#I feel like whenever I make a gold silk drawing with a background it’s too much 😭

[spyderschaos]

If I take out all the hard light, overlay, and multiply layers the buildings are in rainbow order

[quartzwriting]

Green and Gold

Pairing: Doctor Strange X Fem!Reader

Description: During a visit to Asgard, Stephen is protective over you since Loki always seems to not be able to take his eyes off you. 

Warnings: Non

Word Count: 4.1k

A/N: Originally posted to Quotev / I like this one :3

Masterlist | Fic Reading Recs | Ao3 | Quotev | Coffee

The frantic rainbow lights disappeared and you stumbled to get your balance on the solid ground that you were thrown on. Stephen was there to help steady you, at hand at your waist with the other at the ready to prevent you from falling over. You wondered why you all could not just travel here through a slingring portal. But Thor insisted you take the Bifrost. To 'get the experience' he had said before he called for it. The knowing smirk on Stephen's face in that moment told you that you might regret this.

In little time you found yourself in Asgard.

Stephen would come here occasionally to discuss relations between mystical threats and threats to the realms. You came along this time. You wanted to see Asgard, Thor wanted you to come along, but Stephen was hesitant to let you come. He told you that someone needed to watch over the Sanctum while he was gone, you made Wong do it instead. He said Asgardian magic is hard to understand, you reminded him that you were advanced now in your mystical studies that you could keep up. He said that it would only be a night or two, you said that you did not want him to leave you for a night or two.

You won and had convinced him. So now you were at the entrance of Asgard, having just experienced being magically thrown across the universe with possible whiplash and your lunch threatening to come up.

Thor, holding his beloved hammer in one hand, looked over at you. "What did you think, Lady (Y/N)?"

"I think I'm gonna be sick." You mumbled.

Stephen patted you on the back, "You'll be alright." There was a slightly amused tone in his voice and that gave you a sudden urge to kick him in the shins.

You had ended up in the middle of a room that was golden and shaped like a dome. There were circular patterns on the walls and in the centre golden steps that lead to a little pedestal that held a sword. Someone was holding that sword, and you were introduced to Heimdall who was the protector of the Bifrost. He bowed to you like you were important and you returned with a bow of your head. Just outside the room, you could see the bridge sparkling with the same rainbow colours as the way you had gotten here. Beyond the long bridge was the castle in the distance.

Thor gestured for you to follow him, so you fell into step beside Stephen as you exited the small structure. You were now walking on the Bifrost bridge. The view you saw before you was absolutely breathtaking. The glittering bridge was just the beginning. Underneath it was a roaring river of clear water. The palace was beautiful, the structure standing as tall as the mountains in its background. The buildings of the surrounding city were sparkling everywhere. You have seen so much since becoming a sorcerer, but this was something else.

Stephen saw the smile on your face and the look of awe in your eyes. This made him smile, and he was suddenly glad he brought you here. He always loved showing you new things, fueling your curiosity and experiencing new things with you. But there was a little worry in the back of his mind that would not go away.

There was one reason, above all others, that Stephen did not want to bring you along.

Loki would be here.

He hated the way he looked at you. He hated his very being because of it. And the knowledge that you and him would be in the same place made his blood boil. Ever since that time Loki showed his face in New York and he had to take him to prevent him from doing anything, and he looked at you up and down like that, he disliked the god so much. And he was so nice to you, and you were nice to him. Whenever Stephen went to Asgard and ran into Loki, he would ask about you. Stephen did not like it.

