Latest Posts by renywrites - Page 5

That's the cutest thing ever??? Thank you???? Oh my God I love that so much-

The ship name for Lance/Romelle is ROMANCE

My day is made. That’s so freaking cute. I can’t. Thank you @cyancascabel

Pssst- I’m not a stalker (Okay I kind of am-) but you commented on my girlfriends post ( @renywrites ) and I just wanted to say thank you for making my day 😂

I just added a bunch of shit to my ko-fi so if you wanna see what I look like I guess you can go snoop in my gallery

Guess what!

Hey all! So I’ve decided to open commissions on one-shots! 

So the rules:

1. Try and keep the prompt in the 1000-2000 word range for me to write. A couple sentences for a prompt is great, just give me a general outline of what you want!

2. No weird kinks, please. I do nsfw for sure, but weird kinks... no thank you. Lightly kinky things are okay. I’ll let you know what I’m comfortable with.

How it works:

Send your prompt to my kofi with your $3 commission fee that’s required to buy/donate something on Ko-fi. Try and keep it short please! I work weekends and sporadically in the week, so I really don’t want elaborate plots that take me weeks to do. Also, I will not write anything for you without you paying up front.

However! If you do want an elaborate plot, then I ask that you pay $3 (a kofi) for each chapter you want. Message me on my other blog (@gravitationallychallengedrabbits) or comment here if you have a long plot and want to talk to me about it!

The fandoms I will do:

Hetalia, Voltron, She-Ra: Princesses of Power, Final Fantasy 15

The ships I’ll do:

Adashi, shance, sheith, klance, kidge, shidge, lance/romelle, shallura, shklance, usuk, fruk, spapru, spamano, gerita, catradora, catra/scorpia, mermista/seahawk, promptis, ignis/gladio. There may be more, just message me!

Be warned: I haven’t written for spop or FFXV yet, and it’s been years since I’ve written for Hetalia. 

I will also write something for your OCs if you give me a good enough description! I’m always open to experimenting with new characters.

I love you guys and look forward to this <3 

asks for fanfic writers

drop a number and a fandom in my askbox and I’ll answer:

things that inspire you

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early influences on your writing

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do you set yourself deadlines?

how do you do your researches?

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alternate title for (insert story title)

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single story or multi-part story?

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which one of your stories would you most like to see as a movie/series

one song that captures (insert story title)

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would you ever write a sequel for (insert fic title here)

do you write linear or do you write future scenes if you feel like it?

share the synopsis of a story you work on that you haven’t published yet

share a scene of a story that you haven’t published yet

how many unfinished ideas/stories are you working on at the same time?

three spoilers for (insert story title)

writing advice

open question to the writer

I can't believe how much you guys like my shidge oneshot 💜 thank you!! I appreciate every single one of you. It means a lot to see that people appreciate my writing.

Galra AU Shidge... Not sure if that counts as a prompt but I can't think of anything to add to it

Hi! Let me say that I am so sorry that this took so, so long - but I really hope you enjoy this!

*

Ask to be Unbroken

The day Pidge met Takashi Shirogane was easily one of the worst days of her life.

It was the day after her entire family — the entire town — had been killed. She was the last, hidden away in the blood and carnage and wreckage, waiting for death to come on swift wings and take her like it had taken everything else. Ash and soot clung to her bloodied, matted fur. The smell of smoke and death was heavy on her tongue, in her nose. Whatever wounds she had were caked with blood and dirt and she could feel infection and fever seeping into her body with each hour that passed.

The Galra Empire had arisen. Her town was not the first town in opposition, though they might have been the last. The people Pidge had grown up with, the people who she had loved — they had stood up when the Emperor had begun killing innocent outsiders and turning a blind eye to the wicked magic his wife had grown fond of. She had watched her father and the other men in the town gather around her kitchen table, pouring over notes and maps and hastily thrown together battle plans.

She had sat in the hallway with her older brother, huge ears trembling as she listened as intently as she could. She had been there, constructing weapons and helping enhance ships when her father had finally given in to her insistent pleas to help their revolution. She had watched families lose sons, daughters, brothers, mothers, and fathers. She had watched bond-mates get ripped away from their beloved as the war raged and the Emperor’s wiles grew and his humanity dwindled and then evaporated.

And just hours ago, she had watches troops of the Galra horde kill families in cold blood and set the town alight in flame. She had watched her family get murdered, narrowly avoiding death herself. She had only survived because her older brother, Matthew, had pushed her into a cupboard and told her to be silent for once, Katie, and she had listened. Matthew had been dead at her feet when she’d pushed the door open.

Now it was only her in the ash and soot and blood that was left of what had been her home. Only her and countless piles of bone and fur that had once been her family and her friends.

Pidge didn’t know how long she sat there among the death and rubble. After her tears had run out and exhaustion had set in, she had sat down in the middle of what had once been the main road, staring into the horizon and wishing for death.

What came, however, was not death. Instead, a beat up ship with a worn looking Rebellion insignia painted on the side kicked up a dust storm in the near distance, disturbing the morbid silence. Four figures stepped out after the engines had cut, and Pidge watched with distant interest as they surveyed the area around them.

There wasn’t much left for them here. Just blood and dust and bones and… and Pidge. But she wasn’t much more, either. She closed her eyes, hoping maybe this was all a terrible, terrible dream and she would wake with Matt pulling her ears and laughing in her face, and her mother at the stove, and her father tinkering away in the yard.

When she did open her eyes, it wasn’t to Matt. It was to an unfamiliar voice, accompanied by grey eyes and fluffy ears poking out a tuft of white fur. She realized distantly that it was a male Galra, and that he was speaking to her. She blinked dust from hazy green eyes, reaching up to adjust the broken spectacles that she’d taken from her brother’s body.

“There’s nothing for you here.” She found herself speaking, her voice unrecognizable even to her own ears.

Those grey eyes she was looking into brighten a bit into something hopeful, and she has to close her eyes. There was no hope here, not anymore. Hope had died with the rest of her family.

“You’re here, aren’t you?” The Galra asked, his voice a soothing timbre.

An ugly smile twisted her face, her eyes opening to narrow slits. “Leave me to die with the rest of them.” She hissed, her ears pinned back. Her body was trembling.

“I think that would be a terrible way to die,” he said, his voice low and soothing and conversational, like they weren’t sitting in the prime example of the genocide the Emperor was capable of. She hated it. She wanted him to feel her pain. She wanted him to hurt, to feel the fire burning in her lungs and the stiff knots in her belly and the trembling exhaustion in her body.

“Besides,” the Galra continues, oblivious to her anguish. “I think your friends would want you to continue their fight, don’t you think?”

Something in Pidge wanted to snap back, wanted to spit poison at his feet, rake her claws against his face. But the exhaustion won out the grief and she sagged forward, pressing her fingers to her face and letting out an ugly sob, one that made some part of her want to lean into this man and beg for comfort.

“Come with me.” His voice gave way to something pleading, and she doesn’t stop him when he cups her elbows. “Let’s make them pay for their deaths.”

Pidge looked up at him, her vision blurry, and took a breath. “What’s your name?”

He smiled, standing up and guiding her with him. “My name is Shiro.”

*

Pidge was taken to some sort of rebellion base after the Galra — Shiro — had coaxed her to join him and his crew.

She had heard her father talk of this place, once or twice, when she had snuck out of her room after bedtime to listen to the meetings. Somehow, it was nothing and also everything she had imagined. For one thing, there were many more people than she dreamed. Along with that, there were no maps and strategies planned by the light of the lamp — instead there were entire meeting rooms and holoscreens dedicated to that.There were differences, though. Many of the people looked to be close to her age. They functioned less like a military and more like a city, including the apartments and different shops.

Pidge didn’t get to see much of it at first. She was whisked away to the medical bay almost immediately after they had set foot in the hangar. Everything was so bright and clean, and she realized just how filthy she was when they pushed her into a private shower and gave her some sort of thin hospital gown.

Getting her brother’s blood out of her fur was easily one of the hardest things Pidge had ever made herself do. In some odd way, it felt like betrayal.

After she’d been scrubbed and poked and prodded, she was given a room close to the med bay, where they could monitor her. The room itself was lonelier than the dying city had been.

When Pidge was finally left alone to her own thoughts and devices, one thought took precedence over every other, and it was unwanted in the worst sort of way.

