Renywrites - Blog Posts

Hi guess what I'm back?? Kinda??? I'm engaged now!!

Anyway here I feel bad so have some smut in these trying times:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23863738

I need help finding a thing to write about!!

So about two years ago, I started writing the first version of a book I was proud enough to say I wanted to publish. It was something that helped me process and come to terms with my sexuality and situations I had found or thought I would find myself in. 

Unfortunately, I went back today after six months of not touching it (I had been in the process of rewriting the second draft) and realized I kind of hate it now. It reminds me of things I’ve grown past, and the characters make me want to rip my hair out. 

Anyways — does anyone have any LGBTQ heavy prompts or ideas they want to see in fiction? I don’t really write original fantasy or sci-fi because I lose interest too fast to finish world-building, but I like romance and slice-of-life type books. 

Lately I’ve been heavily exploring gender with my lovely partner and I want to be able to write about things I know. 

Please send an ask or comment below if you have any ideas. I can’t promise it’ll get written or published, but I really want to write something of my own on the side while I work and write stuff for the GO fandom.

Also hi i promise I’m not dead <3

How about the ineffable husbands finding out about Beelzebub and Gabriel’s relationship? :D

This was honestly so much fun to write, I hope you like it!

*

“Are you kidding, angel?” Crowley snorts into his drink, lounging lazily on the sofa in the middle of Aziraphale’s beloved bookshop. “Beelzebub would smite him before he even got close to her.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” The angel hums, shelving a couple books he had almost lost to a potential buyer that afternoon. Of course, Crowley had interfered and scared the boy away with his antics. 

“You’re out of your mind.” The demon snorts, tipping back the last of his drink and wiping a hand over his mouth. “Lord Beelzebub loves nothing and no one. Well, except maybe those damned flies.”

“I never said anything about love, my dear.” Aziraphale chuckles, shaking his head and going over. He nudges Crowley’s legs, sitting down beside him and sighing when his lover sets his gangly limbs into his lap. 

Crowley considers this. “Well… I guess they’d probably be fucking. That seems more likely. Hypocrites, the lot of them.”

“What else are you expecting, my love?” He sighs heavily, patting his legs. 

“S’pose you’re right, angel.”

*

One afternoon, Crowley comes hurtling into the bookshop like, pardon the irony, a bat out of Hell. He slams the door, jostling the poor little bell, and leans against the door. He looks as though he’d seen Jesus Christ in the flesh.

“Aziraphale!” He hisses when the angel pops his head around a bookshelf to see what the commotion was all about, a reprimand on his lips. 

“Really, Crowley, must we go over the slamming doors lecture every month?” A very put out angel sighs. 

“Forget the door, angel!” He rushes over, hovering over Aziraphale as he leans up on his tiptoes to pull a book down from the shelf. 

“How am I supposed to forget every time I have to replace a glass pane or a chipped bell?” He huffs, shaking his head and reaching for another book. 

Before he can grab it, the demon grabs him by the wrist and whirls him around. The books tumble to the floor. Aziraphale’s eyes widen as he’s pressed back against the shelves. “Really, dear, at least let me close up shop…”

“No, I- Angel! This is important!” 

“Oh, alright then, what is it?”

“I saw Gabriel kiss Beelzebub.” He hisses, his eyes glinting intensely behind the rims of his glasses, which had been knocked askew in his desperation to get his angel’s attention.

“You…” The angel takes a moment, letting this all sink in. “What?”

“In the park!” Crowley stresses, shaking him by the arms. “By the duck pond!”

“Alright, okay! I believe you, dear, you don’t need to shake the life from me.”

The demon releases him, brushing his suit off sheepishly. “Sorry…”

“Are you absolutely sure that you saw them and not another couple who looked similar to them?” Aziraphale says carefully, noting the crazed look in his lover’s eyes.

“No, I- Oh, bugger it all.” He hisses, snapping his fingers. Instantly the shop begins to close itself. “Come with me, you’ll have to see this yourself.”

Crowley whisks Aziraphale off to the park with him, back to their normal bench. “There!” He hisses, pointing to a couple a few hundred yards away. 

Sure enough, it was the infamous Archangel and the Prince of Hell herself. They were leaning against the railing, watching the ducks. 

Gabriel was bent forward slightly so he could talk to her easier, his hands shoved in his pockets and the button of his suit jacket undone. Beelzebub was lounging against the railing, peering down at the pond and talking to him. She had forgone her usual attire for one of his dark grey shirts tucked haphazardly into a pair of worn out black jeans, her hair piled onto her head and stuck through with what looked to be a thin knife.

“Oh,” Aziraphale breathes, his eyes as wide as saucers. He leans forward to get a better view, but Crowley yanks him back. 

“They’ll see you!” He whispers fiercely. “We have to be sneaky…”

“Right, of course.” 

*

“Oh, look, the biggest idiots in all of Soho have finally noticed.” Gabriel snorts, setting his hand on the railing beside Beelzebub’s arm, trapping her with his body. 

She hums, sliding her gaze over to them before turning around and looking up at him, giving him a wicked smile. Her slim fingers wind around his tie, effectively wrinkling it. “Shall we give them a show.”

“You drive a hard bargain.” Gabriel teases, just before he’s tugged down sharply into a surprisingly gentle kiss. Beelzebub lifts her free hand, flipping off the pair not-so-secretly watching them.

That ought to get their point across.

I love your writing! Can you please do 5+1 Things-type with ineffable bureaucracy?

Thank you!! And of course I can, have some angst <3

(According to Wikipedia and also some forms of Judaism, Zadkiel is the archangel of benevolence, freedom, and mercy. Zadkiel is also said to be a he, but I’m considered to be a she and I say fuck gender so that’s not what’s happening)

*

1.

The first time she questioned, she was only moments old, bathing in the light of her holy Creator, awash with love and wonder and glory. 

“Who am I?” She asked, picking herself up from the floor, her wings new and brilliant and trembling with the effort of simply being in the presence of such magnitude. 

You are Zadkiel, said the one who had breathed life into her, the one who had put every golden freckle on her face, the one who had a Plan for this little angel. 

“Zadkiel,” she echoes, the name clumsy on her tongue. “I am Zadkiel.”

You are the benevolent one, God continues, the merciful one, the one who harbors freedom. You are one of my Seven.

“I am Zadkiel,” the little Archangel repeats, looking up to the One Most Holy, a smile on her lips. 

2. 

The second time Zadkiel questions, she is hand in hand with her lover, Gabriel. They are standing on the outskirts of a crowd, in which the greatest Archangel is speaking. Lucifer was something of a prodigy here, a perfect being who held the attention of everyone around him. His tongue was silver and his reasoning sound. 

At least, it was to a select few. 

“One day he’s going to regret the things that he says,” Gabriel says, his gaze dark and his grip on Zadkiel’s hand tightening. 

The little Archangel blinks, looking up at him in confusion. She’d always walked the line, always done things that had pushed patience or made the other angels nervous. Most said it was her connection to freedom, but Gabriel chalked it up to her ability to be difficult.

“What do you mean?” She asks, and shrinks when her lover turns a sharp glare her way. 

“The things he’s saying are treason, Zadkiel.” He hisses, pulling her away from the crowd to speak with her privately. “You’d do well to disregard him, he has nothing to say that would do any of us any good.”

The little angel averts her gaze from Gabriel’s, staring at the gold cobblestone under her feet. She didn’t like being told what not to think, didn’t like having her feelings disregarded and swept aside. Gabriel was good at that, though, especially when it came to the Great Plan or anything related to it or Her.

“Alright,” she relents at last, if only to have him release his crushing grip on her hand. 

He does, relief seeming to help him relax. He tilts Zadkiel’s chin up, giving her a kind smile and leaning down to kiss her. “It’s better this way.” He murmurs when he pulls away.

But Zadkiel wasn’t so sure.

3. 

The third time she questioned, it was in a private nook of Heaven, in the lap of her lover. 

Lucifer had been cast out of favor, banished to tar pits and fire and endless suffering. A handful of angels had come too, and Zadkiel had nearly been one of them. She had seen the disappointment in Lucifer’s eyes when she had shied away and hidden behind Gabriel, still walking her line.

After nearly driving herself mad with guilt and doubt, Zadkiel had to tell someone. And who best to tell than the one she had fallen in love with?

Gabriel listened silently as she spoke of treason and guilt and worry — so many things that angels were simply not meant to have. He let her speak until she was out of breath, out of words, and finally feeling a bit better. 

“Zadkiel,” he says, slow and soft. 

“You haven’t the faintest how worried I was,” the little Archangel breathes, turning to face him, a relieved smile on her face. “I thought I would burst!”

“Zadkiel,” he says again, a little louder this time.

“Maybe I was wrong, you know? About all this? Maybe I was just being silly.” 

“ZADKIEL!”

The littlest Archangel falls silent, looking up at her lover. Gabriel’s face was stone, his eyes cold and hard, his mouth a thin line. Her smile fades, the relief following. 