But your reaction to the city and planet, and you had just gotten here, made the worry go away a little. He would be by your side anyways, to keep Loki away if he was going to try anything. He would throw the cloak around your shoulders to have it hide you away if he needed to. But at the moment he focused on being with you for your first impressions of Asgaurd and not worry too much.

~~~

You were awoken by a light touch and someone softly shaking you awake. The sleepiness was not shaken however, you groaning in protest as you cuddled up even more into the covers of the soft, silken sheets and thick comforter.

There was a chuckle and you new who it was from the deep tone. You lazily opened your eyes and saw Stephen looking down at you, already dressed and seeming wide awake. The sun was shining through the large window with the beautiful view of Asgard. It looked like the world was awake, but you were not ready to drag yourself out of bed.

"I have the first meeting this morning. Thought maybe you would want to come along but looks like you don't want to get out of bed."

You simply let out another sleepy groan.

Then you did a double take, noticing what he was wearing.

He had on his Cloak of Levitation, but underneath that was something different. He had swapped out his regular blue robes for an Asgardian version. It was made in a different style, but it still resembled his old robes. The blue was more rich in its colour, more royal and regal looking. The wrappings were lined with a golden fabric on the edges, it went really well with his signature red and blue. It was a very stark contrast between the one you were used to seeing him wear verse this new one. But you loved it. Seeing all the beautiful clothing everyone wore here made you happy, and seeing a piece like that on Stephen was astonishing.

"You like it?" He caught you staring.

"I love it," You said groggily but happily, running a hand through your hair and sitting up in the bed.

Straightening the cloak over his shoulders, he leaned over and kissed you on your forehead. "I should head to the meeting now. We'll be done before lunch." With that he left your shared guest room, closing the large door behind him.

You wanted to fall back asleep, but it did not overtake you. It was one of those moments where you just laid there cause you were already awaken. But you wanted to sleep. But you couldn't. So you stared out the window, looking out at the pretty mountain peaks and wondering what that first meeting was about. You also wondered about the other things you were going to do while on this foreign planet. Tour of the scenery, trying more of that delicious food (you were dying over it last night at dinner), learning about its history. Maybe you would learn a little Asgardian magic while you were here. The idea of that gave you a little excitement.

A little while later, while you were lost in a daydream, there was a knock on your door. You got up and grabbed a silk robe that was on a chair by your bedside. "Come in," You said, wrapping and tying the robe over yourself. Two women came through the door, maids of the castle you assumed.

One was holding a pile of neatly folded up fabric in her hands. You got excited.

The two introduced themselves and said that Frigga sent them to wake you and get you ready for breakfast. Since the meeting was going on between Odin, Stephen, Thor, and a few others, Frigga decided to have a little breakfast gathering for you. The women were so sweet, making small talk and asking you about Midgard as they prepared you a hot bath and did your hair in a fancy braid down your back that resembled a French braid.

The moment you were anticipating soon came, and they helped you get dressed.

The dress you were presented with was a deep forest green with golden embellishments. Silk fabric sat in long layers down the skirt, trailing out longer at the back. The neckline did not dive too deep down your chest, just enough for subtlety. The  short sleeves clung to the sides of your upper arms, shoulders exposed above the folded layers. The gold piece wrapped around your waist as a belt helped bring out the details. The length slightly dragged on the floor, looking elegant and glittering in the sunlight. You felt like an Asgardian princess wearing it.

It reminded you of someone. Then you wondered who had picked it...

One of the girls topped off your look with a golden pin in your hair, shaped like a flourishing lily tucked above your right ear. The two admired their work and you thanked them from the bottom of your heart. The girl you saw in the mirror was so different then yourself. You saw an Asgardian goddess, not a sorcerer.

You asked them for directions after thanking them a second time, knowing you would get lost in the giant palace. They told you where to go, curtsying to you as a goodbye. You did it back, pulling up the fabric of your dress to feel a little more into it. With one last look in the mirror, and pulling your shoulders back, you made your way out of your guest room and down the correct hallway.

You were directed to a drawing room that was down a tall staircase and a few doors to your left. There was a guard in front of the wooden door, but upon seeing you he bowed and held it open for you. The room inside was not too large, but the big open window gave the impression that it was. Decorated just as nicely as the rest of the place, this room was no exception to the royal aspect and medieval aesthetic to the palace. There were a few comfy chairs surrounding a low table, where Frigga greeted you with a warm smile.

Sitting in the seat beside her was Loki. You had not seen him yesterday when you had arrived. This made you wonder why he had not said hello to you then along with everyone else. He also was not at dinner last night. Weird. He held a tea cup in one hand as he leaned back in his chair, cradling its saucer in the other hand. Seeing Loki sipping tea from a pretty cup with his pinky finger jutting out was a different sight, a contrast to his darker persona you knew was hidden beneath.

You hugged Frigga, which she insisted on, and you sat down with them. You all chatted over breakfast and you sparking up conversation with Loki was a little awkward at first, but once you opened up a little it flowed easily. The tea was amazing and the little pastries laid out on nice platters were absolutely delicious. Frigga asked about your magic skills, and you both began to exchange stories about magic. You had a great time and you were glad you got out of bed for this. Soon Frigga had some business to take care of and had to cut this little gathering short.

When you left Loki caught up with you in the hallway.

"It has been a while since we have seen each other, Lady (Y/N)."

A lot of the people here were calling you that. And people you did not even know knew your name, which always kind of threw you off for a second or two. That told you that you were known here, from either Thor or Stephen talking. The whole 'Lady' thing was out of respect you assumed, and you did not mind.

"It has." You replied as you both walked down the hall together, "It was nice to see you again, Loki."

"How are you liking it here?" He asked with a smile.

"I love it!" You beamed, "It's beautiful, the food is amazing," You then gestured down to the dress you were wearing, "and the clothes are stunning."

He chuckled, "Green looks good on you."

"Easy for you to say, it's your favorite."

"No no," He sputtered, and you thought he looked a little...flustered? "You genuinely look beautiful in green."

A little heat ran up to your cheeks. "Oh, thanks."

There was a balcony up ahead where you saw sunlight streaming in. You picked up your pace to go look out of it, Loki right behind you. It was overlooking the back of the castle, where you could see a beautiful garden down below, before the landscape stretched out into more of the city and the mountains beyond.

For a second or two you wondered what was past those peaks. If the planet simply stopped there, or if there were forests or towns or lakes or anything else that you wanted to discover. This whole place was full of beauty and the idea that there was a possibility for more was just a little overwhelming. But you loved it.

"I'm happy you like my home." Loki leaned on the railing, looking out at the city with you. "Although it was not always considered my home."

"What do you mean?" You asked. You noticed a sadness in his eyes now.

"You know my history."

At that moment you realized what that sadness was. Probably memories flashing through his mind. You did know his history. Lied to all his life, being overcome by the sadness and anger and wrath and desire for revenge. You knew what that lead to, the New York event and everything that came with and after that. Right now, he was allowed freedom back in his home for 'rehabilitation' of sorts, offered a second chance. Not knowing what that was like, you could not relate, but you knew he had gone through pain. It was even painful to see it in his eyes.

"So do you consider it home again?" It was all you could think of to say.

He shook his head in a light nod after a second to think, the look on his features exchanged for one with a small smile. A weird thought crossed your mind, you had not seen Loki smile this much before.

The two of you stood there looking out at the city below, watching the people of Asgard go about their days. It was a calm silence that fell, not a line of tension or heavy weight of awkwardness at all. Just a calm.

"Hey," Loki said out of nowhere, and you turned your head to look at him as he spoke up, "your outfit is missing something."

You raised an eyebrow at him, coming off as almost sarcastic. "Oh?"

A smirk sneaked up on his face and you knew he was going to do something. You braced yourself for whatever it might be, good or bad or a mix of both. With a flicker of green magic, an object materialized in his hands. It was his helmet, shining gold with the curved horns. It was so polished that you could see your reflection in it.

Then he was holding it out to you.

"Oh no, I couldn't."

Loki cocked his head to the side and shrugged with a smile, again with the smiling, "Why not?"

A pause, you did not say anything because you had nothing to say. Something about it was very tempting, but it also felt forbidden. Like if you were to put it on you would be overcome by some spell or just a wave of emotion. Or just the thought of wearing something that was considered 'crown-like', because you were not royalty or a goddess or someone with high power. But it was all calling your name, with a glint of gold.

"I insist." Loki added.

After another moment's pause, you let him put the helmet into your hands. It was lighter than you expected it to be, with pure gold usually being heavy. Probably not made of pure gold then. Just a trick of the eye.

Without waiting anymore, you slowly rested the helmet on your head. Right away you noticed it was a little big on you. It was not made to fit your head, obviously, but you felt something while wearing it. Maybe honour, or pride. Or maybe just pure 'slyness', the same energy that Loki often channeled.

"Looks good." Loki beamed.

"I'm dressed like you," You snapped jokingly, "that's why you think I look good."

He laughed and you did too. Maybe I should wear more green, you told yourself.  

As you both continued to watch the city below and make small talk, from down the hall you could hear footsteps. Maybe guards or other people of the palace, you presumed. But as they approached, they got louder. And they got quicker. Heavy boots, you deduced. But suddenly they stopped.

"Nice view."

You nearly jumped out of your skin as Stephen had suddenly appeared right beside you. So those were his footsteps. You had not expected him to be out of the meeting for another while, but there he was. Him and that damn short-range teleportation spell he just loved to use for some reason. There were too many instances of him appearing out of nowhere back home and it resulted to you being more jumpy nowadays. He had positioned himself between you and Loki you noticed. Loki looked just as surprised as you were, the trickster being tricked.

"Where did you come from?" Loki scowled

"Down the hall." He answered blankly. You stiffed a laugh at his demeanor, sly and confident, when realization hit you that those were aspects of his jealous and protective side coming out. Oh boy, here we go...

"I'm surprised you're out of bed," Stephen looked down at you with a raised eyebrow, which made you chuckle. You saw a tiny twitch in the corner of his eye, and something told you that it had something to do with the god opposite you and the headpiece you were now wearing.

Stephen reached forward and gently lifted the gold helmet off your head, care in his eyes and shaking fingers. Once it was off, he (not so subtly) aggressively threw it at Loki's chest who stumbled to catch it, all trace of gentleness gone. Loki gave him a mock offended look, but Stephen's own hard expression was not phased. Your eyes quickly darted between the two, seeing the tension that had now thickened the air.

"Should't you be at a meeting with Odin?" Loki said. You noticed he did not say my father.

"Oh we finished early," Stephen replied in a light tone, trying to one-up the god while bringing out his ego's confidence. "we're having another one this evening however."

Loki looked like he did not know what to do, which made an amused smile spread across the sorcerer's face. Then he straight up asked, monotone voice dropping to sound flat and serious, "Why was she wearing your helmet?"

"Because...it matches her outfit?" The god struggled to find and answer only to come up with a question instead.

"Yea, sure." Stephen mumbled, "Wonder where she got that outfit."

"Some palace maids dressed me," You chimed in, but it felt like you were invisible at the moment. There was too much testosterone in the air that was covering your existence, which made you roll your eyes.

"Green and gold are nice colours." Loki said while trying to sound convincing and innocent.

"Coincidence she's wearing them?" Stephen shot back, suspicious.

"I had nothing to do with it, Strange."

"Oh sure."

"Oh my god." You slumped against the railing and rested your face in your hands. The two went on to snap at each other and argue for a little, but it felt like an eternity. after a period of you just standing there listening helplessly, the heat started to die down.

"If you'll excuse me, Sorcerer Supreme," Loki enunciated Stephen's title like it was a forbidden word, "I should be headed to attend some business."

