90% Of Writing Advice Can Be Thrown Out The Window For Your First Draft.

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.”

The Rhythm of Love

Keith always known that Lance had the most angelic singing voice known to man. But they were dating, so he supposed he was a little biased. He could sit and listen to his boyfriend sing for hours - while they were cleaning, in the car, on the quad at their college campus. Even if he was goofing off, Lance still blew Keith away with his range and the sweetness of his singing voice.

He liked it best when Lance sang in Spanish. It was so natural, the way it flowed, and he looked so happy when a song in his mother tongue. More often than not, Keith found himself whisked into some form of dancing with his significant other. Lance would take him by the hand, twirl him around.

The most common thing Lance liked to do was make silly faces at him while he sang. Sometimes he would sneak kisses, but he always made Keith laugh. The Korean had noticed that this was a habit his boyfriend had formed whenever it was a particularly rough day.

Those singing and dancing sessions usually ended with Keith pressed against Lance as the Cuban sang into his hair along with the music, swaying from side to side. They didn’t have these very often, but Keith appreciated them nonetheless. It was comfortable.

The point is, singing had becoming integrated into the Korean’s life. He’d learned to love it, love the way it changed the dynamic of their relationships and the routine of everyday life. A few years ago, Keith was left to his thoughts.

Lance had learned just how dangerous that had been when Shiro, Keith’s older brother, had called him by mistake instead of Matt and Pidge. Keith would never forget the look on Lance’s face when he woke up in a hospital, arms bandaged and pain thrumming through his temples.

After that, Keith’s boyfriend had taken it upon himself to immerse him into music. He couldn’t complain; he found he preferred the music tastes of his boyfriend over anyone else’s. Granted, they lived together, so it was about ninety percent of what he listened to anyways.

Sometimes, when all of their friends gathered together, Lance would bring his guitar out and they would drink beer and sing old camp songs. Other times, Keith would beg and plead and nag to get Lance to serenade him with old Cuban love songs.

At the moment, Keith and Lance were spending a day off together. Music was playing, of course, and they were baking a cake for Pidge’s birthday. Which is code for Keith was baking a cake - it had surprised him that he was the one who knew how to cook more than his boyfriend - and Lance was being in the way and trying to eat all the batter.

“Lance.” Keith snaps, swatting his hand away. “If you keep eating it, I’ll have to start all over.”

“Ouch,” Lance whines. He pouts for a moment, then reaches over to steal more. “I’m fine with that.”

“Well, I’m not!” Keith snatches the bowl away, just as the oven beeps to indicate that it was hot enough to start baking things. “Look, now you can’t anyways. I’m putting it in the oven.”

He pours the batter into three separate cake pans, sliding them into the oven and setting the timer.

“Now what will I eat?” Lance groans.

Keith rolls his eyes, sliding the oven mitts off and making a shooing motion. “Other food. I think we have chicken nuggets out in the freezer in the garage.”

The Cuban perks up, sliding off the counter and leaning over to kiss Keith’s flour-dusted cheek. “Hell yeah, chicken nuggets! I’ll be back.”

The Korean shakes his head fondly, looking over at him. He turns back to the task at hand, grabbing a cloth to wipe down the counters. He had never been a clean baker. Once, he’d baked a cake at Hunk’s house, and the poor guy nearly had an aneurysm. Now he stuck to his own kitchen. At least here, he could get flour all over the place and it was a team effort for cleaning, so long as he let his boyfriend ‘help’.

The music was playing softly beside him. Keith turns it up once he recognizes the song, humming to himself. He had never thought his voice was remarkable. Lance had been the one in choirs, with a couple voice lessons, with the garage band he’d been so devoted to in high school. Keith just liked to sing to himself on occasion.

He could harmonize, though. Pidge had told him once that his melodies were eerily good. He didn’t like to sing the low undertones that you usually found underneath the lead singers’ voice - he liked to find a pitch or a range that was new and fun to try.

The song that was playing already had a lead vocalist whose voice was strange. Not in a bad way, like some of the music Lance had tried to get him to listen to. This guy could do things with his voice that made Keith shiver and have to catch his breath. Lance liked to try and imitate him, just for the reaction he got out of his boyfriend.

Singing to this one artist was fun. Keith found new ways to sing along every time, by changing his pitch or adding slides or simply making his voice do incredibly odd things that made his ears happy. This was one of the times he experimented.

Personally, Keith was impressed just because he could hold the pitch. He sings to himself as he wipes the kitchen clean and stacks dishes in the sink. It isn’t until he realizes that Lance had been gone a long time looking for chicken nuggets that he stops what he’s doing, singing and all, and looks up.