I am alive and my family is not.

What a cruel fate — outliving your parents and your older brother. Afraid of what was to come, Pidge bowed her head and cried for every lost life she had left behind.

*

Shiro was persistent in the worst way possible.

Every day, he showed up to accompany Pidge places; to the cafeteria, to the library, to the med bay, to her own room. At first, she’d done her damndest to ignore him. It was humiliating enough to have been found in the state she had been, but it was even worse to have to look at him and remember that he was also the one who had taken her away from the death she had wanted to die.

Nonetheless, he was adamant on staying around her. It became difficult to ignore the person who held doors for you or introduced you to people or put you in social situations where not talking was considered rude instead of necessary. Pidge was pushed from cold silence to grudging conversation in a matter of days.

(She tried to convince herself it wasn’t because when he smiled as she picked up the conversation to take it somewhere, he looked a little like her brother when he had found a flaw in a textbook. Gleeful and excited.)

But it didn’t stop there! Oh, no. He’d gone and introduced her to his crew, too, which meant now they came around more often. Tiptoe though they might around her, because she was still ticking like a bomb waiting to go off. Pidge became unwilling acquaintances with three more people.

Keith was Shiro’s younger brother, a hotheaded young Galra who shot off at the mouth and had a temper that often got him in trouble and in dangerous situations. He was the opposite of Shiro in so many ways, right down to his constant frown, that Pidge wondered if they could really be siblings at all. She and Matt had often been mistaken for twins, despite their three year age difference.

His mate, and partner in crime, was an Altean named Lance. He was just as mouthy, although his snark was more sass and often more playful in nature. He and his mate, Keith, often bickered, but Pidge deduced that it was how they showed their affection.

Her favorite by far was the Balmeran named Hunk. He was brilliant, whip-smart and one of the kindest people she had ever met. Although it was hard to get close to him, because they ran on the same wavelength that she and her brother had — and that was just too painful for now.

Pidge often found herself hanging with variations of the group — but Shiro was the only constant, like her solid shadow, a calming force beside her. It was overwhelming to be near such an easy version of family.

She tried to tough it out and be with them. She did. But after the second time they were all together, it became too much.

The trigger was sudden and unbidden. Lance and Keith had paused in their bickering to gaze lovingly at each other, caught up in some silly argument over what they wanted to eat for dinner. Hunk was talking, or trying to talk, mechanics with Pidge, and Shiro was sitting at her side, watching like an approving parent.

It was all too much. Too familiar. She could hear the screams echoing in her ears, could taste the blood and ash on her tongue. Her brother had let her borrow his book on Altean mechanics the night before it all happened. That same book had crumbled away to dust at her feet when she’d stumbled to crouch at her mother’s side.

Pidge stood with an audible, wet sort of gasp. Everyone stopped, but not her mind. No, her mind was filled with death and decay and the sickening sort of guilt that came with being the only one out of hundreds to survive.

“Pidge?” Hunk asked, trailing off. Lance and Keith look away from one another and over to her.

It’s all so much.

The overwhelming urge to flee hits her, and she stumbles in the direction where her room was, where she could hide and scream and beat her fists on the wall until her claws broke and she could bleed. Just like all of them had.

She presses her hands to her ears. They’re all up on their feet before she can make them stop, make them stay, make them leave her alone. All of them are speaking, all of them are asking things of her — all of them, except for Shiro.

A hand comes up to rest on her shoulder, and it’s like all of the rest of the world goes quiet.

“Pidge,” Shiro said, and she can feel herself fracturing.

“I can’t.” She gasped.

She expects to be asked to explain herself. She expects there to be more words, but she can’t put words to the feeling of ash and blood and flame clogging her throat. She can’t make them understand the guilt that she wears like a second skin.

But then she’s being lifted up into strong arms. For a moment, she struggles, but then Shiro is nuzzling her ears and it’s so familiar that she relaxes with a wet sob into his chest. After that, the tears that have become plentiful in these few days return in full force.

Pidge is carried back to her room, but Shiro doesn’t put her down. Instead, he climbed his way into her bed, nestling her smaller body close to his and holding her the way a lover might. Her ugly sobbing turned to weeping, giving way to weak exhaustion.

“You will not feel this way forever.” His voice was close to her ear, making it flick back to brush against his cheek.

Good, she thought, because I am broken and if I break anymore I will turn to dust.

“You aren’t alone, Pidge. You will never be alone.”

“How aren’t I alone?” She argued, her gaze clouded with liquid anguish. “I have lost everything. Everything. I have no family, no home. I’d say I’m pretty alone.”

The male Galra was quiet for a time, rubbing his cheek against her ear. His silence was not malicious; simply thoughtful.

“I am here.” He offered after she had settled back into the horrible spiral of death and dead and dying and guilt.

“What?” Pidge was bewildered.

“I am here,” Shiro said again. She could feel his smile, soft and timid, against her head. “I will not leave you.”

“You cannot stop death, Shiro.” She said, resigned.

“No,” he agreed, pulling back a bit. His fingers caught just under her chin and she found herself looking up into the same grey eyes that had pulled her from her stupor the first time. “But I can promise to be here for as long as I can.”

Let me in, his gaze screamed, stealing the breath from her lungs. Let me show you how I will stay.

She didn’t want to. All of her instincts warned her to push him away, to turn him to the door and order him out. It was logic now. Get too close to people and it would kill you to watch them die. She had already died a hundred times over — one more would fracture her beyond repair.

But another part of her was drawn to his soft reassurance and his willingness to help her heal.

Put me back together, that part of her begged. Put me back together and ask me to be unbroken.

“You promise?” Her words are whispered, afraid to be loud in case someone heard and came to rip them away again.

Shiro’s smile is the soft sheets of her childhood bed. His eyes are the grey of the dusk in the summer in her village. His closeness is the balm to every ache that had seeped into her bones and weighed her down. “I promise.”

Pidge had never believed anything more in her life.

Titles. They’re the worst.

You know what the solution is? Use a Hozier lyric. Too much work? I made a generator that will summon one for you.

It works surprisingly well as a prompt generator, as well.

hey ao3 can you like give the extra $38k you made from this month’s funds drive to charity

support fic writers! 

This is a Moving Forward PSA for everyone using AO3. I am witnessing the results of a culture class and communication failure. Not a lack of communication, but a misunderstanding caused by changes in fandom culture.

Before fic tagging was common, fics weren’t tagged. You had a pairing, if applicable, an author’s note about genre or general content, and if they were feeling charitable, a vague content warning. There are even a few genres of fic where even vaguely tagging literally spoils the plot and impact (such as horror, psyche thriller, in which the likely content is implicit to the genre). As a result, there is a basic category tag that permits this, as a courtesy to “old-fashioned” writers.

“No Archive Warnings Apply” means the fic is PG13 at worst, probably fluff, totally safe.

“Choose Not to Use Archive Warnings” is the polar opposite. It’s a glaring Enter at Your Own Risk billboard. It means: a shitload of warnings apply but I ain’t telling because this story requires shock value. It’s very important to read the author’s notes for those fics because they might be using that older format from above.

But without the context of fandom culture that generated AO3, it’s understandably easy to conflate the two categories, given their similar wording.

Newest Edition

I’m back with another part to my omegaverse au!! This time Keith has a baby... there is baby. 

*

Keith absolutely adored his baby.

Of course, he had loved his baby from the moment they had found out he was expecting and that, for once, everything seemed to be in order. No miscarriage. No complications. Nothing at all that was worrying in any way. The doctors were a bit worried about the birth, considering that he’d had some complications in the past, but they had scheduled a C-section in order to have complete control of the situation. Which was more than fine with Keith.

He and Lance had decided to wait to see the sex of their child was at birth. Lance liked surprises, and Keith wanted to venture away from the binary-construct that came with having a baby boy or a baby girl. He’d been adamant, despite the teasing from the more traditional side of Lance’s family.

And because he loved his omega and his not yet born baby, Lance had spent an exhausting weekend painting the nursery a light shade of green and white, constructing furniture and converting the office into their baby’s new room. Keith had overseen, of course,

The more pregnant Keith got, the more fussy and emotional he became. At first, it was endearing. He was more protective of Lance, always sure to scent his alpha furiously before and after he came home from anywhere — work, the store, a friend’s house.