He tried to walk off but Stephen cut him off, "Oh what kind of business do you have to do?"

"Business that does not require a mere mortal sorcerer to stick his clever nose into!"

"Well, it looked like it was no more important then taking my girl somewhere to be alone with!" The low rumble in his voice made it a little more threatening.

With that, Loki rolled his eyes so hard it looked like it hurt. And he walked away without another word, flipping his helmet over in his hands before jabbing it on his head with visible frustration.

"Well that was a show." You said, having stood there watching the whole thing like it was a theater drama.

Stephen shrugged, "I try my best."

You laughed, "Your jealousy gets to your head."

His facial expression recoiled, "Do you enjoy my jealousy? Do you enjoy his company?"

Your jaw dropped for a second in offence, "God no, why would I enjoy making you upset?" At that you shrugged, "Although it can be amusing."

You felt a pinch on your arm which made you let out a sound of distress. Stephen chuckled, and wrapped an arm around you lovingly as you leaned against the balcony railing together.

"He was just trying to be nice, Stephen."

"I don't think he can be 'nice',"

"He was nice at breakfast,"

"You had breakfast with him?"

"I was with Frigga. He just so happened to be there."

"Okay fine."

You laughed and he gently kissed the top of your head. After a moment of quiet and peace, you felt his softly shaking hand fiddle with the sleeve of your dress, "You look very beautiful."

Blushing, you looked up at him with admiring eyes. His expression mirrored yours. He was still wearing the new robes you last saw him in, the gold linings glittering in the Asgardian sunlight. You were about to say the same thing he said to you, when his expression changed. It was his thinking face.

"What?"

Stephen must have realized something as raised an eyebrow, "There's magic in your dress."

Before you could react, Stephen waved his hand in a quick motion. Suddenly, green waves of energy flowed out of the fabric of your clothes. But they soon changed to orange sparks, Asgardian magic to Earth sorcerer magic. As they flowed over you, the colour of your dress changed. The green was replaced with blue and the gold was replaced with red. There was still a little gold here and there, lining the edges in a familiar way.

"I knew it. He must have tampered with it." Stephen grumbled.

Now your dress mimicked the colours of Stephen's clothes, their original colours. You laughed a little, the person who made your clothes thought they were clever. But also Loki thought he was clever to change it to his colours. You wondered when and why he did that, but you shrugged it off and instead admired the dress in this new perspective.  

"That's better." Stephen said, a little proud of himself for some reason.

"I like this more." You giggled.

"Me too."

The dress felt lighter and the fabric shined a little more. It was made for you, perfectly tailored to your body and with the perfect colours to match. It was perfect. And it reminded you of him so it made it all the more special. If they would not let you keep it, then you are just going to bring it home with you anyways.

"Well since the meeting was cut off early, lunch is not for another half an hour or so. What should we do till then?"

"Well~" You drew out, a smile creeping up your face, "I was looking at the gardens from here and I wouldn't mind going to see them."

Stephen smiled. He offered his elbow to you, "Then do you care for romantic stroll, Lady (Y/N)?" He put on his best English accent (which was surprisingly flawless), his naturally low voice making it all the more amusing.

With a giggle, you took his arm. Together you made your way through the castle in a swish of red and blue fabrics.

"Although," Stephen started as you both made your way down the last set of stairs that lead to the ground floor, "you did look good in the green. Even though I hate to admit it."

"Hate to admit it?" You looked up at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Well it was Loki's trickery, but you look good regardless. As always."

[eye-raq]

Ember.

Chapter One.

This is an old series that I haven’t touched in forever, probably almost a year now. Since my Wattpad got deleted, the chapters that I had linked there from Tumblr was also deleted. I’m glad that I uploaded to a03 with some chapters so am gonna post the chapters here for those who want to read it again or for first time readers. Enjoy!

Hi. It’s me, Ember. Glad you could join me tonight.

She moaned softly, audio on his Mac Book giving her voice the perfect mixture of allure and innocence. The only light that ignited the space between him was the computer and the little desk lamp that occupied his workspace. The clock read approximately 10:00 PM---right on cue like it had been for the past month now. He sat relaxed on his black leather swivel desk chair, legs spread and dark green sweatpants hanging low on his hips. His dark brown eyes covered in his gold-rimmed specs scanned the computer screen, watching her shadow dance across her walls lit by candlelight. Her bedroom was her main source, and the camera aimed straight ahead overlooking a bed that was covered in gold silk, steps on either side leading up to the mattress like royalty, and a large headboard behind it littered with many candles. He waited with little patience, fingertips grazing the keyboard. His chest heaved when he saw her cocoa colored legs come into view, draped in a black silk robe. She giggled, most likely from the many viewers that were tuning in to watch her put in work. Erik scanned her background, eyes falling on the different movie posters that covered her walls and used easels that were lined up against the lower walls. He guessed briefly that she must be an artist, deciding to store that thought in his long-term memory. Miss Ember focused the camera towards the bed more, before laying her curvy body in the middle of the mattress, black silk robe halfway open and nipples hard pressing against the fabric.

she giggled lightly, “I see we have some eager viewers tonight.” She rubbed her pillowy thighs together slow, red painted toenails curling among each other.

“So, what do you wanna see tonight you greedy men.” 

Her lips were painted in glitter tonight and her curly hair lay messily over her shoulders. Erik rubbed at his lower abs slow, mind wondering how her eyes looked since she decided to keep them out of view. Her nose had a small hoop ring in it, and her ears were covered in them too. She had the most beautifully crafted natural body he had ever seen, her curves whining and grinding in the camera purposely. She picked up her favorite purple rhinestone wand, rubbing her hands over it slow, “You wanna see me warm up a bit Daddy?” 

She spread her legs, slipping the wand along her slit slow, teasing him. She didn’t give too much away which had Erik damn near screaming in his chest. Come on, baby, stop teasing daddy, He whispered low, legs swinging because of his growing erection.

“Daddy needs to be patient” She whispered as if she were talking directly to him.

She shuffled on her mattress, picking up her phone, sliding through. In the background, a sensual instrumental played out and her teeth grazed her bottom lips lightly. She took no time to remove her robe, her black lace lingerie set coming into view. Damn, Erik spoke low, digging his thumb into the waistband of his sweats. She hummed in a melodic tone, and it sounded almost princess-like as she lay on her belly, her ass facing the camera wiggling it slowly.

“Daddy, make sure you keep your eyes on this thick ass, okay?” She arched her back into the view of the camera, the material sinking in between her cheeks. “Does my daddy like what he sees?” She took her red painted nails, running it along her pussy from behind.

Daddy likes alright. Erik lifted his hips from the chair, lowering his sweats and briefs taking no time to pull out his throbbing dick, gripping it firmly. He stroked it slowly, feeling his limbs twitch after every stroke.The chimes from the many notifications she was receiving rang out multiple times. She twerked her ass in the camera, turning her head a little towards the screen her eyes still shielded. She had a cute gold chain around her neck that hung loosely in between her lips, her tongue grazing it seductively. She paused, thumbing her panties to the side causing one of her shiny lips to peak out like a blooming flower pedal. Erik groaned deep, gripping his full bottom lip with his teeth hard.

“Oh Daddy..” 

she lowered the rest of her panties slow, finally letting the fabric rest at the crease behind her knees. That pussy. Erik was always at a loss when he saw it. How she managed to swallow the thick toys she possessed was astounding. It was of a reddish pink color, her lips like milk chocolate that hugged her clit so perfectly. Her inner lips rested against her insides like two half’s of a rose and the shine of it reflected off of her camera. Erik’s mouth watered, and he tried to slow his motions around his dick but it was really fucking hard when Ember looked the way she did.

“Daddy I’m so fucking wet already and I didn’t even do nothing yet.” 

She reached up to stroke her lips, drawing her fingers back with separation, the slimy wetness sticking to them like glue. She brought her fingers to her glittery lips, sucking each finger so rough you could hear the suction through the speakers. So fucking nasty. How does that pussy taste huh baby? Erik ran his free hand along his solid chest, eyes never blinking, focusing on her motion without so much as a flicker. She sat up on her knees, her plump ass twerking slow, face shielded by her wild mane, her hands digging into the silk. She turned towards the camera slow, her lips and round button nose in view, tongue scraping across her glitter lips.

“So fucking good daddy, I wish you were here…why’d you leave me huh?” She reached under her, fingers grazing her clit causing her to hiss low, “why’d you leave me behind to take care of myself?”

Daddy wishes he was there lovely…I sware I do.

Erik jerked his stiff dick quick, causing his limbs to rise and shake, before slowing down again running his thumb over his swollen head, pre-cum gliding over the pad of his thumb. 

Fuckkkk girl.. 

Erik lifted his glasses up the bridge of his nose, head leaning to the side in awe, eyes trying to read her from a different angle. She laid her body down slow, turning so that her pussy was in view. Her head tilted to the side on her mattress, full face finally coming into view of the camera causing chimes to ring out, which caused Erik to even hit the like button a couple of times in succession. She had a lace masquerade mask on, with cat ears, and Erik squinted his eyes to try and catch the full frame of her, but she timidly tilted her chin into the crook of her neck, making it a little harder to see. Her fingers were deep in her pussy now, damn near digging over her g spot. The noise of her motions filled the room so loud it made Erik pause his strokes just to admire her. He leaned into the computer, eyes glued to her fingers digging into her sweet cavern, legs spread wide and toes curled. If it was possible to get a taste from licking the screen he would, and his tongue was damn near soaked from the thought of it. “Oooo,” her innocent sounding voice moaned out as she thumbed her clit along with stroking her entrance, head turning from the camera lost in her motions.

“Daddy taste me..” she was whispering low now lost in her actions.

“Daddy punish me..” Erik’s hand was back to his dick now, no care at all that he stroked it quick.

“Daddy fuck me…please” She damn near begged as if he were in that room, and Erik couldn’t take it.

He wanted so bad to bury his dick all the way to her cervix. He just wanted to keep it there and fall asleep with it there, and whenever she moved, he would pump her fast and quick making her cum and cum until she couldn’t give him any more rain; until she was drained.

I love how you want daddy to punish you…

He was breathless now, air leaving his nose quick, his free hand gripping the edge of the desk tight. He jerked his hips to match her fingers pumping quick, her body leaning to one side, suspended in the air, fingers digging and her palm smacking against her pussy.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck. 

Erik knew she was close. He could tell by the way her fingers shook, and the way her pretty chubby toes curled every which way in a frenzy. Her heavy chest heaved and she began to wheeze. Erik leaned back in the chair, jerking like crazy, his legs spread wide and his free hand gripping his shoulder for leverage. He lowered his head, eyes squeezed and his mouth agape in shock. He was about to have a big nut, and all of this was because of her.

“Ahh, Daddy. Daddy. Daddyyy!” 

She clenched her lingers, crying out. Her liquid poured from her, and like a greedy person, she was rubbing her clit still, causing small bursts to escape her. Erik soon after felt that familiar tug, leaning back in the chair wildly before releasing his seed all over his Lower belly. He shook as he was coming down from his high, lifting his hand to wipe it on his pubic hair. He leaned his head back, eyes falling on her as she placed her fingers in her mouth. She sucked them deep to the point where she was making herself gag, and clearly, the viewers couldn’t get enough of that.

That pussy is fire girl. 

Erik sat up in his chair, watching her lift to her knees, her heavy breasts damn near looking at him, her hands brushing her hair from her shoulders. She giggled, her smile wide with these cute little dimples on the sides of her mouth. 

“thank you, I do it for you Daddy,” she responded to her viewers the way she knew they liked but it only made Erik feel possessive.

She reached over to pick up her favorite dildo, the one Erik had to admit reminded him of his dick. Maybe it was from the fantasy of wanting to ram his dick in her that made him comparing his dick to the toy, but either way, he rather imagined it that way. He could feel his dick twitching against his thigh, clearly ready for round two and he patiently waited, taking his sticky fingers typing out a message for her to see.

TheGoldenJaguar: Daddy really enjoyed your little show but he’s not finished with you yet 😈