“Gabriel,” she says, her voice wavering as she realizes the gravity of what she had done. What she had said. “Gabriel, can you still love me? It was only a slip, just a lapse in judgement…”

“I do not love traitors.” Gabriel growls, and shoves her away.

4.

Her next question comes from ichor stained lips, from the depths of a place that had sounded so good when it had come from Lucifer’s stories. The air smelled of singed flesh from the wings that had been burnt black as a punishment for her crimes. Her beautiful freckles, the ones that had been painted so delicately in gold all those years ago, were now blood and diseased flesh. 

There was an emptiness in her heart, if she even had one now at all. An absence. A place where once, she could feel the love and warmth around her. Now all she felt was rage, and hatred, and disgust. 

They had watched her fall, with pity! Those who she had called her friends had looked away when she begged for forgiveness, when she screamed and cried and was torn from the sky. They had watched Her shatter the halo that tied her to the stars, and had done nothing about it.

Tears drip from her eyes, her breath coming in ragged gasps that sounded like something a wild beast would make, not one who had been part of the Heavenly Host. All this for a simple doubt? All this for a slip, for questions that had been asked by another?

Zadkiel looks to the heavens and screams, cursing the Creator that had created this. She screams until her voice breaks and she gasps for air, her voice as broken as the mess she had become. 

“Why?” She asks, to one who was not listening. To one who would never listen again.

5.

The next time she sees a part of the heavens, she is called Beelzebub, and she is a Prince. 

It takes her by surprise — all the angels were supposed to have left Eden. It was her job to clean up what was left, take what Hell needed, and leave the forsaken garden. All the angels were supposed to have been gone.

Gabriel doesn’t see her, not at first. 

Do you remember me?

When he does, there is no recognition. There is no trace of the love he had once freely given, only the disgust and repulsion that she had seen the day she Fell. Gabriel looks as though he’d rather be anywhere else, looks more pretentious than she remembers, and she vows specifically to make him suffer for what he’d done to her. 

+1.

Six thousand years later, after a failed end of the world, Beelzebub finds herself in bed with none other than the one she had loved so many years ago. 

It had become a regular occurrence for him to be in her bed, sometime after Rome had fallen. Try as she might, her rage died quickly, and it was easier to bed him than to admit that still, in some ways, she missed him. But as the years went on, their hate-fueled fucking softened, and turned into an attachment neither of them knew they needed. 

Gabriel had gone from the thorn in her side to the only one she wanted at her side. He didn’t remember her from Before, but after millenia, she didn’t really remember herself either. Just this. Just the decay and the power and the throne. Zadkiel was dead, and what remained was something better.

Her questions faded over the years, too. She no longer cared why she’d been cast here, just how she was going to get an army in gear enough to get her paperwork finished. Gabriel had proven his loyalty many, many times in hundreds of different ways, so there was no question anywhere near that. 

Now she was more concerned with lazing about in bed with the Archangel, his hands on her skin, and perhaps the lazy pleasure that came with it.

“Morning,” comes Gabriel’s voice from behind her, rough with sleep and from the activities they’d indulged in the night before. His hand wraps around her slight waist, pulling Beelzebub flush against his body.

The Prince pretends to be irritated, wiggling around in a half attempt to get closer and a half pretense of annoyance. “Ugh, you’re too hot.”

“I know,” the Archangel says smugly, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck. They both knew she didn’t mind it either way. 

Beelzebub rolls over, settling into his chest and looking up into those purple eyes. Gabriel gives her a lazy smile, his arm adjusting to rest on her back. The casual intimacy had been too much, once, had hurt too badly. It was a reminder of things she had once had, and until Beelzebub realized he didn’t remember, she thought he was making fun of her. 

But now she knew the truth. Now she could look into his eyes, bask in his warmth, and feel safe enough to be vulnerable like this. 

Now she could look into his eyes, into the I love you that always lingered, and for once since the beginning of her life, didn’t find the need to question it.

I’ve been watching a lot of Mad Men because Jon Hamm and I cant stop thinking of like a sixties AU with Gabe and Beez, or just switching out broody Don Draper for Gabriel so could I suggest a domestic 60s set Ineffable Bureaucracy thing?

I decided to do 1968 because of the Apollo 7 mission (I think Bee is just a huge space nerd) and also because I have no idea what Mad Men is (thank you for giving me a new show to watch though, holy shit!! Jon Hamm is a gift). I tried very hard to do this in a 60s setting but it may come off more as 50s themed- I pulled some familiar stuff I know from The Help and read up on some careers before I hopped into this. Bee’s name is Beatrice in this because reasons.

*

Gabriel loved his life. He had a good job working as a Creative Director in a big advertising company, made enough money to be comfortable, got the weekends off to do whatever he pleased, and had a lovely wife to go home to. 

Wife. The concept was still foreign, still made him shiver and smile and feel mushy as could be. Bee would tell him to shove a sock in it, if she were here.

He and Beatrice Romanov had gotten married only a month ago, but only because she had insisted she was going to finish her college degree before he was allowed to strap her down. Gabriel would have liked to have married her the minute he had seen her under those trees in the college courtyard, but she had put her foot down. 

It took a lot more to court her than just a charming smile and a compliment, he had learned very quickly. In fact, the first time he’d done that, he’d ended up with a milkshake in his lap. 

“I’m not a cheap whore,” the soon-to-be love of his life had snapped, her dark eyes blazing with hellfire. “Don’t treat me like one.”

Gabriel had never been spoken to like that by a girl — or anyone — before. At first he was offended, so he made it his duty to try and outdo her in each of the classes they had together. Unfortunately for him, he’d found his match. She was whip smart, mean as a junkyard dog, and took shit from absolutely nobody. Many men had walked away with tattered dignity and a broken nose after attempting to tame this wildfire of a girl. 

He quickly found that instead of wanting to defeat her, Gabriel wanted to impress her. He wanted her to give him that sharp little smile she got when she won. He wanted to hear that laugh, wicked and graceless, that she would let loose on occasion when she was around her friends. He wanted those dark eyes to be on him, always. He wanted.

That wanting turned into a game of cat and mouse very quickly, both of them doing things that had society frowning and the other taunting them to continue. Heated looks across classrooms. Stolen kisses against the bookshelves of the library. His hand on her thigh, her back pressed to the cold stone wall of her dorm building. 

One night, Gabriel took the bait, and had his world shattered by his name broken on her lips, her body bare against his, those eyes looking up at him like he was the only thing that mattered in the world. 

Gabriel woke up the next morning with his vessel of hellfire next to him in bed, her inky black hair spilling over his pillow and tickling his nose. The sunlight streaming in the window made her skin look like porcelain, her body ethereal and too perfect to belong in even Heaven. The frustration and pent up tension that remained in him quickly gave way to something that melted his insides, took his breath, and made him pull her closer and press a kiss to her hair.

Three years later, he knelt in front of her with a small velvet box and watched those beautiful dark eyes glisten with tears and love and the promise of a future.

And now he got to go home to his future every single night.

“Leaving already?” Comes a teasing call as Gabriel packs his things up for the weekend.

He looks up, then gives his co-worker a polite smile. “Ah, Sandalphon. Yes, it’s my night for the dishes and Bee wants to watch the Apollo 7 launch with me.”

“You’re whipped, you know.” Comes the predictable laugh, accompanied by others in the office who were bad at pretending to not listen in on conversations. “That wife of yours has you on a leash.”

Gabriel shakes his head, unable to help his smile. “What can I say? I like a girl who takes charge. Evening, gentlemen.”

He leaves with wolf whistling and whoops following him out, but his mind is focused on calculating how much more time it would be until he got to go home to his wife. If he stopped at the supermarket and bought her favorite bottle of wine and some flowers, it would only add another fifteen minutes…

*

“You’re late!” Comes the call when he closes the door. He winces — he had been trying to be quiet so he could surprise her. Nothing got past Bee. 

“Sorry, my love.” He calls, slipping his shoes off and treading carefully into the kitchen. 

The sight that greets him is one he’d come home to for the rest of his life, but one that would always make his heart swell and his knees weak. 

His wife was standing at the stove, stirring what smelled like spaghetti sauce, a red gingham apron tied around her neck and waist. Her hair was pulled back from her face, piled messily on her head and stuck through with a knitting needle (his mother had gotten them for her, trying to insist she needed to be more ladylike. Bee wore them in her hair out of spite. Besides, they did well in a pinch).

“Hello,” Gabriel walks over, pausing to kiss her cheek before fetching a vase to put the flowers in. “I brought you something.”

Bee glances up, surprise flickering in dark eyes, before she smiles. “Sap. Put the wine on ice, we can have it with dinner. It’ll be ready in a little bit.”

“It smells good, Bee.” He does as he’s told, then pulls up a chair at the table to sit and talk with her while she finishes dinner.

His wife blows a stray hair from her face, her brows creasing. “Your mother sent the recipe to me. No, she showed up to my work to give it to me. Spent twenty minutes going on and on and on about how a good housewife always makes her husband’s favorite things…” Bee makes an irritated noise. 

“At work?” Gabriel sits up, frowning. “I’ll talk to her…”

“No need,” she says, with that grin she used to give him just before she dragged him behind a building at school and kissed him senseless. “I took care of it.”