He was also more snuggly than usual, often curling up either in one of Lance’s shirts and a nest of blankets, or simply in his mate’s arms. He liked it when Lance touched his belly and talked to their baby. He liked being close to his source of safety and comfort.

However, there was also the downside of the hormones. Keith got upset very easily. He cried over things constantly, sending Lance into a mess of panic and concern and worry. It was often nothing more than a stubbed toe, being unable to reach something, or maybe something on the TV (he always tried to dissuade him from watching soap operas, but after a nasty fight over it, he had given up).

Not only that, but midnight cravings were serious and made him mean if he didn’t get what he wanted. Lance became a regular in the Taco Bell drive through at odd hours in the night. And Lord forbid anyone comment on his eating habits.

However difficult pregnancy was, Keith was still so happy at what was coming from all of it. He spent hours in the nursery, falling asleep in the rocking chair or reading the picture books they’d been given.

After the baby shower they’d been thrown, Lance had taken to working from home for the last couple of months until the due date. Keith was still insistent on doing things on his own, and Lance regretted buying a house with so many stairs. Although once Keith got to a place he liked, he generally stayed put. Working from home gave the omega time to unpack all of the things from the baby shower, and gave Lance peace of mind.

This doesn’t mean Keith wasn’t still his same stubborn, independent self.

One morning, Keith woke up with a funny stomach ache and a weird pain in the very low part of his back. A look at Lance told him he was still asleep, and the clock by the bed read 6:58am. It was still too early to be awake.

The omega sighs, rubbing his face and resting a hand on his belly. As usual, their baby gives a little kick, pulling a smile from its mother.

“You behave,” he whispers, “or we’ll wake up your daddy.”

He gets another little kick in reply before the baby rolls over and settles.

Keith settles in, drifting just back to the cusp of sleep, when a sharp pain cuts through his reverie and up his spine. He inhales sharply, pushing to sit up. His heart was racing, but the baby seemed okay. There was no blood between his legs, he checked first thing. Maybe it was just a weird bout of back pains.

Lance shifts beside him, just barely awake. “Wha...? S’early, baby, c’mere…”

He reaches for his omega, and Keith lets himself be pulled back down into the warmth of his alpha and the covers. Lance’s hands settle neatly on his belly, his face tucked into the back of his neck. “Okay?” He rumbles.

Keith nods, melting against him. “Okay. Just… restless.”

He gets another sleepy rumble in reply, then a soft snore. He smiles to himself, rolling his eyes, and settles back in. The pain doesn’t come back right away, and sleep comes easier tucked away in Lance’s arms.

*

The pain comes back later that morning.

He was in the kitchen, putting dishes away — because even nine months pregnant, he still insisted on being useful — when it happens.

The pain is sudden and blinding, tearing up his spine and through his hips. Keith gasps, dropping the plate in his hands and reaching for the counter. The plate shatters at his feet, but he hardly registers it, too busy focusing on not biting through his tongue. After a few seconds, the pain is gone and he’s left panting and hanging onto the counter.

A few seconds later, Lance comes skidding into the room. “What happened?!” He yelps, gingerly scooping Keith up and away from the broken ceramic, setting him carefully on a kitchen chair and kneeling to check for injury.

“I’m okay,” Keith protests when he can get his wits about him. “It was just an accident, I’m fine.”

The alpha nods, but continues checking his feet and hands to ensure that he wasn’t hurt. Satisfied, he lets out a breath and leans up to press a relieved kiss to Keith’s lips.

“You scared me.” He murmurs, pressing his lips to his forehead next, lingering.

“Sorry.” The omega offers weakly, resting his hands on Lance’s shoulders. To be honest, his heart was still pounding, but that was probably because his back was still aching.

Lance pulls away, looking up at him, blue eyes searching purple. “Are you okay?” He asks, earnest. Keith can feel his heart melt.

“Yeah, I’m okay. I just got this weird sort of pain in my back. I probably just moved wrong.”

“Okay…” His mate says dubiously, the doubt in his voice reflected in his eyes. “I’m gonna go clean up the glass. You stay put.”

The omega bites back a protest, instead deciding it felt nicer to stay in the chair than it did to stand. Besides, like this, he got to see his mate bend down to pick things up, and that in itself was a treat.

*

The pains wouldn’t go away. It was starting to frustrate Keith immensely. Lance had sensed something was up after his omega had seized up and made a noise that could only be described as agonized when they were cuddling.

After fussing and ensuring he hadn’t done anything to hurt Keith or the baby, the omega had been left in a very grumpy pile of blankets and pillows, Lance at his side and on his computer.

“I feel fine.” He protests, not for the first time.

“I know,” Lance replies, also not for the first time.

“It was just indigestion, probably.”

“I know.”

“Nothing to worry about. You don’t have to hover.”

“I like hovering.”

Keith makes a dubious tch sound, settling back into the blankets. They’re quiet for a moment, enjoying each other’s presence, when the omega goes stiff and makes another noise of pain. One that sends panic and helplessness through his alpha.

“I’m calling the doctor.” He says, getting up and shutting his laptop.

“Lance!” Keith protests, or tries to. He’s cut off by another sharp pain, this one tearing the breath from his lungs and making him clench his teeth.

“I’m calling the doctor,” Lance says, kneeling in front of him as he dials the number, his gaze pleading. “Okay?”

“Okay,” He gasps when the episode passes, nodding and reaching for his hand. Lance takes it, squeezing gently. His touch is warm and grounding.

They wait in silence for a while before someone picks up. “Hi! Uh, hey, this is Lance McClain-Kogane. Can I speak to Dr. Smythe? Yes, thank you.” They wait a beat, the alpha’s thumb rubbing over the back of his hand, before anyone picks up.

“Hey, Coran, it’s Lance. I — Well, I… Keith is having some pain and I’m really worried. He’s um, well… it seems to be sudden…” He trails off, glancing at Keith for confirmation. He gets a nod before yet another searing pain tears a devastating noise from his omega.

“Yeah, uh, no it’s — it’s pretty bad. It’s happened a few times, I think..? I dunno, hold on, um. Babe,” He tilts the phone away from his mouth. “When did this start?”

“This morning,” Keith manages to hiss through his teeth.

Lance nods, his concern growing, before reporting this to the doctor. He listens a moment, then nods. “Right, yeah, I’ll— I’ll do that right now.” He gets up, squeezing his hand. “I’m gonna get you a heating pad, okay? Stay put.”

The omega nods, closing his eyes tight against another wave of pain as his alpha hurries off, still babbling to the doctor. He tries to breathe through it, tries to tell himself that this is all fine, everything is fine. It’s probably just… well, he doesn’t know what, but it sure is something.

The pain ceases abruptly, far more abruptly than before, and with it comes the tiniest popping feeling and then a rush of clear fluid. Keith goes still, understanding dawning. And then the pain hits in double.

“Lance,” He calls, his voice shrill.

No answer.

“Lance!” He shrieks, panic clawing up his throat and bleeding into his voice.

There’s the sound of thudding from upstairs, panicked alpha scent drifting into the room before Lance scrambles in, wild eyed. “What is it? Are you okay?”

“I think my water just broke.” He breathes, his eyes still on the mess in his lap.

The two of them are silent, save for the tinny sound of their doctor trying to get Lance’s attention. A pained whimper from Keith sets Lance back into action. “I’m here!” He says, both to the doctor and to his mate. He rushes over, dropping down in front of him and holding tight to his hand.

“Yeah, uh, his water just broke. No, there’s no blood— I don’t… no, we won’t have time to get to the hospital, his contractions are really close together. A… About thirty seconds? Oh. Oh, shit. Yeah, I’ll… Yeah.”

His eyes widen and he sets the phone down, putting it on speakerphone. “Okay.” He says.

“Hey, Keith.” Greets Dr. Smythe. “How’re you feeling?”

“Not very good,” He wheezes, clutching his belly and kicking a leg out in restless desperation. “I think this baby hates me.”

Their doctor chuckles. “No, I don’t think so. Listen, you’re going to need to start pushing soon. I’ve sent a dispatch team and they will be there as soon as they can.”

“What?” Keith’s eyes widen, the acrid stench of pained and panicked omega blooming in the room and making Lance hover closer. “But— no. No! I’m not supposed to… we’re supposed to do a c-section, I’m not supposed to do this naturally!”

“Hey, baby, hey…” Lance takes his hand, kissing his knuckles. “We’ll be okay. The ambulance will be here soon, all we have to do is try and deliver this baby.”