Erik sat back, tongue poking out to grazing the side of his lower lip. Ember gripped her dildo at its base, wrapping her fingers around the balls. She tongued the tip in slow circles, lace covered eyes wide and innocent in the camera. She wrapped her lips around the tip, moaning from the contact while her head bobbed in a circular motion. She popped her mouth off of the toy, spitting a generous amount on it to make it wet.

“When I say I love sucking your dick daddy,” she giggled, biting her lips before sinking further onto the thick toy, her jaws sinking and her eyes never leaving the screen.

Erik damn near lost it. She sucked it that well that it almost felt like she was taking his soul. It almost felt like she was aiming to suck him dry and leave him hungry and weak. He kept his eyes on her like he was staring down at her through his dreads, hands stroking her hair, gripping it tightly, instructing her to keep those pretty doe eyes on him. His thumb grazed his lower lip in concentration, eyes low and hungry.

“Clearly my mouth needs to be filled.” 

Ember lowered her mouth onto the dick, burying it to her throat. She kept it there, coughing a little as she sucked lower. Erik grunted, wrapping his arms around his head as he watched her suck that toy like it was running away from her. Spit seeped from her mouth and trailed down the middle of her chest, gagging on the toy with no complaint.

You better suck that fucking dick girl. 

Erik jerked his leg to calm himself from gripping his dick. He shook his head in awe as she twirled her tongue around the toy, finally releasing it from her mouth, a trail of spit leaving her plump mouth.

“Did daddy like that?”

Fuck Yes.

“Mmm, Daddy, my pussy is dripping from this dick.”

Ember laid back on the bed, gripping her wand in her hand letting the dildo sit against her wet pussy. She turned on the vibrator, increasing the speed of it. Erik’s hand wasn’t the slightest tired as he jerked again, eyebrows knitted together from just the sight of her alone. He had to have this girl. One way or another he had to have her. She spread her legs wide, leaning them back further with her arms, her head lifting to get a view of the camera. She flicked her tongue over her upper lip, her brown eyes zeroing in on him. He stared back, bringing his hand to cup his balls squeezing them lightly. She took her fingers and spread her lips, her swollen clit poking out like a present. Erik wanted to suck on it so fucking bad, he had to bite his palm to control his tongue. He imagined her writhing and pleading beneath him, his arms holding her in place as he sucked her clit repeatedly, letting her cum into his mouth. He knew her cum had to taste like sweet nectar, and the skin of her inner folds feel like satin against his tongue. Shit, I just want you to sit on my face baby girl..suffocate me.

She rested the wand on her clit gently, her eyes instantly fluttering as if she was possessed, body jerking.

“Daddy, my clit..” she bit at her lip tight, elbows pressing into her legs to keep them apart. She was gonna take all of it, and she was gonna make sure he got the show of his life.

“Daddy, it’s vibrating right on my clit..” she was at a loss, her mouth parted and her eyes fighting to stay focused on the screen

“Daddy, get in me please…” she gripped the dildo with her other hand, bringing it to her entrance letting it slide into her slowly. She froze, her throat going tight and her toes pointing up towards the ceiling.

Daddy got you, baby, I promise I got you. Ima take care of that pussy. Don’t worry princess…

Erik reclined back against his chair, sweaty body sticking to the leather. He kicked off the rest of his sweatpants, legs finally free as he jerked madly. He couldn’t take the feel of the hot leather anymore so he decided to stand, dick pointed at the computer screen almost aiming at her entrance.

Stroke that nasty pussy… that’s it… fuck that shit up girl I’m not playing witchu.

She stroked her pussy and held the wand over her clit, making herself a thriving quivering mess. She was moaning louder now, damn near blowing out Erik’s speakers with her pleads. She shook her head at the feeling, speaking in tongues, wiggling on the bed in a frenzy. She focused her eyes on her pussy eyebrows frowned in concentration, damn near forcing the wand heavily on her clit.

“OH!” 

She lifted the wand from her clit, releasing the dildo, her entrance quivering and growing tight as she stilled, head falling back.

Nah, put that shit back on your clit girl, you wanted this you gon’ finish for daddy

Erik waited, chest heaving with his dreads stuck to his sweaty forehead and his glasses fogged. She rested the wand back to her clit, crying out loud, her lower body tilting from the bed again.

“Oh, oh, shit. Omg,” she lifted it again, her head falling back on the mattress. She smacked at her pussy softly, causing her body to jerk.

“Daddy it’s so fucking strong..” 

Ember lowered it slowly to her clit again, her body automatically tensing up as she dug her nails into her thighs, scraping her skin. She moved her body a little but it only made it worse causing her to cover her mouth tight, her pussy tilting to the view of the camera. she wiggled from side to side, eyes watering up underneath the lace, limbs shaking. The waterfall that followed was one to remember and Erik had to control his motion by gripping his dick tight. He let out a loud growl as her liquid soaked the silk beneath her. He threw his head back, blowing air through his cheeks in frustration. He wanted to fuck her little ass up so damn bad. He wanted to fuck her guts up, grip her neck tight, repeatedly pound her tight pussy over and over. He couldn’t take it, and he never needed a girl as bad as her.

I wanna stick my dick in this girl so fucking bad, bruh... 

His back muscles flexed as he watches her body relax, that same light giggle coming back. She bit at her finger, eyes glued to the screen. The chimes and likes were off the charts and she blushed crimson from the attention causing Erik to obsess even more than he already had.

“You still got one more nut in you daddy?” 

Ember gripped her dildo, getting up from the bed. She picked up her camera, aiming it towards her hardwood floor, placing the suction of the dildo there. She kneeled her thick ass over the dildo, jiggling a little before sinking down onto the toy. She hissed low, giving her ass a hard smack before bouncing on the toy like it was the real deal. Erik jerked madly again, his free hand gripping the edge of the desk as he leaned further into the computer. The air from his lungs suspended in his throat, and his eyebrows were scrunched in passion. He felt so good and he didn’t want it to end, watching her bounce on her dildo, the wetness from her pussy glistening it, working that toy like she needed it.

fuck that toy up girl DAMN. 

Erik closed his eyes in concentration, his motions becoming more and more sloppy as he jerked his long dick rough. He wanted to meet his end with her like he always did, greedily accepting two orgasms from watching her. She bounced harder, her head falling and her hair shielding her face. Her ass was non-stop and the arch in her back had drizzles of sweat falling there. Erik wanted to lick her skin and pussy clean with his needy tongue and it made him want to cum even harder.

fuck… I just wanna cum. 

He was moaning now, jerking his hips with his motions.

“Daddy I need you to cum for me.” 

His entire being focused in on her words. “Cum for me daddy I want that shit deep in me.” 

She looked back at the camera, her eyes low and lustful.

“Daddy I deserve it don’t I?”

yes you do

“I deserve to be fucked like this don’t I?”

mmmm, FUCK yes…

“What else do I deserve for being a good girl daddy?” She slammed down hard on the dick, voice rising.

You deserve to cum all over that fucking dick.

His lower belly began to tighten, and so did hers.

“I deserve to cum daddy? because I wanna cum so fucking bad.”

She lowered her body, hands spread against the floor, the strength of her hips rocking along the dildo.

“Daddy…yes… YES, DADDY. yes… its cumming” 

She bit at her forearm eyebrows knitted.

shit baby Daddy cumming too… 

Erik threw his head back body stiffening

FUCKKK!!!! 

He jerked forward roughly, his cum flying and spilling all over the computer screen, dripping right over her ass She stilled over the dildo, face cradled in the crook of her arm, liquid, and cream dripping and pooling around her. Both Erik and Ember were still, breathing uneven and horse. Erik sat down on his chair, sinking into the leather weakly. She lifted from the floor, grabbing up her camera, and placing it back where it was.

“Well. Daddy, that was really good,” She rubbed at her sweaty skin, “We can pick up where we left off tomorrow okay?” 

She blew a kiss at the camera, waving seductively before leaning forward, ending the live video. Erik sat still, eyes glued to his cum covered screen, before tilting his head back, eyes focused on the sky view of his LA home.

Fuck. 

Erik spoke in barely an audible, 

Does she really live in New York?

[littlefreya]

The Way to Hell - Part 9

MANY Thanks to @raspberrydreamclouds who designed this cover as a gift! ☝

Summary: Post Mi6, Alternate Canon. August escapes Ethan Hunt with his face intact and is currently the most dangerous man alive. Unwilling to back down from his murderous agenda, he plots to continue where he stopped, unaware of the trained assassin who is sent to bring him down.

Chapters: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10| Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Completed.

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Lacey)

Word count: 8.3k

Warnings: Dark themes, smut, fluff and angst. Unprotected sex, hints of stalking, violence, swearing, sexual mentions, slight gore, choking, death.   

A/N: Okay, this chapter is long, it was hard to write, you guys may never speak to me again after this. So I’ll just post it now, and turn off my phone and hide beneath the blanket with excessive anxiety. Thanks @agniavateira for editing my work and being my muse.💖 

As always, comments and feedback are more than welcome 💖💕

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it or parts of the source material and claiming it as your own*

Title: Lacey

~*~

Have you paid the ferryman?

~*~

The cool light of fluorescent doesn’t do the honeyed gold of her hair justice. 

Doe eyes meet him, a striking green. Pure, like freshly-cut grass on a spring morning. The navy-coloured suit she wears counters the sunny shade of her slightly curly hair. She sports mid-length tassels, cut neatly just above her shoulders. She looks like she had it done this morning by the looks of it . 

“Hartmann, Lacey.”

Sitting at his desk with a pen pressed to his lips, the CIA agent observes her while ignoring the small hand in front of him. A tall, fit man in his late 20’s, face clean-shaven, hair like pure chocolate, combed neatly to the side but for a large rogue curl that falls on his brow. He collects it between his fingers and attempts to tuck it back in place.

“I don’t do partners, sweetcheeks.” he retorts after a short glance and turns away from the young agent, returning to his computer to browse a file he was just reading before she interrupted him.

An amused sigh passes through her plump lips as she shakes her head with sheer disbelief. “Do you have it any more cliche than that?” 

“I might, depending how long you are going to loom over there, princess.” August shoots back and slightly adjusts the tie around his shirt collar, not bothering to face the young woman again. It’s obvious what this is: a muzzler, or rather a babysitter in the form of a really good-looking girl. 

He fights the temptation to take another gander at the way her hair frames the apples of her rosy cheeks. 

“But since you’re already here, how about you fulfil your purpose in life and get me a cup of coffee? Double espresso, no sugar.”

August shoots her a look, observing her immediate reaction. Lacey’s green eyes widen, her mouth slightly opens. She rubs her knuckle between the soft pads of her fingers while thinking of what could be a suitable response to his disrespectful request.

I guess Erica didn’t bother prepping her.

Sloane, the heartless lioness. She leered at him with that sour look on her face since the day he stepped into the building. He swears the woman must have slices of lemons hidden in her panties. There is not even a drop of respect in those dark eyes whenever he sits in her office. Nor does she harbour any trust in his performance on the field. 

It all just worsened thanks to Ukraine. 

The explosion in the old Soviet power plant killed dozens of innocent lives at the cost of one. Though that man was responsible for the death of thousands, if not more. 

If you want to tear down a building, you better use a fucking hammer.

That cunt should thank him and promote him. 

“Nothing but daddy’s boy.” That’s what she sees in him. He might as well be another dead CIA agent like his father, then. Erased from memory, his great achievements discredited. At least he doesn’t have a family to throw to the dogs so they can rip them to shreds.

Oh Sloane, if only you knew half of the shit that goes beneath that stuck-up nose of yours.

Releasing another deep sigh, Lacey slumps to the seat in front of him, crossing her long legs together and leaning back in her chair while grabbing the folder on her desk. Her lips clamp together tightly, trying to hide the saltiness on her face. Long lashes curtain her eyes which pretend to read through the file. August rolls his eyes with annoyance, trying to ignore her existence and continue working his way through a case he’s been reading before she interrupted him. 

Yet every now and then his storm-touched eyes peer at the naive-looking woman, observing her and trying to determine how long will she last.

~*~

Is this hell?

~*~

That dusting of freckles on her nose and the fresh shimmer in her eyes give out much softness, yet she is anything but weak. Lacey Hartmann is a shield-maiden of some sort. For 2 months she withstood August’s “boot camp,” meaning she appeared unaffected by his cold demeanour.

At times there is even a hint of a smile hiding beneath that peach shade lipstick when August challenges her with an obscene dark joke. A hint of amusement tints the green of her irises, but she never dares to admit it. 

Too coy, almost chaste, yet iron-willed. 

August finds her behaviour borderline masochistic as he continues to prize her with nothing but arctic affection. Even so, she always listens when he speaks, her eyes open with pure intent, a fertile green field in her glance. 

