’ signatures were scrawled around the page, around a photo of the seven of them laughing and making silly faces. It was a scrapbook.

He turned the page, nervous under his friends’ expectant eyes. This page was filled with more photos, candid shots of playing video games with Pidge and Lance, him and Hunk with frosting on their noses, Shiro spraying them all with the hose, selfies in bathroom mirrors, sitting at coffee shops, walking down trails. Keith kept turning pages, a smile creeping up his face as he remembered all the days these pictures had been taken. There were other things, too, a movie ticket, a receipt from the hospital when Keith had broken his arm, a fallen leaf from the national park. There was so much, but all of it had one thing in common: every photo, every memory, was of a time when Keith and his friends had all been together.

“Wow, guys, I…I don’t know what to say. Thank you so much. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“We’re glad you like it,” Hunk smiled.

“And look,” Pidge’s eyes glowed as she thumbed through the remaining pages, “we left you some blank ones, so that you can add your own stuff.”

Keith couldn’t help the dumb grin that was splitting his face. “Thank you,” he repeated. “I can't believe you guys did all this for me. I'm just so sorry I messed it all up.”

“No way,” Shiro said. He tightened his grip around Keith's shoulder. “You didn't ruin anything. We’re sorry we forced this onto you.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, this is one birthday I'm sure to never forget,” Keith said. It was true. Not because he was sick, not because he'd burst into tears—though that would probably haunt him for some time—but because this birthday had been spent with people he cared about. And they, in turn, cared about him. Keith rested his head on Shiro's chest and let his eyes flutter shut. He felt Lance's breathing even out next to him, Pidge on his legs, and Hunk’s warmth by his feet.

By the time Allura and Coran returned with the medicine, the five of them were all asleep.

[crowkitty69]

Hey! You there! Over grown left buttcheek!!! Down here!! Read this shit!!

Look I ain't gonna be brief. I ain't saying sorry. And you can suck my ukulele if you're mad! You're probably full of emotions (mostly "wtf") if you've seen anything that was on here before I deleted everything that was on this blog that I tried to delete. As you can see lol... I didn't. It wasn't cause I changed my mind either! It was actually cause Tumblr wouldn't mcfricksalad let me... So before I start my thing again heres a grand "Thanks, asshole! You saved me!" to Tumblr. Thank you. You suck ass and don't listen to you users.. But thank you.

Anyways the whole reason shit on this blog had stuff happening was because I've been throwing huge fits over the interwebs as a cry for help. No one responded. Buuuut.... I decided to say fuck it and beat one of the dead fallen trees outside with its own broken off limb and now I feel a little better! I'm not mad, not even disappointed! But even if no one really helped, that's because no one could... We are all fucking messed up from the brain down. Thats why I'm here to say:

Fuck depression! Why can't we eat candy and junk food instead? Talk about our feelings. Have eachothers backs. Party until our souls heal and for some of us, respawn. Lets have a sleep over where we don't care what ya are but who you are, where you've been, and what you've seen. Lets all argue over who gets the last pizza slice and we'll all have a crab showdown where we click kitchen tongs aggressively to show dominance. T-poses and cringe the whole nine yards. Play kazoos until the neighborhood dogs howl to are mediocre tune. And when we all feel tired enough.... Circle around a single battery tealight "campfire" and go to sleep. Snugglers can snuggle. Non snugglers can rest easy. Insomniacs can at least lay back and listen peaceful to the sound of their earbuds playing music, or if no earbuds or headphones our snoring friends. And the light sleepers and insomniacs can move to a more comfy area where we laugh about nasal openers and pranks we can pull on the heavy sleepers that can also like pranks.

We all just exist. We all might be upset that we didnt grow up the way we wanted or that life was so much better as a child. That we shoulda been something by now or that life might get darker again... But atleast we have friends who we could chill with...

Atleast we'd all have eachother in some way.

From whereever you are... I just wanna say... I believe in you, you lovely banana cousins of greatness! We *will* feel better someday! Take it easy, love!

And watch out... Make sure you find something to hold that fucking happiness in because it might get too much to carry. Get some gallons and shit because its gonna be a trickle at first... But stuff builds up a lot quicker when theres been a drought of it for a long time. Trust me on that.... I've lived in a dessert before. We'll be swimming.

Stay Determined.