“Oh, yeah!” Keith cries hysterically. “All we have to do is delivery a baby! That’s it! That’s all!”

“Keith, I need you to breathe.” Dr. Smythe says calmly. “Lance is going to be with you the whole time. Are you comfortable?”

“Yes,” He hisses, the word more of a whine than an actual word. As comfortable as he was going to get, anyways, with all this pain taking over his autonomy.

He spaces out when another contraction hits, missing the instructions Lance is getting from the OB. He’s more focused on not dying and not freaking out, because apparently freaking out was bad for him and the baby. Which was inconvenient if you asked him (which no one did).

When he comes to, Lance is looking up at him with his eyes filled to the brim with love and a little bit of concern. “Come on, love,” he murmurs, “let’s deliver this baby.”

*

By the time the ambulance gets there, Keith is crying and exhausted and holding the little bundle they’d been waiting years for. He cries even harder when they take her — her — away from him to check her over and put her in an incubator until they reach the hospital.

Lance is with him the whole time, holding his hand and brushing his sweaty hair out of his eyes, whispering how proud of Keith he was, how amazing it was that he’d brought that little bundle into the world. The omega doesn’t stay awake long after they’re loaded in the ambulance and on the way to the hospital. Not with his sight on the little baby and his mate’s fingers tracing over his neck and cheek.

The second time he drifts back into consciousness, he’s in a sterile hospital room. There’s an IV in his arm and he’s hooked up to a couple machines to monitor his vitals. His whole body is sore and he feels like if he moves, he might scream.

This all fades away though, when he looks over to see his alpha holding their baby girl. She was swaddled in the pale green blanket he’d picked up a couple weeks ago — Lance must’ve grabbed it before they left. She was quiet, probably sleeping, and Lance was looking down at her with an expression so tender it almost made Keith cry.

“Hi,” the omega breathes.

Lance looks up, a wide smile taking over his face. “Hey, baby,” he murmurs, walking over to sit in the chair he’d pulled close to the bed. “How’re you feeling?”

“Sore. Tired.” Keith’s gaze never leaves their baby.

“Yeah, I’ll bet.” His mate chuckles, leaning over so Keith can see. “Look…”

The omega takes in his baby. She’s so sweet — she has Lance’s nose and darker skin, but Keith’s hair and eyes. He can’t help but smile, falling hopelessly in love with this tiny human. All the pain he’d gone through and all the fertility treatments and all of… well, everything had been so worth it.

“Can I hold her?” He whispers, emotion choking his throat enough to make it impossible to speak.

Lance gives him a soft smile before passing her over, resting her gently on Keith’s chest. She stirs, making a soft noise of annoyance before settling in, content when she smells her mother’s comforting scent.

“Hi,” the omega whispers, eyes full of tears. His fingers brush over her tiny little fist, traveling up to her downy hair. “Hi, baby…”

“You did that.” His alpha was close to his ear. A kiss was pressed to his temple, a hand combing through his hair. “I’m so proud of you, baby. She’s so beautiful.”

He can only sniff, pressing his nose to her tiny little head and closing his eyes. It takes a while to gather his thoughts, gather his words, before he realizes she needed a name.

“Can we name her Akira?”

“Yeah,” Lance breathes. “Yeah, of course. That’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

Keith gives a wet, emotional laugh, cupping the back of Akira’s little head. He had loved this baby — their baby — since he had found out nine months ago. But having her here, holding her close, he wanted nothing more that to protect her for as long as he could. He was definitely going to be a little bit of an overbearing mom.

“I love you, Akira.” He whispers.

“Go to sleep, baby.” Lance murmurs against his temple. “I’ll be right here. I won’t go anywhere.”

As the world fades away and Keith slips back into sleep, he falls into a blissful state of contentment and security, his alpha watching over him and his little girl safe against his chest.

*

You can find me on AO3 a Renegade_Reaper <3 

weird asks that say a lot

in

1. coffee mugs, teacups, wine glasses, water bottles, or soda cans?

2. chocolate bars or lollipops?

3. bubblegum or cotton candy?

4. how did your elementary school teachers describe you?

5. do you prefer to drink soda from soda cans, soda bottles, plastic cups or glass cups?

6. pastel, boho, tomboy, preppy, goth, grunge, formal or sportswear?

7. earbuds or headphones?

8. movies or tv shows?

9. favorite smell in the summer?

10. game you were best at in p.e.?

11. what you have for breakfast on an average day?

12. name of your favorite playlist?

13. lanyard or key ring?

14. favorite non-chocolate candy?

15. favorite book you read as a school assignment?

16. most comfortable position to sit in?

17. most frequently worn pair of shoes?

18. ideal weather?

19. sleeping position?

20. preferred place to write (i.e., in a note book, on your laptop, sketchpad, post-it notes, etc.)?

21. obsession from childhood?

22. role model?

23. strange habits?

24. favorite crystal?

25. first song you remember hearing?

26. favorite activity to do in warm weather?

27. favorite activity to do in cold weather?

28. five songs to describe you?

29. best way to bond with you?

30. places that you find sacred?

31. what outfit do you wear to kick ass and take names?

32. top five favorite vines?

33. most used phrase in your phone?

34. advertisements you have stuck in your head?

35. average time you fall asleep?

36. what is the first meme you remember ever seeing?

37. suitcase or duffel bag?

38. lemonade or tea?

39. lemon cake or lemon meringue pie?

40. weirdest thing to ever happen at your school?

41. last person you texted?

42. jacket pockets or pants pockets?

43. hoodie, leather jacket, cardigan, jean jacket or bomber jacket?

44. favorite scent for soap?

45. which genre: sci-fi, fantasy or superhero?

46. most comfortable outfit to sleep in?

47. favorite type of cheese?

48. if you were a fruit, what kind would you be?

49. what saying or quote do you live by?

50. what made you laugh the hardest you ever have?

51. current stresses?

52. favorite font?

53. what is the current state of your hands?

54. what did you learn from your first job?

55. favorite fairy tale?

56. favorite tradition?

57. the three biggest struggles you’ve overcome?

58. four talents you’re proud of having?

59. if you were a video game character, what would your catchphrase be?

60. if you were a character in an anime, what kind of anime would you want it to be?

61. favorite line you heard from a book/movie/tv show/etc.?

62. seven characters you relate to?

63. five songs that would play in your club?

64. favorite website from your childhood?

65. any permanent scars?

66. favorite flower(s)?

67. good luck charms?

68. worst flavor of any food or drink you’ve ever tried?

69. a fun fact that you don’t know how you learned?

70. left or right handed?

71. least favorite pattern?

72. worst subject?

73. favorite weird flavor combo?

74. at what pain level out of ten (1 through 10) do you have to be at before you take an advil or ibuprofen?

75. when did you lose your first tooth?

76. what’s your favorite potato food (i.e. tater tots, baked potatoes, fries, chips, etc.)?

77. best plant to grow on a windowsill?

78. coffee from a gas station or sushi from a grocery store?

79. which looks better, your school id photo or your driver’s license photo?

80. earth tones or jewel tones?

81. fireflies or lightning bugs?

82. pc or console?

83. writing or drawing?

84. podcasts or talk radio?

84. barbie or polly pocket?

85. fairy tales or mythology?

86. cookies or cupcakes?

87. your greatest fear?

88. your greatest wish?

89. who would you put before everyone else?

90. luckiest mistake?

91. boxes or bags?

92. lamps, overhead lights, sunlight or fairy lights?

93. nicknames?

94. favorite season?

95. favorite app on your phone?

96. desktop background?

97. how many phone numbers do you have memorized?

98. favorite historical era?

I’m back!! And also SBT updated!

Hello! I am back! Sort of. Well, I updated State of Broken Things so I guess that means I’m back?? 

You can find chapter three here 

Tell me what you think!

I missed you guys

“Nope,” I whisper as I exit out of a fic with no paragraph breaks.

What I find really odd about fanfic in general is that you can almost tell what kind of a person is writing it, you know?? Like some people are really poetic in their descriptions, some people almost drown in the feelings they write, others create dialogue that flows so well it feels like you’re watching real people discuss things in front of your eyes… I just really love that aspect of it, and I love placing writers in a kind of “hey look they’re a descriptions/feelings/dialogue kind of person” box so to speak. It’s such a pleasure reading it when it’s written so individually

Just a heads up

I came out to my parents yesterday. Actually, I was bullied out of the closet by my mom, but that's.. a whole thing. It was an honest to God wreck, like I was expecting, but it's over with.