Something spikes at the marrow of his bones, intrigue or so. Trivial thoughts find themselves latching into the tunnels of his complicated mind. His CIA brain begins to note her morning routine. A glacial stare registers the vanilla latte she drinks almost religiously every morning at 9, with two teaspoons of sugar. Lacey has a sweet tooth, it seems. She never misses dessert at the cantine and he once caught her bending the rules and sneaking candies back from their previous mission at eastern Europe.

He also noticed how when she is nervous, she twirls a finger in her hair with agitation and chews her plump lips. 

Blue is another point of interest. The colour seems to be dominant in her attire and accessories for some cryptic reason, though. not obsessively. She wears black or grey but then ties a silk scarf the shade of the sky around her delicate throat. When she is having a bad hair day, it’s the red pencil suit that draws attention to her body instead. The combination is horrifying when she sits in front of him holding her favourite mug which is glittery cerulean. 

He begins to wonder about her life outside of the headquarters. Her file rested in his apartment for weeks yet only recently he found himself bored enough to peek inside and read about her personal life. No husband is listed under her marital state, yet he wonders if a woman as attractive as Lacey has a man waiting for her at home. Someone kind, he imagines, and pitiful. She looks like a woman lacking a strong man in her life. 

“Are you going to finish that?” 

August’s brows furrow as she cuts into his adventurous trails of thought. His glassy eyes pierce at her as she sits in front of him at the cantine, sharing a lunch table. He hardly speaks during lunch anyway, and only listens to her musings with the usual sulk on his face. 

Lacey appears slightly frightened when she sees his menacing expression, yet her fright melts into a soft blush and a coy grin, in an attempt to pacify him. He nudges the plate with a slice of chocolate cake in her direction. 

“No, go ahead.” he watches as she digs her fork into it with excitement, her eyes shutting with near orgasmic pleasure as the chocolate melts on her tongue.  

His mind continues to wander, offering him possible imaginary visions of her personal life while she mumbles something in the background about the cake being outrageous. 

Her home address would be in that file too. 

It’s nothing but idle curiosity, after all.

~*~

You don’t believe in hell.

~*~

It’s been over 6 months of enduring her by his side. August imagined she’d run off crying to Sloane 2 days after being forced into this partnership, but she keeps a vow of secrecy, even when he bends a guideline or two during missions or violates nearly every HR policy. At first, she would warn him about his behaviour, but now she just calls it “The Walker Way”. 

It almost feels like he has a partner in crime. 

They arrived in Sicily a night ago, their mission is to locate and capture a millionaire-turned-terrorist and bring him in for questioning. It’s a  high profile target, which means the CIA spared no expense providing them with the finest hotel suites and fancy attire to attend a gallery opening. An informant suggested the suspect might be doing his bidding at the same mansion. 

Lacey meets August at the hotel’s main parking lot, wearing a cornflower blue mermaid-cut gown. Threads of silver adorn the outlines of her cleavage and little pieces of sparkling glitter draw his attention to her bust. He doesn’t attempt to hide the way his eyes fixate on her breasts. Beaming at the pale pink fat of her bosom before his gaze finally wanders to meet her face, giving her his regular cocky stance.

Is she wearing a bra underneath?

“You look handsome,” Lacey compliments, swallowing a complaint about the obvious way he objectified her. “We look as if we’ve matched colours.” The royal blue three-piece suit brings out the ocean in his eyes and she allows herself to dwell in the calm water as she glances back, offering him a smile.

Stoic, he ignores her praises, studying her face quietly. The shade on her lips is not the usual one; it’s darker, making her look more vamping. He doesn’t like it, her natural appearance is sweet and supple, and this colour clashes with her complexion and the concept of her in his mind.

The unnerving silence between them greatly challenges her. The need to crack the autumn evening air with some sort of dialogue pans in her chest. 

“Are you…” Lacey begins speaking when her eyes squint at the region of his mouth. “...growing a moustache?” Bold fingers reach up, ghosting over his upper lip where a few days’ stubble seems to grow longer than the rest on his jaw. August cocks his eyebrow as the tips of her fingers almost touch his mouth. She notices his disapproval and pulls her hand away apologetically.

“For the mission, I thought it might make me look older.” 

An amused smile cracks on her face, her cheeks rounding up to perfect blushing circles. “The real Mrs. Walker would be mortified.”  

August scoffs, rolling his eyes at the notion before turning away to watch the cars that pass by. His hand rests on his chest, straightening the vest underneath his suit and stretches the muscles of his back. A timid-blowing zephyr caresses his face; his Adam apple rises and drops dryly in his throat.

“Is there a…”

“Oh c’mon, Hartmann! You know the answer to the question, don’t act stupid and play small talk with me, it’s not your style.” 

Lacey’s lips press shut together, her green eyes dropping to the floor. She knows the only Mrs. Walker is his mother, and Madeleine has been gone for a couple of years now. Everything is in his file, allowing her to learn about the “mundane life” August Walker leads, or at least the ones he allows her to see through her CIA spectacles. 

It was an obligation to do the same with her. His old man once told him to learn who he’s dealing with before opening his “goddamn mouth.” That’s all there is to it, and his curiosity if he has to admit it.

Lacey Hartmann lives alone with her cat, Sir Podrick, on Hampshire St 457 on flat number 45. A magazine two-room apartment, picture-perfect, tidy to the point of OCD. She has an older sister but they rarely see each other. On her free weekends, she loves to watch romantic comedies while drinking hot chocolate with tiny marshmallows. 

He often wonders if her sweet tooth is compensating for something missing in her life. Yet there is never a man in her apartment.

Sometimes she dances in front of the window, especially after a hard day at the office. He can’t tell which music is playing in her headphones, but the way she moves her body makes him believe it’s something upbeat and cheerful. 

The images of her bedroom window vanish as a slightly irritating thought peaks in his mind at her comment. Mrs. Walker. A hiss of violent air shoots from his nostrils. 

Relationships were not something he cared to pursue. Life had other offerings. 

Besides, the women he liked were too tender and he was too rough. So, his conquests never lasted more than a night. 

Agitated, he pulls his sleeve to look at his Rolex, muttering something obscene under his breath which makes Lacey shift uncomfortably on her feet. The driver should have arrived by now. Every car that parks at the pebbled road bears disappointment, dropping off more honeymooners and rich, older married couples. 

A soft smile breaks on Lacey’s painted lips while she stares at August who’s facing the driveway with his fists clenched at the sides of his body.

“Well, since we’re stuck here waiting for a ride, you better entertain me.” Lacey speaks with grace, not a hint of nervousness or fright in her voice. She learnt how to deal with August and his tantrums by now. 

August remains silent, his sight never breaking from the driveway and the alley of palm trees that pave the path. 

“Or I guess we can stare at the big full moon,” she says to herself, lifting her eyes to the clear sky.

August stares back at the golden-haired woman, her long lashes fluttering gently as she counts the stars in her mind. A naive glint sparks her eyes as she’s captivated by her own fascination. The pale blue of the moon reflects on her milky skin, making her look like a siren in her beautiful dress.

“Yeah, it’s lovely,” he says in his deep voice. 

*~*

And even if it existed, hell wouldn’t have you.

*~*

The expo is held at a royal mansion of some sort. A large Sicilian palace that is owned by an ageing millionaire. Golden floral embellishments spread across the azure velvet walls, shimmering at the lights of the crystal chandeliers which dangle in the halls.   

Various ancient trinkets are placed in glass cubes. Crudely-made bows and arrows that were carved from cheap wood by a half-brain neanderthal are offered for the price of 200,000,000 Euros.    

Ridiculous.

Keen on finding their target, both August and Lacey decide to split up upon their arrival, planning their strategy ahead by protocol. August is the striking image of professionalism tonight, stretching his gaze around the large hallway. He has been this way for the last several missions, working by the book, making sure to perform as clean as possible, whatever that means in CIA terms. 

He even managed to win a word of praise from Sloane, who still can’t stand the very sight of his face. But at least she ceased from eating his head at the conclusion of every mission. 

And Lacey seems to appreciate it, too. 

The brooding man spends the night pretending to be enthralled by the exhibition and its boring guests who continually attempt to strike pointless conversations with him. As part of his task, he only speaks with those who seem to be an asset and brushes others away by answering in fluent Italian, pretending to not understand a word in English while smiling at them politely. 

Blending in, the young agent stands by one of the bars, leaning onto the marble counter and enjoying some type of strawberries-in-cream dessert which was offered to him by a tall,  abnormally attractive waitress who’s been walking around with a silver tray. 

Lacey would love this fruit-pudding thingy, he muses as his fingers brush through the mid-length stubble above his lip. His eyes carefully scan the room for any group of men in their late 30s for a clue or a sign. 

The sound of a woman’s laughter chips away his attention like a siren’s call.

So that’s how she sounds like when she laughs. 

Grabbing a glass of champagne, he steps forward on the black carpeted floor, following the cheerful voice as it rolls delightfully in his ears. Storm clouds gather in his eyes. The siren is behaving unprofessionally to the point of being offensive. A tall glass of half-empty Lambrusco hangs between her slender fingers while her head falls back; her hand rests on her chest, trying to contain her laughter. 

She is the centre of attention to a group of famished men. 

August frowns with disapproval. She’s supposed to act drunk, not get buzzed. Standing at the large pathway, he watches how she smiles widely, mouth gaping, small dimples peeking at the corner of her lips. The honey of her hair makes her stand out in a room of dark beauties, the shade of her dress an anchor for any travelling eyes.

He takes an irritated sip from his champagne, swallowing the sparkly liquid, trying to ignore the bells of laughter which begin to sound like an insult, meant to provoke him. His piercing eyes search for the target in the room, focusing on the task on hand and being the professional his father urged him to be. 

Yet as if magnetized, his glare returns to her.  

For a moment there he nearly forgets that she is a CIA agent. The men around her flirt nearly barbarically, their mouths salivating with predatory hunger. Is she too pure to understand their intentions? The vultures are waiting to tear her limb by limb. Possibly hoping she will be drunk enough to be dragged by one of them.

The storm inside him rages. Thoughts of her being tainted by one of these hideous men enter his mind and poison bubbles in his throat, drowning him in anger.

He puts his champagne flute on the tray of one of the hostesses who passes by. He fixes his tie over his neck and swallows hard. His strides are confident and charismatic as he marches into their circle abruptly, reaching an arm over to Lacey. 

“Sweetheart, here you are. Come see this piece, you’re going to love it.” hee speaks with contained anger, his baritone loud and clear, roaring through his puffed chest and squared shoulders.

Lacey turns to smile at him as he latches his fingers around her forearm, rescuing her by pulling her away from the predators with as much elegance he can muster at his current aggravated mood.

“Are you fucking drunk, Hartmann? What’s wrong with you?! We have a dangerous man to catch.” He whispers angry and low in her ear, carrying her toward an open terrace where they can discuss and re-strategize the mission.

The cool breeze caresses their faces, tenderly running through their hair as they approach the open air. The young woman continues to giggle as August’s fingers tickle beneath her armpit while he takes her to stand next to the large renaissance modules that hide them from the guests of the event. He lets go of her forearm, looking down at her with a scowl.

“Relax, I was trying to make it look convincing with these decadent, empty idiots.” she attempts to pacify him, looking up into his eyes, her head reaching just beneath his square chin. 

“Isn’t it ridiculous?”

“What is?”

“The way they sell these artefacts on such a high price when it was created by a primitive creature who ate his own fleas,” she mocks with a mischievous smile. “This is the end of human culture, this capitalistic point of view.”

A cold shiver crawls at August’s spine as he hears her speaking of his ideals. He had never seen her this way before. 

So opinionated, so bold. 

Has she been reading my mind?

They have never been this physically close, he can smell the lupines on her skin and the Lambrusco on her breath. Lacey’s amused grin begins to relax somewhat, her eyes now staring at something with stark fascination.

“You have a brown spot in one of your eyes.”

August brow furrows even deeper, dark lines forming between his thick eyebrows as the woman ogles him in a bizarre way. His blood thickens as the pleasant wind brushes at his face.

“Sectoral heterochromia, I was born with it.”

“It’s beautiful,” she answers with an enchanted glare, batting her lashes and moving further to study the shape of his flaw. Her feet arch to the tip of her toes, reaching higher to his face. August remains still, watching as if within a haze when her lips crash onto his. 