“Bee,” he says, a rush of fondness and exasperation rolling over him. And maybe a bit of dread. “What did you do?”

“Oh, she’ll call you about it later.” She waves a hand, her smile growing. 

Gabriel didn’t even have it in him to be upset — his mother was insufferable about everything Bee did. About how she dressed, how she behaved, how she treated Gabriel. When Bee’d refused to marry her son in a church, that was when Gabriel accepted that he was going to be stuck in the middle of an eternal feud.

But watching his wife move around their kitchen and complain about her day, he found he couldn’t mind. It was amusing to see his wife come up with petty ways to get back at the people who annoyed her. It was definitely a good reminder that she would put up with none of his shit, not ever. 

“Are we watching the launch during dinner?” Gabriel asks when she turns the stove top off. 

She brightens. “Yes! And the newest Star Trek comes out tonight, too. You don’t mind if we watch both?”

Gabriel gives her a fond look, getting up to get them both some wine. “Not at all. Whatever makes you happy, darling.”

Bee grins, blocking his way and leaning up on her tiptoes for a kiss, her fingers snagging and wrinkling his work shirt. He bends to meet her, his hand resting against the curve of her spine and tugging her closer against him as their lips meet.

The chase had been well worth it, Gabriel reflects, as his wife hooks a hand around the back of his neck and pulls him down farther to her mercy with a wicked smile. He wouldn’t trade any of this for anything.

Drinking Buddies

Hey all! I've re-joined a fandom that is near and dear to my heart and I wanted to write something for all of these lovely people. Welcome to Good Omens!!

I'll be taking a break from Voltron for the time being, I need a change in scenery. Sorry to all those who are here specifically for that!

Without further ado; please join me and some drunk demons.

*

It was the one time a year where Heaven grouped together as a congregation to have their annual Great Plan meeting, where everyone was briefed on the vague idea of what could be happening in the coming year. Nobody was quite sure what to do now that the Apocalypse…. Hadn’t happened. Thus the vague meetings.

It was also the one time a year that Gabriel and Aziraphale dropped their respective demon partners at a bar and left them to their own devices for a few hours.

Despite popular belief, Crowley and Beelzebub got along quite well when there was alcohol involved. On this one day, they were reluctant friends instead of boss and subordinate. It was nice to have a change. Besides, it was also one of the only days that the Prince herself actually banished her flies and ran a comb through her messy hair, all for the sake of a few hours.

“Your Angel left you, too?” Crowley asks after they’d both gotten their drinks and sat in respective awkward silence for a few minutes.

Beelzebub scowls at her drink, a little more intensely than usual. “Yezzz. He’zzz running the damn thing.”

“You should’ve convinced him to cancel.” The snake scoffs, sipping his wine and glancing at the door. Twenty minutes in. This was going to last an eternity.

“I tried! He told me to buzzz off. Bloody angels and their bloody meetings.”

“Amen to that,” Crowley mumbles into his drink, ignoring the dirty look that earned him. Maybe he was picking up a few too many of Aziraphale’s linguistic habits. “So how is Hell doing, after you-know-what?”

“It’s more Hellish than usual, no thanks to you.” She scoffs. “Incredibly hot. Chaotic.”

“You should come and visit Earth more often, you might like it.”

Beelzebub rolls her eyes, knocking back the last of her drink and flagging over the bartender. “You sound like Gabriel.”

He makes a face, shaking his head. “Eugh, I make it a habit not to sound anything like him. Please don’t insult me like that.”

The Prince gives him a smug smile. “You dezzerve to be knocked down a few pegzz.”

Crowley ignores that. “Seriously, Beelzebub, your terrible Highness — coming up here may do you some good. You can… air out, as it were.”

“I quite like my office.” She says dryly, glancing up as the bartender pours her another drink. “It’zz familiar.”

“You’re festering.” He grins.

“I will not hezzitate to throw my drink on you, Crawley.”

“My name is Crowley,” the demon hisses, his yellow eyes flashing.

Beelzebub grins, tilting her head. “That’zz what I said.”

He considers her a moment, his eyes narrowing. Then he sighs heavily, shaking his head and turning back to his drink. “You’re still insufferable, I see.”

“The best of us never change.” She waves a hand. “How izz that Angel of yourzz?”

Crowley pauses, a dopey smile spreading over his lips at the thought of his Angel. Ah, Aziraphale… “He’s… He’s wonderful.”

“Dizzgusting.” She says flippantly.

The smile vanishes, replaced with an irritated scowl. That seemed to be a constant when he was in the Lord of the Flies’s presence. “And what about yours?”

“What, are you expecting me to get all mushy?”

“No, of course not.” He scoffs. “The Prince herself showing emotions? Preposterous. You don’t have a mushy bone in your body, Bee.”

“If I even have bones.” She says absently.

“If you even have bones,” he agrees. “But no, really, how is the Archangel Fucking Gabriel?”

The Prince cackles, throwing back her head. “He’s an azzhole! Juzzt like normal.”

“I never expected anything less.” Crowley rolls his eyes. How Aziraphale had put up with him for so long was a mystery to him — and it was an even bigger mystery how Beelzebub didn’t smite Gabriel where he stood every time he opened his mouth. Perhaps she was just attracted to rude dumbasses.

“He’s quite good in the bedroom, too.” She says, eyeing a couple in the corner who were making out like they would die if they didn’t spend their time swapping spit in a bar.

Crowley short circuits, the breath leaving his corporeal form. Then he smacks his hand on the counter with a triumphant, “I knew it!”

She gives him a flat look, but there was a hint of color creeping up on her sallow cheeks. “What? Did you place betzz?”

“Yes.” He nods. “I believe I won. My dear Angel owes me.”

“Azz if you two aren't fucking.” Beelzebub grumbles into her glass, glowering at him.

“In my defence,” Crowley holds up a finger. “It most definitely is not as frequent as you and Gabriel.”

“So that’zz your problem!” She grins, jabbing him with a bony finger. “You need to get laid.”

“He’s quite soft, he doesn’t do well with frequent, er… activity.” He quips, shaking his head.

“Your job is temptation, right?”

“Well, sure.”

“Then tempt him, you idiot!”

“But…” Crowley entertains this thought a moment, then makes a face. “But he’s so soft…”

“A little too zzoft, if you ask me.” Beelzebub rolls her eyes.

“He’s an Angel!” He scowls. “They’re soft by disposition!”

“No, I think yourzz is juzzt a zzpecial case.” She rolls her eyes, her finger tracing over the rim of her glass. “I must’ve mizzed that model.”

“Gabriel was just designed to be an ass.” Crowley huffs.

The Prince’s eyes go a bit hazy, and quite possibly… dreamy? “He does have a nice azz.”

“Oooh… was that an emotion?” The demon gasps in mock surprise. “Does the great Lord Beelzebub have feelings?”

She scowls into her drink. “Zzilence, imbecile.”

“I’m impressed,” he coos, leaning forward and looking over his glasses at her, eyes dancing with mischief. “Are you going soft, Bee?”

“I’ll zzmite you.” She says flatly, eyeing him.

“I’m already damned.” He snorts, leaning back and picking up his drink again.

“You’re a damned fool, that’zz what you are.”

“Perhaps,” he muses, looking up at the TV in the corner, following the sport with hazy eyes.

“I don’t see how Aziraphale puts up with you.”

He glares at her. “He — He loves me, thank you very much. He’s a very good individual.”

“How quaint.” Beelzebub drawls, rolling her eyes.

Crowley eyes her shrewdly, pursing his lips. Then he huffs. “Tell me about your Gabriel.”

The Prince, who had been taking a sip of her drink, chokes and splutters with a fantastic lack of grace. She wipes her mouth on her sleeve, giving him a deer-in-the-headlights look. “What aboutmy — my Gabriel.”

The demon grins lazily, lifting a shoulder in a half shrug. “I don’t know, anything.”

“Are you asking about my zz— my sex life?” She buzzes, concentrating on her words, metaphorical hackles raised.

“Heavens, no!” Crowley cackles. “I couldn’t care less what you get up to in the bedroom. What I mean is,” he wiggles his eyebrows. “Does he make you feel warm and fuzzy, your highness?”

“What?!” She squawks, flushing darkly, her gaze darting around. “No! Of course not!”

“I’m only kidding, relax.” He laughs. There was no need to suffer the wrath of one of Hell’s finest. “But really, what’s it like? Do you get along?”

“We get along well enough.” The Prince offers reluctantly. “He’s quite affectionate.”

“Is he?” That was hard to believe.

“Oh, yezz.” She nods, chewing on her lower lip. “Alwayzz wanting to touch me. He likes teazzing, too. The brat.”

That was shocking. Beelzebub was a prickly little thing. Many a demon had lost fingers for even brushing against her accidentally. “Is that so?” He muses, then gives her a wicked grin. “I’ll bet you love it.”

“You can’t prove that.” She says hotly into her drink.

He snorts. “No, suppose I can’t. Does he come into Hell to see you or do you go Upstairs?”