That said, I think I'm gonna take a short hiatus until things even out at home and I figure this mess out. Thank you guys for being patient with me.

And shout-out to my beautiful girlfriend 💜 she's the best support system I could've ever dreamed of.

I JUST FOUND A GAY KIDS BOOK ABOUT A PRINCE AND KNIGHT IN LOVE AND IM,,, OBLITERATED

WHY DID NO ONE TELL ME ABOUT PRO WRITING AID BEFORE?! THIS THING IS FUCKING GLORIOUS. HOLY SHIT. LOOK AT THIS.

IT GIVES YOU A WHOLE DAMN REPORT ON YOUR WRITING AND WALKS YOU THROUGH HOW TO MAKE IT BETTER AND WHY IT IS SUGGESTING CHANGES. THIS IS JUST A TINY CHUNK OF THE HUGE REPORT IT GAVE ME ON THE FIRST CHAPTER OF ONE OF MY PROJECTS. I AM IN LOVE.

AND IT WORKS WITH SCRIVENER. AND IT IS AFFORDABLE.

WHY DID NO ONE TELL ME?!

Guess who’s world-building! I need help from all my readers in regards to my new Refraction au, so ask away! Anything and everything is accepted, no matter how crazy it may be.

You can find the fanfic here.

I look forward to your asks!!

Somewhere Over the Rainbow

Hello! I am back! I wrote a completely new Alternate Universe that... I don’t think it’s ever been done before. This is only part one of many.

So this is my baby. I love it dearly. Please enjoy with me.

If you don’t want to read the full thing here, you can find it on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18105458

***

Why are there so many songs about rainbows And what’s on the other side — Rainbow Connection

As far as Lance was concerned, there was only one side to a rainbow.

At least, that was what he had been taught. You see, he’d grown up on the one side of the rainbow - the one with the light and the color and the beautiful arches stretching over the city, as far as the eye could see. He lived in a city with buildings made of crystal, made for light to refract off them and fill the world with color.

The people themselves were bathed in color - dressed in beautifully colored clothes that complimented their rich and luxurious skin tones, hair that caught the beautiful colors of their world and took it as their own. Their eyes were luminous and their smiles bright. It was as though whatever had created them had harnessed the sun and the colors of the rainbow it had made their home to write them into being.

They learned in school about how to take these colors and put them to use; how to harness the power they’d been gifted and use it to better the world around them. Lance had chosen blue. It was the sweetest of the colors, cool and refreshing. They used it on the bodies of water around them, purifying and healing with it. Many citizens who wielded blue became nurses or midwives or caretakers. They were sweet and gentle and curious beings.

This curiosity was both a blessing and a curse. It often got Lance into trouble as a child. When he got older, he sated his curiosities with the vast collection of books in the city library and archives. He also went on excursions past the city lines when it got to be too much, but nobody knew about those. Not even his best friends.

But after he’d read all of the books he could get his hands on, after he’d learned about the same things in a hundred different ways in a hundred different author’s words - Lance got bored again.

It wasn’t until one specific librarian had noticed him sulking in the stacks that he had been given one particular book.

This was the day Lance McClain’s life changed.

***

“You really shouldn’t do this, Lance.” Hunk hisses for the third time that afternoon.

“Yeah, you said that.” Lance rolls his eyes, looking over at the yellow wielder. Hunk was nervously folding Lance’s basket of unattended clean clothes. He tended to fuss when he was anxious.

“I think it’s cool.” Pidge pipes up from where she was lounging on his bed. The green wielder was scrolling through her datapad.

“We don’t even know if what that book said was true - it’s a hundred years old!” Hunk insists. “I’m almost certain that it’s just some elaborate plan to kidnap unsuspecting victims!”

Lance rolls his eyes, packing a water bottle into his backpack and zipping it closed. “And what if it is true?” He challenges. “If it’s true, then there’s a whole other world beyond the borders of our city! I want to see it.”

“Of all things, why did you have to be blue?” Hunk bemoans, folding a shirt a little too aggressively. Pidge snorts.

“I’ll be back before school tomorrow.” Lance huffs. “And remember - I’m sleeping over at your house, Hunk.” He winks. “Bye!”

“Please be careful!” Hunks calls after him as he slides out the window.

“Bring me pictures!” Pidge hollers after him.

Lance grins, slinging his bag over his shoulder and heading toward the setting sun.

***

There are rumors of a place far beyond our borders — a place devoid of light and color and beauty. I have only heard of it twice, in hushed conversations and fearful whispers behind closed doors. Those who know of it call it the Monochrome, or the other side of the Rainbow.

It is said to be a place where the evil are cast out, but there is no evidence of this. I have looked extensively into our justice system, and there is no sign of anyone ever coming close to sending people there. It would be considered inhumane in our leader’s eyes.

Although many people seem to be afraid of it, I have not heard of any threats or worrying behaviour from the Monochrome and its people. As the devout scientist and explorer I claim to be, it is my duty to not only find this place, but learn everything I can about it and its people.

Wish me luck.

— Dr. C. Wimbleton-Smythe, Over the Rainbow

***

As the light faded from the sky, drained from vivid golds and pinks and oranges and replaced with silver and gold and navy of the richest kind, Lance found himself venturing farther from the city than he had ever been before. It was thrilling, but he couldn’t decide if that was a good feeling or not. He knew his mother was going to kill him if she caught wind of what he was doing, but hopefully it wouldn’t come to that.

He wasn’t paying much attention to the things around him. Or he didn’t until he realized that the colors of the sky were duller than they had been minutes ago. Upon closer inspection, he realizes that the color around him was fading. Muting itself. He looked down at his own skin, at his own clothes, and felt oddly out of place. He seemed a little too bright, a little too intense for this place.

Lance stops in a clearing in the trees, looking around. The ground drained from a muted green to a dull, drab grey. It bled into the trees, into the sky, into the land that stretched for miles before him. It doesn’t even occur to Lance to take the pictures Pidge wanted.

The color was gone, replaced with shades of grey and blacks and whites. Lance pulls out the journal he’d been given by the library, grinning and leafing through to the bookmark he’d left.

“The Monochrome.” He breathes, his fingers brushing over the yellowing pages.

“What are you doing here?”

The journal snaps shut between Lance’s hands and he jumps, whirling around to look at… a boy.

Well, not exactly a boy, he looked to be about Lance’s age. But that was where the resemblance stopped.

He was shorter than Lance, his arms crossed over his chest and his brow furrowed. His stance was defensive, his lips turned downward in a scowl. He looked angry, but that’s not why Lance found that he couldn’t breathe.

This boy was breathtaking in a way that Lance had never seen before. His skin was pale and unblemished, almost glowing in the dim moonlight. His hair was the color of ink, looping around his face in soft waves that brushed against sharp cheekbones.

Lance couldn’t quite make out the color of his eyes. He guessed they were some form of grey, because they were softer than the rest of his features, however wary and angry they were.

“Uh…” He chokes, after he remembers to breathe. What did he say to someone who looked so different yet also made Lance’s heart thump hard in his chest?

“What,” the boy repeats, stepping closer toward Lance. “Are you doing here?”

“I’m exploring.” Lance declares after he’d gathered his wits about him. “I read about this place in a book - I thought it wasn’t real! But, wow, look- it is! You’re real! Wait till Pidge hears about this, she’s gonna be so psyched! Can I take your picture?”

The Monochrome boy gives him an incredulous look, some of the defensiveness draining from his posture. “Excuse me?”

Lance grins, then extends a hand. “Hi, I’m Lance. I’m a big fan.”

His eyes flick from Lance’s hand to his face, uncertainty flickering across his face. He takes a step forward after a while, reaching forward and taking his hand.

The Monochrome boys touch is… well, normal. Lance wasn’t quite sure what he had been expecting. Cold? Calluses, maybe? Anything but the soft, warm grip that slid into his own, shaking his hand firmly. It’s gone as soon as it had come.

“Uh… Keith. I’m Keith.” He - Keith - says, the wariness giving way to confused curiosity. “What… are you doing here?”

“Exploring.” He says, holding the journal aloft. “So you guys aren’t a myth. There’s more than one of you, right?”