Chills spiral through his nerves, his eyes wide open as her soft lips press into his in a long, chaste kiss. There is a small hum in her voice, painted lashes look like black curved trails as her eyes shut with an enchantment. For a second he can feel her body press into his, her breasts grinding at his broad chest. She slowly detaches from him, opening her eyes and falling flat on her feet.

Alarm spills onto her face, her hand covering her mouth with guilt as panic surges. August stares back without a sign of emotion on his arctic face.

“I’m so sorry!” She calls out in utter embarrassment, moving away from him by a step.

His breath grows rigid, his mind a war. In an instant, he pulls her wrist away from her face and claims her into his grasp, kissing her earnestly, even violently. Lacey’s moans melt into his mouth, her body crashing into his, writhing as her lips gape, accepting his insidious tongue. 

She tastes like sugar.

August slams her against the wall, growling as her hands roam down his body and messing his outfit. A fervent stir tingles at his groin and the way she squeezes the muscles of his behind and tries to shove her hands under his trousers does nothing to relax his racing heart. Depraved, his hand pushes between her legs, trying to cup her heat through the tight dress, yet it cages her legs too tightly. 

“I want you out of this fucking dress.” August growls, breaking the passionate kiss to breath hot and heavy in her ear. 

“Then take me back to the hotel.” she retorts breathlessly, grinding her pelvis into the growing hardness in his groin.

“We can’t, the mission.”

Lacey emits a frustrated huff, sounding as if she’s meaning to beg as her body constantly pushes into his in a snakelike dance. “Forget about him, he’s not here, we’ll do it the Walker way.”

There is nothing in this world strong enough to convince him otherwise as those big doe eyes peer at him with admiration and a sense of need he never received from any woman before. It wasn’t like the women who begged him to fuck them as he tormented and delayed their release.

For the first time in his life, he felt purely wanted.

~*~

The ride back to the hotel is the most dreadful experience he had to endure in his life. Both Lacey and he sit at each side of the car, avoiding eye contact whilst their organs throb with aching need. She keeps her fingers laced together while the driver listens to some old Italian love song and sings along the tunes on the radio. August attempts to avoid drowning into his thoughts but the idea of having her tonight makes the blood pool hot in his loins.

They hardly make it into her room. Exploiting every moment left in solitude to make out like horny teenagers. Whenever a hotel staff member or a guest passes by, they break away from one another in the most obvious manner.

As they finally arrive at the suite, August kicks the door shut with his foot and preys at her, his talons reaching for her face, his thumb wiping off whatever remains of her lipstick before kissing her again. 

“I don’t like this, it isn’t you.” he states in between invigorated kisses while Lacey battles to take off his clothes, pushing the blazer off his shoulders and then working the buttons of his vest and shirt with lust guiding her fingers. She ignores his remark, answering with another breathless kiss instead while moving to fumble with his belt.

Their feet kick at one another as August leads them toward the king-size bed, fondling the curves of her body through the terrible prison that is her dress. His long legs nearly lose their balance as she successfully unzips his trousers and finds him fully erect and pulsating in her small hand. 

Logic turns to steam at the manipulation of her hands. His gasps resonate through the length of his throat, giving in to the whispers of his heart. How long yearned for her, wanting to keep her in the birdcage of his vision. 

Lacey, so bold yet so sweet.   

With the swiftness of his hands, he turns her around, tugging at the zipper of her dress while dotting her collarbone with possessive nibbles. Her naked figure unveils to him as a flower opens to the sunlight of spring.

Left in nothing but her baby-blue lace underwear, she steps out of her dress and moves to face the large naked man, pacing back as he sneaks toward her like a direwolf. The look on her face is admirable. Drenched of fear and desire at once, feeding his natural dominance.

“August…” she whispers his name. Her lips quiver at the sight of his broad form, appreciating every sinew, every muscle. August reaches to hold his cock as the blood stirs into it with rage, wanting to be inside this angel, to taint her and mark every piece of skin. 

“I don’t have a condom.” he warns, licking his lips as she slides her underwear down her long, creamy legs. Her mound is completely waxed, just the way he wants it. Pure.  

“I’m clean and protected.”

Inviting him into her mysteries, Lacey offers him a devoted stare and reaches her delicate hand toward him. No clarity is left in his mind; desire clouds every rational thought, every self-preservation instinct. He ignores her hand and lunges at her like a predator.

They fall into a sea of silken sheets together, August covering her body with his, giving no care of how his weight crushes her. His hands hold her wrists pinned to the mattress as he pushes her smooth thighs apart with his knees.

Lacey’s moans are mesmerizing as he sinks himself into her wonders. Singing her pleasure at him like a true siren. An overwhelmed groan breaks from his own lips as the wetness of her flesh encloses around his cock, sucking him from within with an embrace of lust. Soft and delicate, she writhes against his crude, rugged body and he thrusts inside her with teetering grunts, taking her with sheer, primal dominance. 

She feels different, like no other woman he ever had before. Completely submissive to his darkest desires. Her body opens to him, like a precious, heavenly nymph and he takes what he wants. Deeper and deeper, drowning into her womb, never wanting to stop, invigorated by the way her hands clutch at his body with the same desperation that is in his chest.

For three days, they never leave the suite. Lost in a carnal euphoria that makes both of them forget the existence of the outer world.

~*~

Oh, hell indeed exists, it’s on the earth you walked your entire life.

~*~

The delicious aroma of crispy, caramelized bacon and fluffy pancakes tickles his senses to wake up. Salty and sweet, the scent draws him to sit upon the bed that’s slightly too small for his wide frame. A drowsy smirk crawls onto his face. This scent is his second favourite thing to wake up to.  

Locating his cobalt trunks on the floor, he hauls himself out of her bed, pulls them on and tries to tame the messy bundle of curls on his head while he walks to find her in the kitchen. The bacon sizzles on the pan as Lacey stands next to the stove in his buttoned-up shirt. She is flipping an impossible quantity of pancakes and frying strips of bacon in another pan. 

Her rounded ass peeks at him with every shift her body makes.

August sneaks behind her with the skill of a CIA agent, looming closer and wrapping his arms around her torso, his chin resting on the top of her head, while his hungry eyes feast on the pancakes and amber bacon.

Lacey flinches in his grip, he can feel her heart jump for a moment before she relaxes into his embrace, lips melting into a wide smirk as August rocks her from side to side.

“Morning,” she hums delightfully. “Go sit, there is freshly brewed coffee waiting for you.”

August drops a kiss on the top of her head, a low growl of serenity climbing up his throat. “You’re a dream, princess.”

And you’re all mine. 

With a wisp of unwillingness, he detaches from her and walks to the table, where Lacey’s favourite mug of coffee awaits him with steam rising from within. His eyes are a calm sea sparkling at the sunrise as he looks at her with admiration. 

Everything about her tips him across the edges of sanity; the way she smiles at his horrible dark jokes, the way she listens to everything he says with devotion and appeal, the way she speaks about her ideals and sees him like no person ever did before.

Lacey turns her head and sneaks a small glance at him, giving a smile and a wink before returning to the stove.

It took 5 months to admit to himself that he likes this, that he enjoyed being here, with her and her stupid cat, or in every distant location in the world. It didn’t matter if they were in Afghanistan or Paris, as long as he got to listen to her breathing in her slumber. That night in Sicily wasn’t just mindless sex. It was a union of two souls. They spent the night talking and while he was reluctant to open up-as he still is-he was stunned to find out just how much this woman shared similar points of views.

Though she never says it specifically, Lacey wants to watch the world burn. 

He hasn't even told her about his idea, not yet. It’s probably too soon anyway as he only started formulating his intention a couple of months ago. A part of him still fears how she may react if she finds out he’s been selling CIA secrets and dealing weapons right beneath Sloane’s nose. 

“I hope you’re hungry,”

Lacey calls out as she places two large plates of pancakes and bacon on the table and walks quickly to get the maple syrup from the counter. Sir Podrick jumps on the table as she puts the syrup next to the plates. Aggravated, August shoos the cat away and reaches to grab the woman's forearm, forcing her into his lap possessively.

“You know I am, princess.” he murmurs as he kisses her shoulder and then her lips, before grabbing a piece of pancake and some bacon with his fork and nibbling it deliciously. Lacey remains on his lap, grabbing a stripe of bacon from his plate and chewing on it with a pleasant moan before directing her gaze to August.

“How long do you think we can keep this a secret?” she asks, slight concern appearing on her face. August swallows the remaining pancake in his mouth and sips some coffee to clear his throat. His fingers thread through the gold of her hair, combing the large waves repeatedly.

“I don’t want them to take you away from me.”

His voice is nearly that of a child.

The agency’s protocol won’t allow partners to be in a relationship due to an incredible conflict of interest. “Sloane would lose her shit if she’d find out this entire time we’ve been doing this.” He chuckles dryly and shoves another piece of pancake into his mouth while still looking at Lacey. The first morning rays shine through the wide-open window, basking her face with a shimmering summer glow. 

“We can run away,” she teases. “Buy a yacht, tell Erica to go fuck herself and sail the sea.”

August smirks, his hand descending to the small of her back as images of embarking to the great unknown with her fill his chest with euphoric bliss. 

A daydream, perhaps in the future, after mankind is free.  

“I think she’s beginning to warm up to me though.” 

“Well, she did start calling you The Hammer after the last mission.” Lacey answers and grabs the mug from August’s side, stealing a mischievous sip. “If only they knew it has a different meaning to some of us.”

August crooks his eyebrow up at Lacey and wipes his moustache clean. His hands reach to tickle the sides of her belly, causing her to let go of the mug before he snatches it back. Her giggles make his heart feel at ease, something he’ll never dare to tell or show her. 

Asserting his dominance by only giving as much. 

“Why did you join the agency in the first place? You never told me.” she wraps her arms around his shoulders, the green of her eyes appearing yellow at the ray of sunlight that beams on her face.

His gaze falls upon the table, staring at the remnants of the pancakes while licking his teeth. Thoughts of his past begin to echo in the chasm of his mind. 

The day his mom fell to her knees and let out a banshee-like howl of agony at the empty ceiling as two agents came into their house.

He was 13, and from that moment on, he was all alone in a cold, ravenous world. 

“I wanted to die for the government, just like my father.” he spits out, thinking of how his life turned over one autumn morning. A tall, lanky boy who couldn’t even comfort his mother as she tore off tufts of her hair. 

August didn’t even cry, not since then.  

The curious look on Lacey’s face fades into sadness, compassion welling on her now golden-green irises. “You never told me how he died.” 

A muscle twitches in his cheek, his eyebrows knitting together as anger begins to slightly boil his blood. “Like all heroes, forgotten. I don’t know how, it was during a mission in Moscow. Nothing in his files but a mention on an accident, no details other than that.” 

“Is that why you have such small faith in the government?” Lacey asks innocently, referring to their pillow-talk. The ones they have while she presses her soft cheek to his chest and draws invisible circles onto his chest.  

The lump in his throat dries as he remembers the weeks that followed after his father was gone. They were thrown to the dogs to be gnawed at. No compensation, no financial support, and no one to comfort young August. 

His mother couldn’t even look at him anymore. Those blue soulful eyes, the cleft of his chin, and even the shape of his nose were inherited from his father. 

The most pain August has ever endured was when someone he loved was unable to look at him anymore.  

Madeleine was a loyal housewife from the midwest who never took a real job. Arthur provided for them. While he wasn’t the warmest father, he kept his family close, taking them with him on his trips, unless they were too dangerous. 

By the time August was seven, he’s already been to all continents. 

After his father’s death, both the money and his mother withered away. Having no experience in anything but waiting tables, Madeleine couldn't support her own child and perhaps she didn’t want to. The boy was a painful memory of what she lost. 

The last he remembers of her, she dragged him with her to church and went on her knees as August sat on the bench. She prayed and cried out to God until her knees bled and her eyes rimmed red from the tears she wept.

But God never answered.

That week, social services arrived at their door. He never saw her since that day and needless to say, no one wanted a hostile 13-year-old boy. 