“What, you think I’d go up to that blasted place?” She scowls. “He comes to me. As he should.”

“How odd,” Crowley raises an eyebrow. “Gabriel doesn’t seem to be the type to come to Hell willingly.”

“He’zz quite willing when I’m through with him.” Beelzebub chuckles. “Angels are rather good bottomzz, aren’t they? Or does your Aziraphale step up?”

“What?” The demon laughs. “No, he doesn’t have an ounce of dominance in him! Although he is quite loud.”

“Yours is loud? Unfair.” She whines.

“It took some coaxing,” Crowley says smugly, unable to help feeling a tad superior. “But it was worth the effort.”

“I’ll take that into conzzideration.” She muses. “Although Gabriel isn’t as zzoft as your Angel.”

“Yes, Aziraphale is quite a soft boy.” He says fondly.

“Gabriel is a little piece of shit boy.” Beelzebub groans. “Speaking of — they should’ve been done by now. What’zz taking zzo long?”

“I don’t know.” He wrinkles his nose. “Maybe they’ll be here soon.”

“They better be.” The Prince mutters, squinting at the clock.

*

Aziraphale and Gabriel walked into the bar they had left their Demons in to find them drunk and getting along… alarmingly well.

“An’ then I said… I said…” Crowley was slurring. He looks up just in time to lose his train of thought and brightens, looking more like an excited puppy than a fearsome demon. “Aziraphale!”

“Heeeeey — it’zz the piece of shit boy!” Beelzebub crows, in a loud and loose fashion that was definitely nothing like her usual disposition.

“Oh, dear,” says Aziraphale, “they’re quite drunk.”

“Wonderful,” Gabriel says, his expression pinched.

“What did you get into, love?” Aziraphale asks fondly, walking over and steadying Crowley when he reaches for his Angel.

“Nothin’.” He gives him a dopey grin, his eyes shining from behind his glasses, which were knocked askew.

“Gabriel!” The Prince snaps. “Get your bitch azz over here!”

“There’s no need to be rude, Beelzebub.” The Archangel sighs, walking over to his own mess of a demon.

Crowley was looking up at Aziraphale like he’d hung the bloody moon, a dopey, drunken smile on his lips. The Angel chuckles softly, cupping his face and brushing his thumbs over his cheeks lovingly. “I think you’re quite drunk, my love.”

“Psshhh,” Crowley wobbles in his seat, waving a hand and accidentally swatting Aziraphale. “Naw… Jus’ a lil — hic — a lil…” He trails off, getting distracted by the smattering of freckles across the Angel’s nose. “Hmm…”

Meanwhile, Gabriel was in a similar position, trying to persuade Beelzebub it was time to go home as well.

“You alwayzzzzz… alwayzzz ruin my fun,” she pouts up at her Angel, her dark eyes bleary and her cheeks flushed from drink.

“I believe you have plenty of fun on your own, Bee.” He sighs, prying her off the barstool and slinging her over his shoulder. “Come on. Bedtime.”

“See you next year, Gabriel,” Aziraphale calls after them. “And, er… Good luck.”

“Thanks.” He sighs over the Prince’s drunken giggling. “You as well.”

The Angel turns his attention back to Crowley, who’s eyelids were slipping shut as he sagged against the counter. Aziraphale pays the tab, adding a hefty tip for the troubles the demons likely caused.

“Come on, my love,” he says as he helps his demon off the barstool. “Until next year.”

“Next year…” Crowley agrees, stumbling along as his Angel takes him home to tuck him into bed and nurse his impending hangover away.

This Is Why We Go To Camp

At six years old, Keith was a scrawny, pale, wild haired little boy. He was short tempered and quiet, had a difficult time making friends, and preferred his books and karate classes to playing on the playground and going outside. 

As such, Keith had also never been up to the mountains. Mountains were hard to come by in the stifling desert heat of Arizona. So when a flier from the local parks and rec department came, advertising a six week sleep-away camp, his parents had thought it was a great idea to send Keith away to “make some friends” and “have a good time” away from home. He was less than thrilled for many reasons.

Keith’s List of Reasons Why He Should Not Go to Summer Camp:

(Presented by Keith. Written by Keith. Copyrighted by Keith.)

1. Summer camp is outside. Outside has bugs. Bugs bite.

2. There are going to be lots of other kids.

3. I won’t be able to read in the outdoors.

4. I have never spent the night away from home.

His list of reasons was very convincing, but not convincing enough for his parents not to put him on a bus full of loud children with a suitcase full of clothes and only one book for the whole trip. 

Keith can’t remember much of the bus ride there, now that he’s older, but he does remember stepping off the bus and stepping into a sea of children, overwhelmed and definitely smaller than everyone else. He had always been a nervous child, but this was like nothing he had ever experienced in his life. There were so many children, all of whom weren’t paying him any attention. 

“Hey! Are you lost?”

Keith remembered this moment quite clearly — it was one of his most fond memories. He looked up at a tall, gangly, grinning boy. There was a bandaid on his knee and dirt smeared on his cheek. He had the bluest eyes Keith had ever seen. 

“Yes,” he remembers saying, tilting his head back to look up at him. 

“My name is Lance,” the boy had said, holding out a hand to him. “I’ll help you find where you’re supposed to go.”

That was the day he met his best friend.

*

“Keith!”

Twelve years later, and Keith was still going to the same camp, but now he was a counselor instead of a camper. He was still a little awkward, still a little hot tempered, but this camp had done a world of good for him. Besides, he had met the single most important person in his life here.

“Hey, Lance.” He looks up from his clipboard, grinning at his best friend. Lance had grown into the gangly limbs. Now he was tall and handsome and often the object of many middle school girls’ affection (not that Keith could blame him, be still his gay little heart). 

“You get stuck in the Beavers cabin again?” Lance teases, slowing to a stop in front of Keith and reaching out to ruffle his hair.

Keith ducks away from his hand, swatting at him with his clipboard. “Um, excuse you, but the Beaver cabin is the best cabin.”

“Uh, no. The Turtle cabin is superior, obviously.” Lance laughs. 

Keith rolls his eyes. “Yeah, we’ll see about that at the tug of war competition.”

“Hey! It’s not my fault it rained and the mud got my kids.” 

“No, but maybe it’s because you have no upper body strength.” Keith teases. 

Lance gasps, pretending to clutch his pearls. “The audacity. How dare you come into my house-”

“This is the woods.”

“-with that sort of talk! Keith Akira Kogane, I expected better of you. And to think, they let you around children.” Lance whispers the word children, shaking his head gravely. 

“Yeah, it’s a tragedy.” Keith agrees, looking down at his clipboard.

“How many kids do you have this year, anyway?” Lance peeks over his shoulder. 

He does a quick count, smiling when he sees a couple familiar names. “Mm… seven, I think. They said they might add a couple kids if there are any last minute scholarships.”

“Hey, same!” Lance grins, taking his hand and pulling him along toward the place where the buses were going to pull in. “Come on, the kids will be here any second.”

“I’m coming!” Keith laughs, stumbling after him and shaking his head. 

He looks up at his best friend as they walk, his smile melding into something softer. Lance had been his best friend for twelve years, but at least in the past two, he’d developed a, er… crush. It was no secret that Lance was attractive — there was a reason he was the most popular counselor among all the kids. Not only was he handsome, but he was charismatic and had a way with the kids that Keith was always bordering on jealous of. 

But there was no way that Keith would ever make a move on it. They lived in different states, for one, and he wasn’t even sure that Lance even leaned toward guys. He didn’t want to ruin what they had. So, for now, he was happy with spending six weeks of his summer with his best friend and spending hours on the phone after camp was over, counting down to the next summer. 

There was no need to dwell on this, though, not with the buses pulling up to the campgrounds. He looks over at them, letting a smile tug at his own lips. This was the start of yet another great summer. 

And to think, twelve years ago, he’d tried to talk his parents out of sending him here.

We might actually have content soon! What a concept!

Today is the day that I put my foot down.

Today is the day that I stand up for myself. Today is the day that I see through you. Today is the day that I call you out. Today is the day that you face your homophobia and call yourself what you are.

You are the reason we march. You are the reason we raise our flags. You are the reason we dress up in vivid colors, the reason we scream at the top of our lungs, the reason we wear our pins, the reason we sell our merch, the reason I write these words.

Because without you, we would be free. Without you, we would not have to march and scream. Without you, our existence would be so much easier. I would not be afraid of every man who might want to “correct” my sexuality. My friend would not have to correct everyone who uses the incorrect pronouns. My girlfriend and I would not have to fear holding hands in public.

This month is full of pride and happiness and acceptance and love. There’s a reason we call it Pride Month. You will not — I will not let you — take that away from us.

I stand with my brothers and sisters and all of the people in between. I will protect them and love them and shield them from the hate that you so desperately throw at us. You may spit on us from the sidelines, you may wave those signs, you may take the lives of innocent people — but we will not falter.

I once was a part of a religion that had a song with the verse that said “we won’t be shaken.” Whatever my relationship with religion may be, that verse has always stuck with me. And now, it’s become an anthem.