The apprehension is back. Keith edges away, picking at the hem of his shirt. “Why do you wanna know?” He asks, his expression pinched. “You aren’t a spy, are you?”

“What?” He blinks, looking down at his vibrantly colored self. “No! Besides, if I was, I would be the worst spy in the world. I don’t fit in here at all.”

Keith relaxes again, smiling faintly. How Lance — or anyone, for that matter — could have thought these people were cold and threatening was beyond him. Keith had the nicest smile he’d ever seen.

“No,” the Monochrome boy concedes. “I guess you don’t.”

The two of them stand in awkward silence for a moment before Keith clears his throat. “Well. It was nice to meet you, Lance, but I should…”

“Can I come back?” Lance interrupts, blushing faintly. “I mean… I know it’s probably weird I’m here. But nobody knows you exist! Or… I don’t think that anyone does.”

Keith smiles faintly, tilting his head to the side. “Why are you so interested in my people?”

Lance thinks about this a moment, brushing his fingers over the old, leather bound book that had taken him this far and brought him to Keith. He wasn’t quite sure why he’d come, let alone why he was so interested. There was just something about Dr. Wimbleton-Smythe’s genuine curiosity that had resonated with Lance.

He wanted to prove that these people were worth knowing about. Nobody deserved to be a long-forgotten myth. Especially not when they still existed.

So he answers honestly. “I’m not sure yet. But I’d like to find out.”

This makes Keith give him a wide, crooked smile. Lance finds he’d like to document that smile. “Okay.” The Monochrome boy agrees. “You can come back.”

“Thank you.” Lance breathes. “I can’t- thank you. Tomorrow? Here?”

“Tomorrow,” Keith agrees, tucking his ebony hair behind his ear, a hint of that smile tugging at his lips. “Here.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” Lance grins. “Bye, Keith.”

“Goodbye, Lance.”

***

I have reached the part where our two worlds collide. The color has faded, like something has sucked the vibrancy away from this stretch of land. At first I thought it may be sick, but upon closer inspection, the foliage seems to be in peak condition.

This is a phenomenon that I have never seen before, and I can only hope to meet someone from this land who may explain it to me. That said, I have decided to stay on the edge of this land, in case these people are as hostile as they have been proclaimed to be.

I am optimistic and hopeful toward the future of my research and adventures.

— Dr. C. Wimbleton-Smythe, Over the Rainbow

***

“Pics or it didn’t happen,” Pidge scoffs the next day at school, leaning back in her seat and munching on her sandwich. It was one of the rare times she wasn’t typing away at her screen.

“I told you,” Lance groans. “I forgot! Plus he didn’t seem like the type who would’ve wanted his picture taken. I was being respectful!”

“It was safe though, right?” Hunk worries, not even blinking when Pidge reaches over and takes a handful of his chips. “He didn’t seem… I dunno, aggressive?”

“What? No! No, he was… Well, I mean, he was worried at first. But he was nice!”

“Did he seriously not have any color?” Pidge leans forward, her hazel eyes intense. “Like - just black and white? Like one of those weird pictures they keep in the museums?”

“Weird… pictures? Museum?” Lance blinks.

Pidge nods, pulling back and giving him a bored look. “Yeah, like the ones nobody goes to anymore? They have this weird section with black and white pictures.”

Weird pictures. Weird black and white pictures. As far as he knew, the cameras here had never been black and white. Maybe… maybe-

“Pidge, I need you to take me to the museum. Right now.”

“Now?” She asks incredulously. “Right now? In the middle of lunch?”

“In the middle of school?” Hunk yelps.

“Yes!” Lance springs out of his chair, packing up his bag haphazardly. “Right now, I have to go!”

“This journal is making you crazy.” Hunk says warily. Pidge only heaves a frustrated sigh, grudgingly packing her own bags. “Fine. But if I fail chemistry, it’s all your fault.”

“I can live with that. Now come on!”

***

The museum desk clerk looked bored out of her mind when she gave them their passes. “The exhibit is that way.” She points, popping her gum and tossing her bright pink hair over her shoulder. “Have a wonderful day.”

“Come on!” Lance walks as fast as he could, his long legs eating up the ground under him and basically leaving his friends behind. Which seemed to be fine with them; they were going to explore other places of the near-empty museum.

Sure enough, the black and white exhibit was tiny, but it was there. And right before the hall, there was a massive portrait and a plaque that read; This Exhibit was Founded by the Research of Doctor Coran Wimbleton-Smythe.

The man was a regal, expressive creature, with wild orange hair and an impressive mustache. He had a wide smile, mirth and wisdom twinkling in his blue eyes. He looked like he had seen the world and found beauty in all of it. Even in the Monochrome.

A thrill runs through Lance. He wanted to be just like Dr. Wimbleton-Smythe.

With a reverent, hopeful breath, Lance walks into the room that had long since been forgotten and looked over.

The walls held big black and white pictures, full of life despite the colorlessness. Coran seemed to be in every single one of them, vibrant still despite the lack of pigment. He had his arm thrown around a beautiful woman in one, his head thrown back in laughter, a drink in one hand. The woman was grinning, staring off just past where the camera was aimed. The plaque on the bottom read Midsummer Festival, circa 20XX.

The next picture was of a family, drawn close together, arms around one another. The mother was cradling a baby. At first glance, they seemed somber, but Lance had seen that expression on Keith, and somehow he knew that these people simply took everything seriously.

The room was filled with similar pictures. There were weddings, celebrations, funerals, or simply people going about their day to day lives. Dr. Wimbleton-Smythe had taken these people and painted them in the same light as the ones from Rainbow City. They weren’t different at all.

***

The people here are more lovely than anyone I have ever seen in even that of my own home. I find their lack of color to be more appealing than that of my own people. Their beauty is not found surface deep, but instead found in the kind way they treat each other and the loyalty that holds their society together.

I have found that the people in my own home, while they may be derived from heavenly color themselves, are vain and condescending toward that which they do not understand. And, as such, I have found that they do not understand the people of Monochrome.

There is such a deeply rooted fear of the unknown in my people. It closes their minds and hearts, poisoning their reasoning and clouding their judgement. I wish they would only get to know the lovely people in these towns to love them just as dearly as I do.

Dr. C. Wimbleton-Smythe, Over the Rainbow

***

“There’s a museum exhibit with pictures of your people.”

Keith looks up, surprise writ on his face.

They were sitting under a tree, the only one standing on the in-between. Keith had suggested they do it, after Lance had revealed he’d brought snacks and the Monochrome boy had admitted to never having tried the things Lance had brought.

“There is?”

Lance nods, giving him a small smile. “It isn’t very big, but… It’s there. Dr. Wimbleton-Smythe instated it a really long time ago. I guess nobody has bothered to take it down.”

Keith blinks, then tilts his head to the side. “How do you know about him?”

“Oh!” Lance turns, pulling the journal out of his backpack. “The librarian gave this to me after I read all of the books in the library.”

Keith snorts. “You read all of the books in the library?”

Lance smiles sheepishly, turning to hand him the book. “Yeah. I was a pretty hyperactive kid. It was that or get into more trouble than it was worth.”

The Monochrome boy chuckles, shaking his head and looking down at the book. A bit of hair falls into his face, and Lance has the urge to push it away from his face. He’d always been an impulsive boy.

Keith looks up when Lance’s fingers brush over his cheek and ear, his eyes wide and his gaze slightly awed. For a moment, they stare at each other, unable or unwilling to break eye contact.

But then Lance pulls his hand back, a brilliant red blooming over his cheeks. “Sorry.” He says quietly, glancing away from Keith.

He only looks up when a thumb brushes over his cheek. Lance jolts, surprised, and turns to see Keith with that same awed expression. It occurs to him then that Keith had probably never seen color — or at least not color as vivid as this before. So he leans into the boy’s touch, letting him trace over the slowly fading blush.

“Why aren’t you scared of me?” Keith whispers, looking up at Lance, his gaze troubled. Upon closer inspection, Lance realizes that his eyes are a muted purple, like some sort of smoky amethyst.

“Should I be scared?” Lance asks, just as quietly.

He gets a smile and a little shake of the head before Keith is pulling his hand away. Lance wants to pull him back, hold his hand there. But he doesn’t, instead watching as porcelain fingers brush over yellowed pages.