Lance was leaning on the doorway, his arms crossed and a small smile on his lips. His blue gaze was incredibly soft, resting on Keith like he was the loveliest thing he had ever laid eyes on.

Keith blinks at him, then blushes and looks back down, busying himself with the dishes. “Oh, hey. Did you find the… stuff?”

“No,” He hums, pushing off the wall. Lance walks over, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend and kissing his shoulder. “How did you learn to sing like that?”

“Oh, I just,” he leans back into Lance, shrugging. “I dunno. I just… sing, I guess.”

“It’s beautiful.” The Cuban murmurs, nosing at his neck. “You’re beautiful.”

Keith smiles to himself, tipping his head back to look at him. “So are you.”

“Oh, hush.” Lance laughs, brushing his hands along his side. “Let me pamper you, babe. Let me praise your beautiful singing.”

“Lance...” He groans, a blush creeping up his neck.

His boyfriend laughs, peppering kissing up his neck and wrapping his arms snugly around his waist. “Okay, okay. Just promise me you won’t stop, okay? I wanna sing with you.”

Keith thinks about this for a moment, biting his lip. “Yeah,” he consents. “I guess so. Just don’t make me sing in front of people.”

“You’ve got a deal.”

They stay like that for a little while, Keith leaning back against Lance. Music filters softly through the kitchen. The timer counts down. Life slows down for a just a few moments.

“Did you find what you wanted?” Keith hums after a moment.

“No…” Lance grunts, dropping his chin onto Keith’s shoulder.

“Did you move things around, or did you just open the freezer?”

Lance stays quiet at that, huffing and tightening his grip. Keith rolls his eyes, pulling away and taking his hand. “Let’s go. I bet you it’s in the back.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He whines, following Keith out to the garage. The two bicker good-naturedly, caught up in each other’s company and love. Back in the kitchen, the music that had brought them together plays on.

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Chapters: 6/? Fandom: Arcane: League of Legends (Cartoon 2021) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Major Character Death Relationships: Caitlyn/Vi (League of Legends), Sevika (Arcane: League of Legends)/Vi (League of Legends) Characters: Vi (League of Legends), Sevika (Arcane: League of Legends), Caitlyn (League of Legends), Silco (Arcane: League of Legends), Jinx (League of Legends), Steb (Arcane: League of Legends), Maddie Nolen, Loris (Arcane: League of Legends), Ekko (League of Legends), Benzo (Arcane: League of Legends) Additional Tags: Parent Death, Grief/Mourning, Alternate Universe - College/University, Divorced Silco (Arcane: League of Legends)/Vander (League of Legends) Summary:

Vi’s life changes with a single phone call.

A car accident. Head on collision. Drunk driver. He died on impact. Officer Grayson’s words filter in and out. Vi’s brain picks out what seems like the important bits. She’s given the hospital he was in - she’s told to come quickly. The coroner wanted to make arrangements with a funeral home. She needed to pick how her father was going to be handled. Would she burn his body, or would she leave it to rot under the dirt? Vi’s fingers were shaking. It takes three attempts to press the screen of her phone to end the call.

***

Vi loses her father and her future in the span of a few minutes. She's left to pick up the pieces and fit them back together - but nothing will ever be the same. There's a lost relationship with her estranged sister to navigate, a bar to run, and a mysterious regular who seems intent on helping Vi despite her insistence on doing things alone.

A story about loss, love, and community.

Hi everyone! I have started writing again! This is my first true passion project in a long time, and I wanted to share it all with you. I’m relatively new to the Vi/Sevika rarepair, as well as the Arcane fandom in general. I’m thinking of maybe reviving this old blog. We shall see.

While I adore the Crowley sibs love, what about Az and Zira? What's their dynamic? Do they drink tea and gossip? ("Did I tell you about the time Crowley just slept for a 100yrs?") Do they compare their book collection? ("I haven't seen these scrolls since Alexandria!" "Oh! Crowley gifted them to me!" ) Does Zira try to teach Az to cook waving off Crow's warnings off Az making a mess of his kitchen? ("Zee, I swear, he burns water without even trying" "pishposh, everyone can learn to cook!" )

the angels are like cousins who share many interests. Zira looks up to Az and Az admires Zira, so there’s a lot of well meaning compliments and inside jokes going on. they definitely share book collections and food recommendations. and it’d be hilarious if Zira tried to teach Az to cook (to no avail of course, Crow is right XD)

i also think it’d be cute if they hooked ankles when they sit close together