You look me dead in the eyes and call the people I have come to love and who have accepted me with open arms degenerates. You tell me the parade and celebration we hold every year has a premise that is not allowed in thoughts, in hearts, in minds. By doing this, you degrade my family and you condemn our feelings.

Today is the day I put my foot down.

I am proud of who I am. I have worked hard to pull myself from the closet you filled with shame, guilt, and hatred. I have come to accept myself and I am still exploring every spectrum, nook, and cranny with the woman I love. I am in love. I am happy. I am proud.

You can scream, you can cry, you can take away the things we love and put us in a box. But this is your warning — you will not keep us there. We are here, we are queer, and we are ready to kick some fucking ass.

Today is the day you eat your fucking words.

**

So I’m back, and I’m pissed, and I’m ready for the world to kiss my ass. I think it’s about time I wrote all this down in words that I hope are inspiring. 

Leave a comment or send an ask about your thoughts, or maybe just say hi. Gay rights, baby! Happy fucking Pride.

I got some new records yesterday and I actually have my journal out so... Who knows, maybe I'll have something up this weekend!

(special visit from my dad's Lego replica of Voltron and Darth Goofy)

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 

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

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.”

Chapter 2 of The Gay Agenda is out!!

Find it here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17771501/chapters/42169739

Also I'm sorry for the random posts, my girlfriend and I share this account and half the time we forget which one we're on 😂

What is the second part to sick day called if there even is one

There isn't one quite yet! I've been working on a multi-chaptered Sheith fic lately, and I'm not quite sure where to go after Sick Day. I may do a post-pardum drabble, but we'll see! Thank you for your interest 💜 I'm glad you're liking it!

A new chapter of The Gay Agenda comes out tomorrow!!

Here's a sneak preview!

"So, I found out a few weeks later through the normal gossip chains that the girl who my shopping cart had tried to murder a few weeks prior had transferred to my school. Apparently her family had moved here from the upper part of the States to California; specifically to my part of California.

Not that I owned a specific part of California, my bank account would laugh at me and jump off a cliff. I would also laugh at me and jump off a cliff. California was a pit of inconsistent weather (unless it was the dead of summer) and, in my area, conservative religious people who liked to hit you as hard as they can with their version of the Bible."

- Step Two: How to Make Friends With Pretty Girls Without Being Awkward

Chapter 2 of State of Broken Things is out!

Hey guys! The next chapter is out and significantly better than the last one!

Check it out here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17702057/chapters/42006770#workskin

The Gay Agenda is now on AO3!

Hey guys! 

So I posted The Gay Agenda on my AO3 (Renegade_Reaper) because it got lost in my posts on here and I had a few people from my personal life asking for me to link it here. 

The link is https://archiveofourown.org/works/17771501/chapters/41933606#workskin

Let me know what you think!

It’s out! Let me know what you think!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17702057/chapters/41757839

New fic incoming!

Guess what!! 

After a million years (back to my hetalia phase… geez I’m old), I’m finally writing a multi-chapter fic! The name of it is gonna be State of Broken Things, so if you end up liking it, look out for those tags!

I’m trying my hand at Sheith, which should be interesting, and it’s a slight murder mystery/horror type thing? I have a basic outline of things up until the middle, but I think it’ll be somewhere around 12 chapters? Maybe more? I’ve written the first chapter, and it’s about 3k, so it’ll definitely be longer than any of the short oneshots I’ve been writing. It’ll be up by tomorrow at the latest! 

Once I post it, please, let me know how you like it! Tell me if you have ideas! I love to hear from you guys, it’s always so nice. I look forward to sharing this!

New fic incoming!

Guess what!! 

After a million years (back to my hetalia phase... geez I’m old), I’m finally writing a multi-chapter fic! The name of it is gonna be State of Broken Things, so if you end up liking it, look out for those tags!

I’m trying my hand at Sheith, which should be interesting, and it’s a slight murder mystery/horror type thing? I have a basic outline of things up until the middle, but I think it’ll be somewhere around 12 chapters? Maybe more? I’ve written the first chapter, and it’s about 3k, so it’ll definitely be longer than any of the short oneshots I’ve been writing. It’ll be up by tomorrow at the latest! 

Once I post it, please, let me know how you like it! Tell me if you have ideas! I love to hear from you guys, it’s always so nice. I look forward to sharing this!

Do you guys want ya girl to edit your stuff???

So as a way to make a decent living, I've signed up to be a freelance editor! I figured I'd post it here because I'm more than willing to edit fanworks too.

I did my best to keep it pretty cheap, because we're all struggling young people, so... Yeah!

https://www.fiverr.com/renywrites

I dunno if that link will work like I want it to on Tumblr, but if you copy and paste it into your browser, it should work. Hit me up! Please!

Also I will be writing tonight so I promise more content will come soon. Thank you so much for being so patient with me.

Hi guys!!

So remember that poetry book I was working on??

It's done! Heck yeah!!

Here's the link: http://www.blurb.com/b/9233244-love-letter-of-sapphic-design

Don't feel obligated to buy it if you don't want, but let me know what you think if you do! Thank you guys so much for being invested in my writing (even if it isn't Voltron related).

Hello all! I’m participating in Klancetober, a klance-centric October prompt list. I’ll be posting at least one installment a day, but please have patience If I fall behind.

*

Day One: A Walk in the Park

It was finally cold enough to bundle up in warm clothes and drink warm pumpkin spice lattes and watch the leaves fall from the trees. It was finally, finally time to indulge in all the holiday feelings and the warm atmospheres. Even if that meant suffering through the Christmas section in every single store. Even if it was the first day of October.

Keith enjoyed the cooler weather. It was definitely better than the Arizona heat. He lived for the weather where all he needed was a light sweatshirt and jeans and beat up old sneakers. The heat was something he could permanently live without. But the cold? He would gladly live in the mountains, given the chance.

Lance, on the other hand… he had grown up in sunny, tropical Cuba. He hated the cold and took extra measures to keep himself bundled up and away from any semblance of chill. He bundled himself in scarves and fluffy coats and heavy boots and mittens. He looked like a colorful marshmallow in the winter, and Keith loved him for it.

Today, the first day with an overcast sky and the first day where it was ethically acceptable to put out orange fairy lights and spooky decorations in the front yard. Keith had watched fondly as Lance had wrapped himself in a hand-stitched scarf (courtesy of his mother; Keith had a matching one that Lance had pilfered for his own use) and a fluffy sweater.

“We’re only going to the park, you know.” Keith teases from his spot at the kitchen table, finishing off his cooling coffee.

Lance huffs, tying the scarf off into some sort of fashionable loop. “It’s cold! I don’t know how you’re only in jeans and a t-shirt.”

“I like it.” He chuckles, shaking his head. “Are you ready? You’re the one who wanted to go.”

“I know, I know.” The Cuban grumbles, sliding on his winter boots. “I’m ready. Let’s go see the leaves and stuff. Even if it is twenty below.”

“It’s sixty degrees, love.” Keith grins, getting up and sliding into his own shoes. “You won’t die of hypothermia just yet.”

“I’m gonna die,” Lance groans, reaching over and taking his boyfriend’s hand.

“You won’t.” Keith presses a kiss to his cheek. “Let’s go.”

The two walk out of the house, taking in the crisp, cold air and the sound of dried leaves scraping against the pavement as the breeze whisked them away. Keith swings their hands between them, smiling to himself.

If there was any sort of heaven to be had here on this earth, Keith was sure this was it. With a boyfriend bundled up in more layers than was necessary, holding his hand and listening to him chatter about the new fall related flavors his favorite cafe was introducing this week.

That, added with the serene calm of the autumn air, the clear path of the park by their house, and the leaves rustling in the breeze - this was heaven. Keith was sure of it.

“What’re you thinking about?” Lance asks, snapping him out of his reverie.

The Korean looks over at him with a smile, leaning over and kissing his cheek. “Just about how much I love you.”

His boyfriend flushes, smiling and tipping his head to the side. “Aww, babe. That’s gay.”

“I am so gay,” Keith laughs, tugging on his hand and kissing him.

“I love you.” Lance murmurs against his lips.

With a smile and a hand on his hip, he pulls back and looks up at his lovely boyfriend. “I love you, too.”

This idea isn't mine, I couldn't copy the link. User is anonymous. Keith gaining a weight from all of Hunks cooking and baking. He's really embarrassed at first but Hunk is in love with his bodies changes. To show him he loves his body he buys him new Lingerie, gives him a good fucking, makes his favorite cake, buys him flowers and cuddles him.

I’m finally back at it! For now, anyways. Have some soft heith :) I picked a bit of what I wanted to write from the prompt, I hope you don’t mind.

*

Keith stared into the mirror, his gaze dull as his hands run down his sides. There were new stretch marks around his belly. His shirts had to be continually tugged down to cover the slight pudge that had developed. His leggings rolled down underneath his belly and hardly stayed up due to the extra weight he was carrying in his waist and ass. But now, standing in front of the mirror in his and Hunk’s room, clad only in his boxers, he felt so much worse than he did when he was in his clothes.