“I can’t read this.” He admits after a moment, looking up at Lance. “I don’t read this language.”

Lance laughs, taking it back. “Do you want me to read it to you?”

His heart flutters when he gets that crooked, happy grin for the second time. “Yes, please.”

***

I have fallen in love.

It isn’t with a woman, or a man, or anyone in between. No, I have fallen in love with this culture and harmony. These people feel like home. It hurts me to think that I have to go back to Rainbow City, but I also feel at peace with my decision.

The people who raised me need to know who these lovely, monochromatic people are. They need to hear from one of their own that these are not people who need to be feared, let alone casted out for the way they were created. I — we — owe it to this beautiful group of people to understand.

I have fallen in love. Irreversibly, irrevocably in love.

— Dr. C. Wimbleton-Smythe, Over the Rainbow

***

The sixth time Lance visits, Keith falls asleep against his chest.

Lance was reading to him, the sun still in the sky. Keith had settled under his arm to see the diagrams and sketches that filled the empty spots in the pages. Somewhere along the way, his eyes had grown heavy and he had fallen asleep against the boy from Rainbow City.

He hadn’t noticed, not at first. But when Keith stopped asking questions or making Lance pause a moment so he could study the sketches, he trailed off and looked down.

The Monochrome boy had his cheek pressed against Lance’s collarbone. His thick eyelashes brushed over his cheekbones, his lips parted as he breathes, soft and even. His hand was curled, his knuckles pressed against his cheek and holding on loosely to the sweatshirt Lance had thrown on.

He was lovely.

Lance could see where the Doctor had been coming from. Then again, he had seen it since the first time he’d bumped into Keith. And to think, before this journal, Lance hadn’t even known that someone as beautiful as the boy on his chest had existed.

He brushes a hand through inky locks, not daring to move an inch in case he disturbed Keith.

And after his foot fell asleep and the chill from the setting sun started to creep from the floor into his bones, Lance realized he might just be a little bit in love.

***

“My mom wants to meet you.”

Lance looks up from divvying out the fruit he’d brought, his eyes wide. “I… Excuse me?”

Keith looks away, rubbing his cheek in a gesture Lance had come to realize meant that Keith was being shy. “She… I’ve been talking about you, and… she wants to meet you.”

“You talk about me?” Lance squeaks, not quite able to compute. Keith talked about him! He could sing praises to the heavens, run a thousand laps around the city fountains, die happy in this exact moment.

And then he realized just what Keith had said, and his elation turns to slight fear.

“Your… mom wants to meet me.” He repeats, after Keith nudges him with a worried call of his name. He must’ve been unresponsive.

“Yes,” the Monochrome boy nods, biting his lip.

“When?” He asks, his voice faint.

“Um…” Keith smiles, shy. “Today? She said I could invite you to dinner. So.. want to come to dinner?”

Lance stares at him, his eyes wide. The silence drags for a long, terrible minute, before Keith pulls away, his face falling. “Unless you don’t want to, that’s okay- I get it. I’m- I’m me, and… that’s okay.”

“No!” Lance reaches over, taking his hands, shaking his head quickly. Oh, heavens, stars almighty, he was an idiot. “No. I’m sorry, I just- you caught me off guard. Of course I want to come to dinner. Thank you for inviting me.”

The Monochrome boy looks down at their hands, then back up at him, his smile hesitant. “Yeah?” He whispers, squeezing Lance’s fingers hopefully.

“Yeah.” Lance whispers back, taking a chance and leaning forward, pressing a soft kiss to this beautiful boy’s flawless forehead.

***

Krolia Kogane was the single most terrifying woman on this side of the border, Lance had come to realize.

He and Keith had made the trek into town, past a few dozen curious faces and polite smiles (he was certain he’d be met with hostile stares and terrified mothers pulling their children away. That’s what Keith would have been greeted with). They’d walked through the town, right to what seemed to be the biggest house in the whole place.

Standing in the doorway was Krolia Kogane, cutting an imposing figure as her son lead a Rainbow City boy up to her and into her house. And now she was sitting across from him at their kitchen table, her gaze inscrutable.

“So,” she starts, and he snaps to attention. “Keith tells me you’ve been visiting him.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Lance replies hastily, then clears his throat and adds, “He’s very nice.”

Krolia gives him the slightest of smiles. One of Keith’s smiles. “He is, isn’t he?” She looks toward the stairs, where Keith had disappeared to get one thing or another. She turns her gaze back to him, then sighs. “I don’t know what you know of our history, Lance, but the Rainbow folk haven’t exactly been the most friendly.”

“Yes, ma’am. I… I know a little of it.” Lance nods solemnly. He hesitates a minute, then lifts his gaze to hers. “I’m sorry.” He says softly. “I don’t want to hurt Keith in any way. I… I really like him.”

Keith’s mother studies him a moment, then smiles and sits back. “You look at him the way my husband used to look at me.”

And again that bright red blooms over his cheeks, warmth settling in his chest. He looks toward the stairs. “I really like him.” He says again.

The three of them spend the evening making traditional dishes and swapping stories. Tonight was the first night Lance heard Keith laugh without restraint and the first night he wanted to pull him close and kiss him.

At the end of the night, he gets that chance. They’re lingering on the border, standing in their perfect little in-between. Keith is stalling, dragging out their goodbyes with soft thank yous and his fingers twined around Lance’s.

When there’s a breath of silence, a moment with their eyes locked and the silence heavy around them, Lance leans forward.

Keith’s lips are soft and gentle, his breath stalling between them as his brain catches up with his body. His arms reach up, wrap around Lance’s neck. Lance puts a hand on the small of his back, pulling him against his chest and kissing him like it was the only thing in the world he wanted to do. Because, in all reality, it was.

They part with the promise to see eachother again the following night. And the one after that. And the one after that.

When Lance leaves, all the colors around him seems dull without Keith by his side.

***

“I think I’m in love with him.” Lance says one afternoon, when all of his friends are hanging out in his room.

Hunk looks up, surprise flickering over his face. Pidge’s typing stops.

“What?” His best friends echo, almost in sync with one another.

“You haven’t even known him that long,” Hunk protests.

“We haven’t even met the guy!” Pidge huffs.

Lance rolls over on his bed, blinking at them. “Do you want to meet him?” He asks.

That night, Lance asks Keith if he wants to meet them.

“Will they like me?” Keith asks, worried as he looks up at Lance. They’re curled up in Keith’s bed, back to their usual reading sessions (or, rather, Keith’s daily naptime before dinner).

“Of course they will.” Lance smiles, smoothing his hair down and kissing his forehead. “I like you. They’re bound to like you — we have similar interests.”

“Okay,” Keith concedes after a moment of long and hard thought, snuggling back in. “Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”

***

It wasn’t going well. Keith was flighty and nervous the moment he saw that there was three of them. He flinched when Lance took his hand, apologizing softly when he sees the concern on the Rainbow Citizens face.

Hunk was anxious as all get out; he had done some research himself, but of course he hadn’t borrowed the journal from Lance. All of the feedback he got painted Keith — sweet, soft, beautiful Keith — out to be a cold hearted monster.

Pidge had her own suspicions. This was displayed after tense introductions when she leaned over to Hunk and murmured, “He looks like a ghost.”

They hadn’t seen it, but Lance had seen his Monochrome boy crumble. He had felt fingers tighten on his own, heard the soft exhale.

“Pidge,” Lance says, aghast. “He can hear you.”

She has the decency to look sheepish. “Sorry.”

After an hour of agonizing small talk and mediating from Lance, he’d given up and told the group he was getting tired and that they should probably head home. But once they’d started off, he hung back.

Keith holds it together for a few minutes after they’re out of sight. But then his lip starts to tremble and his fingers twitch.

“Oh, Keith,” Lance breathes, pulling him against his chest, just in time to catch a weak sob against his shirt.

“I’m sorry.” He gasps wetly. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, no. It isn’t your fault. You haven’t done anything wrong. I forgot… just how much my society has been taught to pretend yours doesn’t exist.”

He feels Keith try to form words, and he feels his heart break when all he comes up with is another sob. So he holds him, until the tears are dried and he can kiss those trembling lips.

“I want to take you to my parents.” He whispers, stroking his cheek, brushing away the tears. Keith looks up at him, smoky eyes wide and dewy. “I want to show the world — my world — just how much I love you.”

“You do?” Keith asks, and smiles.