August turns his face to stare at Lacey, examining her round, freckled face and her plump, pink lips. They make her look like a renaissance painting of an angel. At times, he’s afraid that his rage will tarnish her, swallow the light of her spirit. Yet he can never hold back, fucking her so roughly, she hurts for days. His instincts drive him to spill all his fury into her cavities. To offer all the spite and hurt that poisoned his soul, as if it will cleanse him. 

And for a few seconds, he is sanctified. Coming inside her makes him feel complete in every sense of the word.   

The soft purring of Lacey’s cat grounds him to reality. The chubby ginger cat rubs around his leg affectionately, his yellow diamond eyes staring at August. 

“Let’s not talk about it, anymore,” he replies in a somewhat final tone.

Lacey nods at him, giving him a look full of understanding. Her fingers reach behind his ear, stroking the soft chocolate curls and tucking them back. “Okay, Aug. But we really need to talk about that!” 

Her fingers move to point at his thick moustache, her eyes narrowing with disdain. 

August strokes his moustache with his thumb and index finger and lets them slide down the stubble of his square chin. “You don’t like it?”

Lacey shakes her head with protest, trying her best to appear irritated. “No.”  

Princess is so cute when she pretends to be angry.

August offers her a smug smirk in return, grabbing the last remaining piece of bacon from his plate and sliding it whole into his mouth. “Too bad, it stays.” he answers with his mouth full, grease smearing on the corners of his lips. “It makes me look dangerous and you love it.”

“No, you look like pornstar.”

“I’d fuck you like one.” he answers with a dark glint in his eyes. In a sudden movement, he places both hands on Lacey’s waist and stands up with her in his grip. The woman squeals with surprise as he flings her over his shoulder with little to no effort and stings her ass with a sharp slap.

“Do you want it here, sweetheart, or in the bedroom?” he asks and bites the fat of her behind. Lacey cries out in pain, her legs kicking the air.

He loves to hear her laugh, just as much as he loves to hear her scream.

*~*

If hell is on earth, then what does it make you?

*~*

Like a creature dwelling in the darkness, he sits in the bleak hours of the night, fingers stroking the keys as if he’s a composer, conducting his symphony of destruction. The flesh of his lips chafe at the lack of sleep and insufficient fluids, yet he gives no care. 

This will be his legacy, his gift to the world, his gift to her.

The pale teal light of the screen flickers lightly on his weary corneas. It’s nothing but pixels, black on white, five blocks of paragraphs for now, but the raw power in words proceeds beyond any other weapon known to mankind. So pure, so cataclysmic. 

Just like an atomic reaction.

She will see through his eyes soon. The potential, the greater good. All her words of breaking the system, about dreaming of a better world. A sweet, naive girl with a mind fed with agenda. It was as if they were threaded into one another’s life, destined to be. 

The paving of a new world has already begun. They call themselves the apostles, a group of no more than 12 people, men and women of science and power. Their identities are unknown among one another. It matters very little, the seeds have been sown into the earth. Small acts of terror, biological and chemical incidents around selected locations around the globe, just enough to test the waters. 

Greatness from small beginnings.

It will take time, yet he is patient, and his little angel of destruction will be by his side once the time is right. All mankind will be reunited in peace after the earth will shudder beneath their feet.

~*~

Does it make you a monster?

~*~

Something sharp prods his mind to wake up. A nightmare, whispering toxic words in the darkness. He hears a vague ruffle in the webbed darkness of the night and he blindly reaches his palm to stroke her and finds himself abandoned. There is a knot in his gut and a storm brewing in his mind. Carefully and silently, he reaches for the loaded gun in his nightstand and slips out of bed. 

Pale blue and humming, a soft light invites him to follow to the office next to his bedroom. His heart drums heavily in his chest, his face falling as his vision becomes clear. Bright pink winks through the molten mixture of shadow and light. She hovers over his open computer, spreading files and paper plans over the surface of his desk, all the while holding her digital camera, violating his secrets.

Whatever is in his chest shrieks and bleeds with misery.

“Would be more efficient if you’d switch the light on.”

The woman jumps as she hears his voice and a heavy flood of bright light showers her crimes as August flicks the switch on. She straightens up, as stiff as a frozen tree. Unable to face him right away, her face remains hidden from him. August can see the spasm of her legs beneath her nightdress.

“What are you doing?” August asks, his voice low and menacing, eyes travelling from the Nikon camera that hangs from her hand to his secret scribbles as they lay on his desk, right next to his open manifest. 

“Look at me.” he demands, stern and composed as he can. 

Lacey turns slowly to peer at him, her lips aquiver, eyes shining with guilt. The only sound from her is the shudder of her breath that rushes through her heaving chest. 

The hurt must have blinded his thoughts. He doesn’t remember aiming his gun at her head, it’s only when he sees the woman’s surrendering gesture does he register his actions.

Taking a deep breath, he lowers his gun and places it carefully on the floor. His hands splay in the air, disarmed, offering a truce as he stretches to stand straight. 

“Was I…” he swallows the dryness in his throat and licks his lips. 

It would take a real fool to be so blind to see what was in front of him the whole time. 

“I was your mission?”

Lacey remains quiet, her eyes refusing to meet his. Tears glide down the apples of her rosy cheeks. 

“Tell me the truth Lacey, please. I just want to understand.” The threat in his voice turns soft, becoming nearly a plea as he takes one step forward, watching the woman flinch and step back, her behind colliding with the desk.

The woman weeping in front of him is a trained CIA agent, yet the despair in her eyes shows no signs of panning struggle. The only way out of this room is through him, a man who is nearly twice her size and knows her every move.

“Erica suspected you’re the one who is leaking secrets, so she sent me…”

That’s why she inquired so much, wanted to hear his thoughts, to sleep at his home despite his reluctance. He agreed for the first time tonight, unaware of her insidious intentions. 

Did you really think you deserve this?

August scoffs, his heart clenching painfully in his battered lungs. 

He was wrong. There is something more painful than having someone you love never look back at you. 

“Did she tell you to sleep with me?”

Lacey’s gaze drops to the floor in silence; her answer is nothing but a pathetic sniffle as she pinches her nose.

Bile rises in his throat as he sees shame on her face, so obvious, so obscene. Her purity was false. 

There was nothing sweet or innocent about her, she was nothing but a whore.

“Answer me!!!” he rumbles, more beast than man. 

Lacey jumps and sobs with panic, nodding her head at him with her confession.  “Ye..Yes… any means possible.”

Running his palm through his face and groaning with frustration, the young CIA agent exhales hoarsely. He takes another small step towards her, gradually closing the distance between them, watching his shadow loom on her porcelain skin.

Lacey’s eyes widen with panic. Her ankles kick back the wooden legs of the desk, her hands scattering August’s belongings. White sheets of paper fly down to the floor, ink smudged by tears.

“Stay away,” she warns.

“Does she know? Did you tell her or anyone else at the agency?” he ignores her pathetic threats, taking another step closer. Her floral scent fills his nostrils, nearly triggering his instinct to claim her lips. His gaze softens with an ocean of mercy as she shakes in front of him so violently, breaking into tears of grief. 

Delicate fingers cup her jaw, sliding across the slick moistness of her tears as he tilts her chin up. “Please, tell me the truth.” 

Lacey lifts her gaze to meet his, her eyes puffy and red, her plump lips swollen. She wipes her nose with the back of her palm. “I had nothing to report, until now.”

His grasp tightens around her chin, forcing her head back to look at the text flickering on the monitor. “All this talk about a better world, I thought this is what you wanted.”

She snaps her head back to glare at him, eyes narrowing with disgust and anxiety. “You thought I’d like this?! This is sick!”

August’s nostrils flare yet he gives a gentle nod of understanding and hushes her sudden surge of stress. His hand caresses her round, damp face. The thick pads of his thumbs wipe the salty tears away from her skin and his body presses into hers. 

Even a tremoring mess, she is still so soft and warm. 

“Did you ever love me?” 

His lips are merely an inch from her temples as he whispers. His large hand slides down her cheek, stroking down her jaw and descending further below her chin.  

Unable to muster another lie, she remains silent, aware of the fact that the sand in the hourglass has all but diminished, along with her chances of survival.

Words are unnecessary. The truth speaks loudly in her eyes, the poisonous infidelity was always there all along. Struck by her angelic beauty he was too blind to see, leeching onto false heaven, a childish fantasy of love that never existed.

Small spots of blood begin to form in her wide-open eyes as his long fingers lock around her thin neck, squeezing with intensifying force. Tighter, harder. His name remains caged in her throat as she fights for the air she thinks she deserves. 

“No, you didn’t.” August whispers, his vision beginning to blur. “You never did.”

Strangled yips of pain wheeze through her mouth. Struggling frantically while August hardly even bats an eyelid, staring at her with no emotion on his face. Desperate arms reach out to both heaven and hell, her body squirms and her eyes plead for August to let go. 

Begging for her life.

Something breaks inside her throat. Her last breath follows, a short gasp, frozen in her body for eternity as both her heart and her eyes become still. 

August glances at her pale skin, her gaping lips stained violet, her bloodied eyes glassy, returning his broken reflection.

Sorrowful tears roll down the lines of his face as his heart pumps with pain black as tar. A loud gasp of agony rips from him, shuddering across his entire existence as the very base of his soul chars in his chest. Broken, he falls to his knees with Lacey cradled in his arms, his hand stroking her dull hair and her blue cheeks while husky cries of anguish come through his throat.

All emotions end. An empty abyss claims the spot where his soul once laid. The only thing left to him now is pure, undistilled hatred.

~*~

I am the one who reigns in hell.

~*~

Black cold liquid seeps into weary lungs. Skeletal hands caress his face unkindly, the thin bones, so hard and frozen as they travel down his grey cheeks. No grace is given to him, no redemption. This was nothing but a dream of a life. 

As tar oozes from his throat, her voice continues to call for him. 

His last memories are of Erica, sitting on her throne of lies, swallowing his accusations while peering at him through her dark eyes. Face filled with guilt, oh, she didn't have a clue. Everyone believed Lacey Hartmann was the double agent this entire time. Angelic eyes hiding dark secrets. He planted the evidence in her house, in her computer, sparing his manifest of course. Just enough to tarnish her name forever. 

A painful wheeze splits his throat. Iron tinged his tongue. 

The promotion was won right after the body was cremated. A fine medal given for having his life put at risk.  

Glory and fame won over the woman you loved.

I never loved her. She was a lying whore, she betrayed me.

But you did love me, August. 

Blood spills through his mouth as he coughs. His blue eyes shoot open, peering at a great hole in the ceiling and the dust that floats calmly in the chill air of night. The pain sears his shoulder, throbbing furiously to remind him there is still blood running through his veins. He grunts as he clutches at the gaping wound, trying to hold onto the blood that still remains in his wretched heart. 

Run and hide, little Ingvild

I am no one but Lucifer himself. 

I will have my vengeance.  

__________________________________________________

Disclaimer: I don’t own Mission Impossible franchise or August Walker

[manabombs]

doing this meme for mr captain jack rackham because I think i’m finally ready to try to articulate my feelings, even if no one asked (i’m sorry this post is so long)

Why I like them:  So... here’s the thing... 

I’m kind of known for dressing like a fancy gay pirate. I’ve made a lot of cosplays over the years, but my pirate outfits are what I’m most infamous for. I met my partner over a decade ago while dressed like a fancy gay pirate. Many of my friends have seen me in pirate outfits more often then they’ve seen me in normal person clothing. Once upon a time I went to art school to study fashion design and I said “yes this is the aesthetic I’m going to cultivate” and now here we are. 

When I first heard that they were making a big budget period drama that was a prequel to Treasure Island, I knew that it was going to be My Next Hyperfixation, long before I had any notion of how much queer representation there would be or even how well-written the show would be. But it took me a couple years to finally feel like I was Emotionally Ready to delve into the series (Sometimes I’m bummed that I missed out on participating in the fandom while the show was actively airing, but I’m also glad that I was able to binge it all in its entirely, because the time waiting between seasons would have made me too crazy). 

And within those first two or three episodes, I saw that greasy rat man with his mullet and his avant garde facial hair choices and whatever the hell was going on with his wardrobe

and I said to myself “wait... Calico Jack... as in, the pirate known for his fashion sense...”

and I had one of those moments where I realized that this character was so much My Type that I was mad at myself for being so predictable. and I questioned some of the life choices that I made that led me to the point that this greasy rat man the sort of character that I immediately knew that I was going to fall in love with.