He presses his waist in with his hands, stifling a sniff and blinking past the burning sting in his eyes. Wow. What a childish thing to cry over - gaining weight. Keith stares at himself, self hatred rearing its ugly head. Not only at the image in front of him, but the reaction he was giving.

This whole thing was partly his boyfriend’s fault. After coming back from space, they had all been a little malnourished and battle weary. So Hunk had taken it upon himself to feed Keith better than he had been since he was a kid and his dad was still around. This included a lot of baking, traditional American cuisine and also the typical Korean and Hawaiian dishes that the two were natively accustomed to.

It was only supposed to help him fill out a little, but Keith had gotten lazy with training and working out now that it wasn’t exclusively required on a daily basis; thus the weight gain. He’d been ignoring it valiantly. Today, though… He had wanted to put on the lingerie that Hunk had bought him a while ago, surprise his boyfriend when he came home from bringing food to the others.

It hadn’t fit. He’d hardly been able to squeeze into it when the delicate lace had ripped and he was stuck staring down at the ruined outfit. Now he was here.

Keith is crying when Hunk comes home, not at all noticed by the former red paladin. “Hey babe, I’m - Keith? Keith, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Keith shakes his head, scrubbing at his eyes and reaching for his clothes quickly, like a cat spooked back into hiding. “I’m fine. Nothing.”

Hunk’s eyes scan the room, taking in everything. The ripped lingerie, the discarded clothes, the ashamed flush on Keith’s chest and ears. He sighs softly, walking over and tugging Keith away from his clothes. “Hey,” he murmurs. “C’mere.”

Keith doesn’t have time to dispute his boyfriend as he’s pulled into a warm hug. Traitorous tears threaten to spill again, but this time he doesn’t even have energy to push them back down. He sniffs thickly, melting against Hunk when he passes a massive hand over his spine.

“What’s wrong, honey?” Hunk asks, the question rumbling deep in his chest.

“I’m disgusting.” Keith answers after a moment, his voice dull and weepy. “I ripped the lingerie you bought me because I wanted to surprise you but I’m - I’m too fat.” His voice cracks.

The Hawaiian pulls back, frowning and holding his boyfriend at arms length. “That’s okay. We can buy you new lingerie. That set is kind of old, anyways.”

“But that isn’t the point!” Keith cries. “I wanted to feel beautiful, to dress up for you and make you feel good. But now I’ve ruined it.”

“Keith,” Hunk sighs, slightly put out. “It isn’t ruined, baby.”

Keith rakes his hands down his face with a shaky breath. “Yeah, but it was supposed to be about you. Now it’s about me.”

“I think maybe you need it.” Hunk soothes, pulling him back and kissing his forehead. His hands wander down his sides, firm and careful. “Let me take care of you, sweetheart.”

“Okay,” Keith says grudgingly. “But I’m making it up to you.”

“Later.” Hunk agrees, reaching down and squeezing at Keith’s ass, earning a soft squeak. He walks them backwards until his boyfriend is sitting on the bed, looking up at him. His gaze softens at the remnants of tears on those pale cheeks, the self doubt and guilt and shame lingering in those amethyst eyes.

“Lay down, baby.” He requests. Keith obliges, settling down on the bed and avoiding his gaze.

Hunk kneels over him, pressing soft kisses over his cheekbones, raining them over his nose, placing them over his lips. The Korean lets out a soft sigh, his eyes flickering shut, a crease between his eyebrows the only indication of being stuck in his head. Hunk planned to change that.

He spends the next few minutes lavishing kisses over as much of Keith as he has the boy writhing underneath him, slowly worked up, before he moves on to making him feel good. Hunk seals his lip over a nipple, flicking his gaze up and sucking slowly. The Korean gasps, tossing his head back, clinging to the sheets.

“You’re so beautiful,” Hunk murmurs, kissing his way to the other one, teasing it to a flushed and tender point with his tongue. Keith mewls his pleasure, quiet and shaking.

The Hawaiian shifts down, pressing his face into his belly for a moment, his hands stroking the insides of Keith’s thighs before tugging his boxers off, leaving Keith bare and open.

“So eager for me.” He coos, pulling away to look down at him.

Keith is a sight to behold. His ebony hair spills over the pale yellow sheets, his amethyst eyes hooded and darkened with arousal. His pale skin is flushed with it, his cock already hard against his belly. Hunk takes a breath, wishing he could do nothing more than devote his life to worshiping the deity spread out underneath him, the best thing he had been blessed with. He sends a silent thank you to the holy Pele, as far from her as he was.

“Hunk,” Keith begs, reaching for him, needy and wanting.

“I’ve got you, koʻu lani.” He settles between his legs, taking Keith into his hand and stroking him. Keith’s mouth falls open in a breathless cry, his head tilting back and his eyes closing underneath the ministrations of his lover. Hunk drinks it all in, filing it away underneath the place he kept when he wanted to remember just how beautiful his boyfriend truly is.

It doesn’t take much to bring the Korean to the brink. Under Hunk’s gentle hands and loving gaze, he doesn’t stand a chance. With the gentle murmuring of come on, sweetheart, that’s it from his boyfriend, Keith comes undone at the seams with a breathless little gasp.

The afterglow is heaven, especially when he’s cleaned up and wrapped in a loving embrace.

“Do you feel better?” Hunk whispers into his hair, his body curled around Keith protectively.

“Yeah,” he answers, his throat thick with emotion. “Yeah. Thank you.”

He can feel the press of Hunk’s smile in his hair. “I love you, Keith Kogane.”

“I love you, too.”

*

Requests are CLOSED for now.

Sick Day

I’m back! For now. Enjoy the latest installment in my a/b/o universe. ***

Being pregnant was definitely an ordeal. Keith was constantly sick, constantly tired and constantly annoyed. He got ridiculous heartburn, weird cravings, a bout of puking every day at exactly 3am on the dot and eventually a bump that made it impossible to bend past his waist. The omega was absolutely in love with all of it.

Well, okay, he could do without the being sick and tired, but you get the idea. His absolute favorite part of this was Lance’s reaction. His already loving alpha had become so gentle and doting in the past six months.

When Keith’s legs and feet hurt, he sat on the couch with his mate and rubbed the soreness from his limbs. When Keith was sick early in the morning, he made a cup of ginger and lemon tea and helped Keith clean up. When the omega was incredibly horny for the concoction of hormones his body was now full of, Lance took him to bed and took care of his every need.

However, being pregnant also meant that his immune system was absolute shit. Despite their best efforts, the omega had caught a cold, and today was the worst he had felt all week. Keith was laying in their bed, curled up on his side, his face buried in the pillows. Lance had taken the day off of work to care for his sick omega.

The alpha had been pacing the house all morning. The doctor had said that as long as Keith wasn’t in distress and his fever didn’t pass over 101 degrees, everything would be alright. So far, his fever had been low grade. The baby was more restless than usual, considering it’s mother’s lack of movement, which was making it harder and harder to be comfortable. Even though Keith’s lovely mate had made him the best nest he’d ever been in.

“Lance.” Keith mumbles when his alpha passes the bedroom door for the third time in the past ten minutes, pretending to fiddle with the thermostat.

Lance jumps, peeking in, his expression sheepish. “Yes?”

“Come lay with me.” He requests with a yawn.

Previously, he hadn’t let Lance in, too uncomfortable in his own sore body to even think of adding another person. Two in one was enough, thank you. Now, however…

The alpha brightens, hurrying in and pausing at the edge of the bed, hesitating before clambering over the soft walls of the nest. Keith watches him lazily, his gaze like magma. If magma could be purple. His scent was inviting and soft, despite the bitter tang of sickness.

Lance settles down against his back, tucking his omega close and nosing into the scent glands over the back of his neck. His plan was to layer his mate in enough of his own scent to try and rid him of his sickness and help him relax. Judging by the soft, content hum Keith gave him, it was working.

“How’re you feeling, sweetheart?” Lance croons once he was satisfied.

“Baby won’t stop kicking.” Keith grunts. “Little alien wants me to move.”

The alpha chuckles, reaching down and smoothing his hand over the gentle curve of Keith’s belly. Perfect, Lance thinks, he’s so perfect. “I think our little alien can deal for now.” He hums, pressing a lingering kiss to Keith’s neck.

With an amused huff the omega rolls over onto his back, looking up at Lance. “You tell them that,” he grunts. “They listen to you.”

Lance winks, glancing down to where his hand is. He slips it underneath the shirt Keith was wearing - Lance’s shirt, he notices with a small thrill of excitement and pride - to brush his hand over his bare skin. He feels a small push and a flutter. It was almost like Keith was housing a baby bat, not a baby human.

After a few moment the baby stills. Keith glances down at his belly, surprised, then lets out an annoyed whine. “Why do they listen to you?”

“I’m the favorite.” Lance teases smugly, kissing his mate’s nose.

“But I’m the incubator!” Keith moans, dropping his head back down with a thick sniffle. He rubs his nose, shaking his head.

Lance smiles fondly, lifting his hand from his belly to run his fingers through ebony locks. “Does your head still hurt?”