“I do.” He tilts his head up, pressing his lips against his forehead and lingering there.

“Tomorrow?” Keith whispers.

Lance smiles against his skin and nods. Tomorrow.

***

A life well spent is, in my eyes, one spent devoted to easing the suffering of others. I believe I have had a good life. A wonderful life, even. Though I was unable to change the minds of many people, those who listened made a great difference, and I hope that one day, it may change this world for the better.

My life as I have known is nearly over. My bones are fragile, my health even more so. The rest of my life may be spent in a bed, but I am surrounded by loved ones and filled with happiness.

I hope that you, my dear reader, have gained something from listening to the ramblings of an old man. I hope that your life is filled with as much wonder and beauty as I was able to find. I wish you well, in your studies and your happiness.

Dr. Coran Wimbleton-Smythe, Over the Rainbow

***

The walk through town stops many people, gathers much attention, earns stares and murmurs from people who happened upon them. But Lance walked proudly, Keith at his side. And Keith was glowing, hardly paying attention to the people around him as he took in all of the color with childish wonderment.

“It’s so beautiful,” He had said in hushed tones the moment they entered the city.

“Not as beautiful as you,” Lance had answered.

Now they were stepping into his house, into Lance’s life. With his many brothers and sisters, with his mother cooking dinner at the stove, with the house full of the memories he’d carried with him for his entire life.

“Lance! Where have you been? I need you to come help with dinner, Veronica is-” His mother rounds the corner, then stops, her eyes falling on Keith.

Lance steps forward, Keith’s hand in his. “Mom,” He says, with a voice that promised them both an eternity of tomorrows and an abundance of love. “This is Keith.”

Hey, uh. Authors

How do you do THAT!?!?!

You’re?!?!?

Creating worlds?!?!

Out of words!?!?!

FREAKING GODS AND GODDESSES?!?!??

WHAT!!?!?????

THATS SO AMAZINGLY AWESOME!!!!!!

ITS ME

hashtag animashun

I'd like to know!

What are some charities you like to support?

Hey guys!

So I’ve taken up doing this thing at least once a month where I take a percentage of my income and give it to charities I want to support. My only thing is - all of the ones I’ve seen that I like or want to research on Tumblr are buried in my profile.

So what’re some charities that you like or would like to promote? Reblog or send them in!

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how far I’ve come and how much progress I’ve made, and I have to say, I’m really proud of myself. This time last year I woke up and wondered how I was going to survive the next day. Sometimes I woke up and nearly decided I wasn’t going to and that I was tired of having to survive any days.

It’s been a long, hard road to the place I am now, and I still have so far to go. But I’ve done a pretty good job so far! I’m still here.

Today I was reminded of just how strong I am - that I’m still here, even though a year ago, I didn’t want to be and might’ve done something to ensure that I wasn’t. Sometimes I still don’t want to be here, but now I have the proper tools and the best support anyone could ever ask for.

I know I still have a long way to go and I know there are things coming up in my life that are going to try and tear down the structure in my life, but I’m pretty proud of myself.

Go me.

I GOT A TWITTER

Everyone say thanks to my girlfriend.

What am I doing there??? You tell me!

Anyway, go follow me 😂 my handle is twineustogether and you get the bonus of me figuring out how to Twitter and also you get to see my face so? Does that count?

How Long is this Fic Really?: A Guide

Word count in the HP Series: 

Sorcerer’s Stones: 76,944  Chamber of Secrets: 85,141 Prisoner of Azkaban: 107,253  Goblet of Fire: 190,637 Order of the Phoenix: 257,045 Half-Blood Prince: 168,923 Deathly Hallows: 198,227

Word count in the LOTR Series:

The Hobbit: 95,022 Fellowship of the Ring: 177,227 Two Towers: 143,436 Return of the King: 134,462

writing an autistic character when you are not autistic - a masterpost

completely double spaced version on google docs here – this post is more blocky for the sake of people’s dashboards, but still long so people will be less likely to glaze over it. my apologies if that makes it hard to read

things to look for and avoid in an autistic character

• symptoms only manifesting as “nonverbal and rocking” • super smart / living calculator • super dumb / doesn’t understand anything • all the symptoms you can come up with for them are “awkward” and “has special interest(s)” (please do more research) • trains, technology, and/or math as special interests • acting like a child • getting treated like a baby • unreasonably cruel and uncaring about others’ reactions to them being cruel • if they’re comparable to sheldon from the big bang theory, start over • animal comparisons • a lack of feelings • please no stories about what it’s like to be autistic told by allistics

the right way to write an autistic person

• lots of symptoms, including secondary ones not included on a general diagnosis requirement list (here’s a list i rather like that was made by an autistic person – their blog is also a good resource) • having a good amount of general knowledge and actually talking about it (i cannot believe that i have to say this) • talking about things outside of special interests (again…. come on……….) (special interests are usually the default things our brains go to when theres no stimulation or we want to entertain ourselves – it isn’t literally all we think or talk about ever. if a conversation has no connections to a special interest, reconsider having your autistic character bring it up in a context that is not an introduction.) • explicitly expressed to be capable of attraction and romantic feelings – if your character is an adult, add sexual feelings to this point • capable of general functioning, just with a disability that makes it more difficult – not a walking disability (….sigh) • a wide amount of feelings and emotional turmoil (but perhaps only being able to express it in limited ways) • we’re people • just people whose brains are wired differently

things to avoid in research for an autistic character

• autism moms / autism blogs and websites not run by autistic people • any affiliation with autism $peaks means you should walk away and never look back • a scientist trying to create explanations for what autistic people do without actually asking / not mentioning asking autistic people • anything about a cure for autism • a person that “worked with autistic kids” phrased in the same way as “worked with animals” • talking about autistic people as if they are mysteries, are like animals, or are otherwise othered weirdos instead of people

things to look for in research for an autistic character

• actual autistic people talking about their experiences and symptoms • just stick to that and you’re good but it’s hard to find sometimes ngl. just look for the above red flags

things i would personally like to see in an autistic character

• less easy to swallow sadness and more destructive anger. i would love to see a canonically autistic character who was frustrated easily by small things and had trouble communicating why • not a story about being autistic, a story that happens to have a character or characters who are autistic – it isn’t pointed out or questioned, they’re right at home with the rest of the cast and not othered (a la symmetra from overwatch) • intensive sensory issues / small sounds making large reactions • clear communications about not liking x sensory thing (for example being touched) • poor motor skills / clumsiness and not being laughed at for it • walking funny (body bent downwards, walking very fast, walking slowly, big strides, shuffling, stiffness, etc)  – no one treats it as if it’s funny or something totally strange • a big personality that has a presence so they can’t be cast aside (but feel free to have quiet characters too) – if this was along with being nonverbal they would probably leap to being one of my favorite characters ever • a fear of asking for clarification on sarcasm or jokes because of past experiences and an arc about the character becoming more comfortable asking questions

>> if any fellow autistic people want to add something, feel free <<

allistics are encouraged to rb this

Hello Tumblr…

So as of recent, we’re losing my grandmother. It’s been very hard for everyone, as she was an incredible woman. Kind, gracious, would give you everything she owned and then some if you needed it.

Her most prized possession was her house. Built in 1913. A living antique, full of her family history. If someone in the family doesn’t take the house, it will all be gone, sold off. So I’ve been tasked with taking the home.

Yeah! Free home! Except like…I’m from California. The home is in Arkansas. I don’t know Arkansas. I don’t have connections or know anyone. I’m starting from scratch and I don’t have a lot to my name right now. I am only 22 after all, and this has been thrust upon very suddenly. (For the record, I consented. My grandma means a lot to me.)

So while I hate asking this, here’s the situation, and here I be, asking for help. It leaves a bitter fucking taste in my mouth so if anyone wants any art or something as compensation, I’d be more than happy to oblige.

PayPal: notyaboku@gmail.com

Ko-Fi: Ko-fi.com/happyradio

If you can’t think of anything to say about a fic, writers also like to know:

- what time it is

- how long you’ve been reading

- how many chapters you’ve covered in the last 24 hours

- what you were late for because you were reading

- the woeful few hours you have left to sleep

- the emotional outbreaks you’re experiencing

- the inappropriate place you’re having said outbreak

- the general public’s reaction to your outbreak

- how much phone battery you have left

The Mind is a Mysterious Thing 🧠