The omega nods, closing his eyes and tipping his head into Lance’s hand. “Yeah,” he mumbles, his voice slightly scratchy. “And my body feels like I was run over by a truck.”

“I wish I could make you feel better,” Lance murmurs, pressing a kiss to his fever flushed cheek. “I would be more than happy to be sick in your place.”

“No,” Keith says as sternly as he could muster. He opens one eye, fixing it on the alpha. “You are the biggest baby when you’re sick.”

“I am not!” Lance whines, sticking out his lower lip in a pout.

“Are so,” Keith argues. “You whine and sniffle and paw at me until I lay in bed with you all week. Which is not productive. This house doesn’t clean itself.”

“I’m laying in bed with you,” Lance says, mildly offended.

“Yes, because I let you.” Keith stifles a yawn. “And because you decided to stay home from work.”

“That’s because you were coughing so hard you were throwing up,” Lance huffs defensively. “I just wanted to make sure you were going to be okay.”

Keith looks up at him, his gaze soft. “You silly alpha,” he sighs, reaching up and brushing his fingers over his soft cheek. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Love me.” Lance suggests. He pauses, then grins. “After all, there are going to be two of me running around soon enough.”

Keith’s eyes widen after he gets the idea, glancing down at his belly and back up at Lance. He blinks, then groans and throws an arm over his eyes. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes.” Lance grins, shifting down. He blows raspberries over Keith’s belly, eliciting a squeal and a bout of giggles. “Isn’t that right, little alien?” He coos. “We’re gonna give your mama a run for his money.”

“I’m gonna be dead before I’m thirty,” Keith moans. Lance laughs, pressing kisses up his belly and shifting over him. The omega looks up at him, flushed and smiling. The alpha growls playfully, earning a pleased coo from his mate. He chuckles, leaning down and kissing him.

“I’m all gross,” the omega mumbles against his lips, but Lance only rumbles and cups his jaw, kissing him just a bit harder. He melts into it, closing his eyes and relaxing completely into the sheets.

“Don’t blame me if you get sick,” Keith gasps breathlessly when they part, his chest heaving.

“I’d risk getting sick to kiss you.” The alpha grins, brushing his hair from his face.

“You sap.” The omega hums, pulling him down to the side. “Come lay with me, I want to nap.”

Lance chuckles, tucking Keith and their unborn child against him. “Go to sleep, baby. I’ll be right here.”

Keith drifts off to sleep, his cheek squished against Lance’s shoulder and his leg thrown over his hips. With a beautiful mate six months pregnant, curled up against him safe and sound - wow. The alpha decides he was the luckiest person in the world.

***

My girlfriend: I thought he said “come here I want to rap”

Me:

Me: Don’t you know that’s how Keith seduces him?

Hey guys. I was informed today by my mom that she’s been thinking about kicking me out on my eighteenth birthday. My birthday is in just about three months, and while I do have a job, it pays hardly anything with the amount of hours I’m given. Each paycheck is just over $100 USD, and my parents are forcing me to pay them back for textbooks and making me pay for gas to get to school.

I don’t have a car, and I can’t drive yet, so I’m pretty much stuck in my house with no means of transportation and no way to get out. On top of this, I’m a college student and I have been diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety Disorder and major depression. I take medication for this, and they just informed me that I’m going to have to start paying for my medication and my weekly therapy appointments. 

I really hate asking for money. So to reconcile for this, I promise that anyone who pays about $10 USD on either my Ko-fi or PayPal, I’ll write a drabble of whatever that person wants, from about 1k to 2k words. 

Please don’t feel obligated to give, but it would mean the world to me if you guys could help. Even a little bit helps. 

My goal is to move to Canada to be with my girlfriend - the deadline was two years, but now it looks like it might be sooner than that - and moving from California all the way to Ontario is going to be a feat in itself. 

Even if you can’t give, a signal boost would be amazing. Thank you so much for all your love and support.

Pay-pal: https://paypal.me/renywrites

Ko-fi: http://ko-fi.com/renywrites

Thank you!

Hello all! For all of you who have asked me to post some starters, or for those of you who aren’t sure what you want me to write, here’s a great list to start with! 

Send me an AU, pairing, and any additional idea you might want to add. 

T’s Masterlist of AU Ideas

Need some inspiration for your next fanfic? Here are a list of ideas I’ve compiled to help you get started! There are also a few sub-AUs I included just because :)

BY ERA…

50s AU

80s AU

Ancient Egypt AU

Cold War AU

Medieval AU

Dark/Middle Ages

Renaissance

Regency AU

Revolutionary War AU

Roaring 20s AU

Stone Age AU

Tudor AU

Victorian AU

World War I AU

World War II AU

BY GENRE…

Apocalypse AU

Dystopian AU

Fairy Tale AU

12 Dancing Princesses

Aladdin / Arabian Nights

Beauty & the Beast

Cinderella

Hansel & Gretel

Jack & the Beanstalk

Peter Pan

Rapunzel

Rumplestiltskin

Sleeping Beauty

Snow Queen

Snow White

The Frog Prince

The Little Mermaid

The Prince/Princess & the Pauper

The Princess & the Pea

Thumbelina

High Fantasy AU

Horror AU

Mafia AU

Military AU

Musical AU

Mystery AU

Noir AU

Pirate AU

Sci-Fi AU

Shakespeare AU

Superhero AU

Supernatural/Paranormal AU

Time Travel AU

Urban Fantasy AU

Utopian AU

Wild West AU

BY COUPLE…

Airplane Passengers AU

Aristocrat/Commoner AU

Arranged Marriage AU

Artist/Muse AU

Author/Publisher AU

Body Swap AU

Childhood Sweethearts AU

Chosen One & Sidekick AU

Complete Opposites AU

Doctor/Patient AU

Hades & Persephone AU

Handcuffed Together AU

Lab Partners AU

Neighbors AU

Pen Pals AU

Personality Switch AU

Rockstar/Groupie AU

Roommates AU

Royalty/Servant AU

Soldier/Nurse AU

Soulmates AU

Teacher/Student AU

Tourist/Native AU

BY MOVIE / BOOK / SHOW / GAME / PLAY / BALLET…

Battle Royale AU

Breakfast Club AU

Chronicles of Narnia AU

Dirty Dancing AU

Giselle AU

Hogwarts AU

Inception AU

Jumanji AU

Les Miserables AU

La La Land AU

Middle Earth AU

Nutcracker AU

Pacific Rim AU

Phantom of the Opera AU

Star Trek AU

Star Wars AU

Swan Lake AU

Swiss Family Robinson AU

Terminator AU

Wonderland AU

BY CHARACTER TYPE…

Android AU

Archaeologist AU

Assassin AU

Astronaut AU

Celebrity AU

Cosplayer AU

Criminal AU

Dancer AU

Demon Slayer AU

Detective AU

Disabled AU

Double Agent AU

Explorer AU

Fallen Angel AU

Fighter Pilot AU

Guardian Angel AU

Hacker AU

Musician AU

Nerd/Geek AU

Olympic Athlete AU

Photographer AU

Private Eye AU

Punk AU

Race Car Driver AU

Revolutionary AU

Royalty AU

Street Performer AU

Tsundere AU

Tutor AU

Viking AU

Yandere AU

BY MYTHOLOGY / LEGENDS / FABLES…

Atlantis AU

Egyptian Gods AU

El Dorado AU

Fountain of Youth AU

Greek Gods AU

King Arthur AU

Norse Gods AU

Robin Hood AU

BY SUPERNATURAL / PARANORMAL ENTITY…

Angel AU

Banshee AU

Demigod AU

Demon AU

Genie AU

Ghost AU

Mermaid AU

Siren AU

Werewolf AU

Vampire AU

Zombie AU

BY HOLIDAY…

Christmas AU

Fourth of July AU

Halloween AU

Hanukkah AU

New Years AU

Spring Break AU

Thanksgiving AU

MISCELLANEOUS…

Backpacking Across Europe AU

Battle of the Bands AU

Bookshop AU

Carnival AU

Circus AU

Coffeeshop AU

College AU

“We got paired up for a group project but none of us know what we’re doing”

Conspiracy AU

Dragons AU

Heist AU

High School AU

Summer School

Immortal AU

Kidnapped AU

Prison AU

Reincarnation AU

Road Trip AU

Seven Deadly Sins AU

Summer Camp AU

Time Travel AU

FOR HUMOR…

“Marry me because my green card expired” AU

“Why does by neighbor have to be an aspiring opera singer?” AU

“I’m a server and you’re a frequent customer and you flirt with me but YOU NEVER TIP ME, WHAT THE HELL MAN?” AU

“I never break the law but I was asked to be part of a massive heist and damn, I really need to pay off my student debt…” AU

“I lied and said I could speak a different language to impress my crush but now he wants me to tutor him so I need to become fluent in Mandarin in 3 days HELP” AU

“We are fictional characters that know we are fictional characters and so we decided to have a little fun and mess with the author by not following any of the tropes they’re writing” AU

[Updated 8/21/17]

Shiro makes Allura a new crown!

So many Shallura requests! :0 it’s like you guys know I need the practice.

***

It was really odd seeing Allura, the Princess herself, without a crown. She had been kind enough to, yet again, save his life and take the Altean crystal from her crown and embed it in the new arm the Garrison had tried to give him.

Each time he saw her without it, he felt a pang of guilt. She had already lost so much. He hadn’t meant to take more from her, even if she had done it out of the kindness of her heart. The simple gold band that rested on her brow looked so… Empty. Shiro had the odd need to fill that space.

Besides, they were on his home planet. There were stones he could find to replace the one she had given him, even if they didn’t have magical properties. That was going to be difficult, considering the complete destruction of most of the world - but he would manage.

After consulting Pidge and Lance - Lance for advice about style and gemstone, Pidge for her expertise to track things down - Shiro set off with what was left of the savings account he had left behind to meet with an underground gem trader.

It reminded him of a drug deal, the way they met up in an abandoned place. At least everyone knew who he was. If someone did put up a fight, he was able to capacitate them. Also that was just a dick move, to attack the guy who was paying a couple thousand dollars for a gemstone in the collapsing world.

The gem he bought was a moonstone, fit to the exact measurements of her crown. Sneaking it away had been a feat in itself, but Coran had helped after he had figured out what Shiro had wanted. Of course, not after a lecture about honesty and some reminiscing about a time where he and King Alfor had done something similar…

The man he had met for the gemstone was kind enough to set the stone into the crown. Shiro definitely thought it was well worth the money he spent to have it fixed up - and the guy was actually really nice.

***

“Shiro?” Allura looks up as he walks into the room, a frown pinching her brow. “There you are. Have you seen my tiara? I set it down a little while ago and I haven’t found it yet…”

“Oh,” the Paladin says sheepishly, his hands behind his back. “I, uh. Actually, I have something for you.”

“You do?” The Princess straightens, tucking a loose strand of hair that had slipped from her careful bun behind her ear.

Shiro shifts on his feet, mildly embarrassed and definitely nervous. He brings his hands out from behind his back, holding up the tiara guiltily. “So I stole your tiara because you gave me your stone and I wanted to make it up to you, and I know the stone isn’t magic but - it’s a moonstone! Not… from the moon, but I thought you’d appreciate it because it’s blue and…”

“Shiro.” She stops him mid-sentence, grinning brilliantly up at him. “That’s the most thoughtful thing anyone has done for me in a very long time.” Allura reaches for the crown, placing it back where it belonged.

“How does it look?” She asks, and Shiro can feel his heart flutter in his chest.

“You look beautiful, Princess.” He says, and the blush he gets in response was well worth the trouble he had gone through to get her this simple pleasure.

***

Requests are still open!

shidge request with the prompt: reunion. thanks!

Shidge is love. Shidge is life. 

***

Eight months. Two hundred and thirty four and a half days since Shiro had waved goodbye to his wife from the gate of the local airport. He had watched her walk away to a plane that took her half a world away from him, watched her leave and hoped that she came back safe and in one piece.

Those eight months were horrible. Even the constant skype calls and letters and ten minute phone conversations did nothing to ease his constant anxiety. Shiro waited for every second he got with his wife with baited breath. But she was coming home today and he couldn’t be more excited.

The house was clean, the bed was made, the clothes were folded and washed. Dinner was in the crockpot and Shiro was at the airport holding a dramatic glittery sign and waiting impatiently.

The plane had landed a half hour ago and he was checking his watch every couple of seconds to see if time had gone any faster. It had not. Shiro sighs, pulling out his phone and flipping through it. Checking that he was in the right terminal. Checking he got the time right. Checking that it was the right day. Everything was right - he was just so impatient.

After a few minutes of flipping through his social media, Shiro is surprised by somebody tapping on his shoulder. He clicks his phone off, looking up and blinking.

Hazel eyes sparkle up at him from underneath a mess of orange waves. “You are really easy to sneak up on.”

It takes him a moment to fit the pieces together. Then he gasps, dropping his sign and taking a step back. He stares at his wife, in all her air force uniform and combat boots, her bag slung over her shoulder. Her hair had been sheared off into a severe (and very attractive) undercut, hanging in her beautiful eyes. Pidge was stunning.

“Are you crying?” She asks after a moment, dropping her bag and rushing to pull him into a hug. “Please don’t cry, I’m gonna cry!”

“I’m sorry,” he sniffs, wrapping his arms around her and lifting her off the ground. “I just… I missed you so much.”

“I missed you, too, Takashi.” She mumbles into his shoulder, wrapping her legs around his waist and clinging onto him like a koala. “So much.”

“But you’re home,” he cries, rubbing his tear stained cheek on her hair. “You’re home now.”

“I’m home.” Pidge repeats, pulling back a bit when he sets her down, reaching up and cupping his face. “I’m here now.”

Shiro leans into her hands, smiling and holding onto her wrist with his own hand. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she grins. “You big teddy bear.”

“Dinner should be ready soon.” He pulls away, leaning down to pick up her bag, slinging it over his shoulder. “Let’s go home. I wanna take you home.”

Pidge watches her husband fondly, taking his free hand and walking with him to the exit, leaning her cheek on his bicep. “Okay,” she agrees. “Take me home.”

***

Shidge is in mine and my girlfriend’s top two favorite ships. I loved writing this. 

Requests are still open!

Shallura request: medieval au where Knight Shiro is hurt and Good Witch Allura heals him. The are rumors that Allura "bewitched" him into servitude. (Really Shiro just likes running her errands. The smile she gives him is worth all of the gossip.)

Thank you for making me practice my Shallura writing! I hope you like it!

***

Shiro had known of the dangers he was going to face when he signed up to be a knight. Well, not so much signed up than went through all the training and quests to get the title - but you get the point. He had also especially known that the quest he was going on was a death mission, one meant to save his kingdom but not himself.

When Shiro had stared into the maw of the hulking, enraged dragon, he knew his end had come. Even with his longsword driven straight through its heart, the magnificent creature was still fighting with the last bit if energy it had left. It went down with a piercing scream and Shiro’s right arm.

The knight only lay in the dirt a few moments. But he knew that his time had come; his arm was severed and he was bleeding more severely than he had ever known any man to survive. His world went dark and he didn’t expect to live.

Looking back on it now, Shiro found that he had been quite silly to think that Allura, both his keeper and his lover, had been an angel. Those who had seen her surely thought so, and he would claim her healing powers were close enough. But Allura was simply a humble witch who practiced healing in her spare time.

She had given him his life back - quite literally - and was even working on trying to create an arm for him. He was very flattered (and also worried; the townspeople were known for riots and general misbehavior), but told her every day that he was content enough to be in her presence.

The looks the people gave him when he went on errands with her were definitely reproachful and wary. It made his stomach hurt to think that they might try to harm his lovely Allura.

***

“The people are lively today.” Shiro comments dryly, after the second person had thrown some sort of nasty comment their way. They always consisted of accusations that Shiro had been enchanted by her wicked charms and kept for her own desire.

“Don’t mind them, dearest.” Allura responds airily, tossing her silver tresses over her shoulder and giving him a fond smile.

Her smile always brought him down to the present. Shiro always found himself relaxing whenever one was shot his way. But today, anxiety and worry clouded his emotion.

“I just wish they would stop and think for a moment.” He murmurs, taking her hand in his.

The witch glances over at him, her sparkling eyes amused. “Yes, well. We can’t always get what we want, darling.”

“I know.” Shiro sighs, letting go of her hand as they approach their cozy little house. It was simple, nothing like the castle he had practically been born into, but it was definitely home to him. Allura’s presence was everywhere - in the herbs drying and hanging from the rafters, in the little stones scattered in odd places, in the many pots and vials she used for simple tonics and potions.

He found that this little hovel gave him the calm and happiness he had never known could exist, especially with another person. It was well worth all the looks and nasty comments if he could come home to this every day.

Allura slips off her shoes, closing the door behind them and casting a simple spell to ward off the hateful people of the village. “Are you hungry?”

Shiro forgoes his answer for tugging her back toward him and whirling her around. He smiles at her wide-eyed surprise, tilting her head up and pressing a kiss to her parted lips. Allura squeaks, but after his actions catch up with her, she winds her arms around his neck and returns the kiss.

“That doesn’t answer my question.” She breathes once they had parted, eliciting a laugh from the former knight.

“When am I not hungry?’ He teases. The witch rolls her eyes, gently extracting herself from his grip and kissing his knuckles.

“I know,” she murmurs. “You are like a hollow pit.”

“Or maybe I just love your cooking.” He grins, watching as she walks away. He takes in her silvery hair, her beautiful curves. The dirt on her feet, the threadbare dress she wore. She would look lovely in jewels, Shiro thinks wistfully. If only he could give that to her.

As he’s considering all the possible ways to give her some precious jewels (legally, mind you), Allura looks over at him with a smile. “Well?” She asks. “Aren’t you going to help me?”

“Yes, dear.” Shiro coos, crossing the threshold to help his beloved.

Sure, being a knight had been his life’s dream. But being the local witch’s lover? Now that was something he hadn’t ever seen coming. Nor would he give it up for the world.

Requests are still open!