But that was only the beginning, because as I watched more of the series, I related to him more and more-- I think it was mannerisms at first, and things like “having to explain the vocabulary you just used to your coworkers” and “I would also like Anne Bonny to be my wife”, but gradually I began to relate to him for increasingly personal reasons. I first watched Black Sails after I had gone through a particularly rough couple years, and the catharsis of watching Jack go from “they pissed on me” to being the character who is ultimately victorious over the series’ main antagonist was an emotionally intense experience. I was already projecting on him by the time that he delivered the “great art has felled empires” monologue, which was the moment I knew that I was deeply invested in this character, and he hadn’t even started showing off his best looks yet. There are, of course, moments where his actions are... morally dubious, but even those instances just managed to make me more attached to him, because I respect the hell out of how well the writers succeeded in making him such a well-developed character. 

By the end of the series I realized that I related to this character on an intensely personal level, in a way that I haven’t connected with a fictional character in years, except it felt more profound than the times I’ve connected with fictional characters in the past because this time I was an Adult with a deeper understanding of the Self. I don’t want to sound like a soulbonder or a kinnie or whatever the kids are calling it these days but it really felt like this:

tl;dr I came for the wardrobe and stayed for the waxing about art philosophy and historiography

Why I don’t: ... undermining the revolution wasn’t great...

Favorite episode: I’m a big fan of 2.06 because... you know...

but also because we had to wait 14 episodes to see this pirate on a fuckin boat

Favorite season: Season three features so many of my favorite tropes it feels unreal... Jack and Charles as co-captains sharing authority and declaring their undying loyalty to each other... the way he goes full dandy the moment he has money to burn... Jack has to gain the approval of his judgmental father-in-law... his homoerotic rivalry with Rogers... getting arrested and then rescued by his significant others in the most dramatic way possible... I choose to believe that there was a brief, shining moment right before the beginning of season 3 where Jack was able to just chill and be optimistic about the future and bask in Charles Vane’s approval amidst his pile of gold and new wardrobe while Anne and Max were off doing lesbian stuff...

Favorite line: “It’s the art that leaves the mark, but to leave it, it must transcend, it must speak for itself, it must be true,” I mutter to myself as I draw vampire pirates at 1am

Favorite outfit: oof what a question...

This look is probably my overall favorite and there’s a good reason why it’s the outfit he’s wearing for the final climactic battle. He has so many amazing coats, but the details on this one make it my favorite, and I also love that gradient scarf and the pink embroidered shirt. The color and pattern mixing here is impeccable. It makes me appreciate his hot mess of a wardrobe in the first season more, seeing how his first outfit just looks like plain boring muslin and then more color & patterns gradually get introduced.

This is my runner-up just because I love the shade of blue and the prince charming vibes that are happening here, so I’m sad that we only saw this look for like 3 seconds.

OTP: I can’t remember the last time I cared about a ship as much as I care about VaneRackham.... sometimes I get mad that they succeeded in making me have these Feelings about fictional characters... I watched a show with multiple canon gay relationships and ended up fixating on the queerbait white man ship where one of the characters dies, because I have questionable taste and I love making myself suffer. 😩

Brotp: Jack and Max’s relationship means so much to me 💕

Head Canon: This might be me projecting, but because of his background in textiles I headcanon that Jack was more competent at sewing than anyone else on the Ranger and that skill came in incredibly useful on more than one occasion. The fancy coats that we see him wearing in seasons 3 & 4 most likely would have been custom tailored specifically for him, but I imagine that all of his earlier ones were acquired secondhand (one way or another) and he sometimes did patching/adjustments on them himself.

Unpopular opinion: I respect the artistic liberties that were taken with his character design, but he should have been allowed to wear some silk stockings and show off his calves at least once tbh

A wish: Obviously my #1 wish is that Jack and Charles had been permitted to kiss, but I also wish that we had been able to see them on a ship together clearly I have no choice but to assume that whenever they were on a ship together there was lots of kissing going on An oh-god-please-dont-ever-happen: man it would sure suck if Jack was executed for piracy within like three years of the series finale 5 words to best describe them: this adam ant looking motherfucker

My nickname for them: my guy/my dude

[secret-engima]

So - in the female!Ardyn 'Taur 'verse, how does the romantic relationship between Cor and Ardyn develop? (Nox, meanwhile, is having - slight hysterics in the background, because The Immortal and the (formerly) literally Immortal Accursed? It's like a bad joke). And, for that matter - how does everyone *else* react to that relationship? (Regis is. Not sure how to feel. On the one hand, Cor is going to be *literally his brother*, squee! On the other, Cor is *dating his sister*.)

*cackles evilly* oh THAT’S easy-

They start dating out of Pure Spite.

See, Cor has been doing everything he can to get out of formal events WHENEVER he can for years because he’s the Marshal and the Immortal and all the widows and older bachelorettes seem to think they can win him over with enough makeup, perfume, primping of their fur, and fluttering of their eyelashes and Cor HATES IT. Always has. Regis has told him that if he actually GOT A DATE with someone maybe they’d back off, to which Aulea just rolls her eyes and says that they’d turn into sharks and shred whatever poor soul Cor tried to take as a plus one. Cor agrees, he’d have to find a Plus One that was even more deadly in the political and verbal arena, as well as one of high enough status to survive the gossip, and frankly it’s not worth the effort to look for such a wonder woman.

Then Ardyn happens. Then Ardyn is revealed as female in private, and after much discussion agrees to be revealed as female in public as well and the bachelors start calling. Cor watches for like- a year at least, probably closer to two as Ardyn deals with the same issues he does only in male form, as she tears them apart with a smile and leaves them thinking they’ve been complimented and not mocked to death. He watches, and knows that Ardyn is watching him too.

Then one day, on the cusp of YET ANOTHER Gala (okay there aren’t that many but they ARE annoying and Cor dreads each and every one with a passion), he comes home to find Ardyn IN HIS APARTMENT, lazing on his couch, all four paws in the air, and staring at the ceiling as she plays with her hat. “How did you get in here?” Cor scowls.

“Picked the window lock and opened it enough to shove my knife through, then I warped.” She says casually like that isn’t the most impressive form of warping there is, to be able to slide through a space that her mind should have told her was impossible to fit through and thus prevented the warp. Before he can demand she leave, she rolls off the couch and lands on her belly and paws on the floor like she’s the felinedaetaur and not him, “Court me,” she says with a manic gleam in her eyes, so manic her blue eyes are now bright gold.

Cor wonders if Regis will forgive him if he ends up drawing a sword on the king’s half-sister because this is like all of his worst nightmares in one, minus Gilgamesh being there, “No.”

“Yes.”

“I’m not interested.” He manages past stiff lips.

Ardyn hisses, low and feral, tail lashing in annoyance and wings mantling there on the floor before she settles with bland, “I’m not either, obviously. Come now, Immortal,” he growls at the hated nickname, “I thought you were the smart one of my brother’s troupe. The Gala is three days from now and we both know what that will mean, you’ll spend all evening choking on rote niceties to all the female nobles you can’t insult without it reflecting on your king and I will spend all evening wasting time verbally shredding all the male idiots who come with dreams of being a prince instead of letting me drink my fancy wine in peace.”

Cor senses one of Ardyn’s mad schemes on the horizon. Unlike Clarus and Titus, this actually makes him relax. Ardyn’s schemes are usually brilliant in a brutally unorthodox way, and if she has a plan to get them out of the Gala... “So?”

“So,” she parrots as she frisbees her hat to him, making him catch it on instinct, “court me, and we’ll have the perfect excuse to tell each other’s crowd of respective blithering stalkers to go skin themselves.” Cor’s eyebrows shoot up as he finally lets himself stalk into the living room, tail swishing in thought as Ardyn grins, her fangs glinting in the light, “Think about it,” she purrs low and seductively, tail waggling like she’s making a proposition and not plotting to help him out of all his propositions, “No woman will have a prayer of competing with me in status or prestige, I’m the king’s sister, a dragontaur and former Chancellor of an empire. At least half of them will leave you alone knowing they have no chance and the other half will be easy for me to scare off.”

Cor’s mind begins working overtime as he unthinkingly settles on the carpet in front of her, paws tucking under his chest as he crosses his arms, “And your suitors will thin enormously as well rather than compete with me, the King’s favored and Marshal of the Crownsguard.” And the famed Immortal, he doesn’t say, because he hates that nickname with a passion.

Ardyn’s grin grows bigger, “Exactly,” she rumbles seductively, looking far less like a mortal Taur and fare more like a tackily dressed succubus trying to talk him into selling his soul for a night’s pleasure, “So? What do you say? Want to give all of Lucian high society a nice heart attack?”

Cor feels his lips twitch and passes her ugly old hat back to her, a deal as good as made in blood, “We’ll need to match clothes and be seen entering the Gala together,” He says after scrounging in his brain for all the things Regis did to announce his courtship with Aulea. He paused, then held up a finger and padded off to his room. A few minutes digging through his chest of knickknacks and junk found on missions and he returns with a glittering tail-band of gold, engraved with lions and with sapphires for eyes. A prize found when wandering through old ruins, he’d only kept it out of boredom. Ardyn smiles viciously as she accepts the “courting gift” and slides it onto her tail, then pulls a shimmering ebony foreleg bracelet out of her armiger, engraved with the symbol of Lucis and with rubies set in the eye socket and outline of the skull. Cor raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t question where it came from, just slides it on to make sure it fits. It does, perfectly, and he suspects she had it commissioned for just this scheme.

He expects the tailors to throw a fit over having to provide matching outfits on such short notice and in secret, but instead they start crying for joy (“No checker patters or plaids!” one sobs as he carefully cuts out the silk pattern, “Only three layers!” wails another for joy as he alternates between taking a bemused Ardyn’s measurements and dabbing his eyes with a handkerchief).

They don’t tell anyone else in the Citadel, and Cor just tells Regis and Clarus that he’ll be a bit late for the Gala (Regis eyes him suspiciously, like he thinks Cor is going to play hooky, but Cor just blinks solemnly and Regis lets him go with a sigh).

The utterly dead, stunned, horrified silence that falls over the Gala when the frazzled goattaur herald announces, “The Marshal Cor Leonis and the Princess Ardyn Izunia Caelum.” and everyone watches as they stalk slowly, languidly down the stairs in matching finery, Ardyn’s short hair done up with tasteful gold ornaments, hat nowhere in sight, the golden lion-engraved band on her tail glinting like an executioner’s freshly sharpened axe while Cor’s foreleg band of black and rubies stands out sharply against his golden fur.

They don’t have to announce a thing or say a word. Everyone present knows what this means. To bear each other’s colors and symbols, to arrive openly together, Ardyn’s arm linked delicately through Cor’s, to be wearing matching attire-.

Cor decides instantly that this entire charade is worth it when he sees several of his more annoying stalkers straight up faint and Clarus choking on his wine while Regis gapes.

 (Of course, after gloriously and shamelessly fake-dating for three months, Ardyn gets bored and asks Cor out to coffee somewhere public, to really sell the whole courting thing. After that, Cor, as thank you for the help against all the harpies in his life, drags a willing Ardyn off on a prolonged mission out in the wilds where there are no people and no rules, just him and Ardyn hiking through the wilds, spying on the Nifs (blowing up the base like Regis expressly told them not to do without backup) and pushing each other into the nearest body of water when one or the other gets too cheeky/sarcastic and-

You can see where it spirals from there. XD. Nox is losing his mind a little because his Uncle and his Aunt are DATING. But also yay? They’re dating? Regis is a Crisis because how do you Shovel Talk Cor? You can’t! And he can’t Shovel Talk Ardyn either because that’s his sister dating the lion Regis raised as a little brother figure and oh no think of what those two will get up to Clarus. Think of the chaos. Aulea, literally the only person other than Nox and Titus to realize this is fake dating, is very gleeful in carefully nudging them into REAL dating with Titus’s help. By the time Cor and Ardyn realize the trap it’s too late).

[lumiereswig]

Please do the ENTIRETY of Forgotten! Hahaha I’m joking, pick your favorite part because that fic is v long 😍

happily, this gonna get l o n g

“The ball was flawless. In the garden, the roses continued to reach to the sky, and the storm brushed away; the lights shut off in the palace, one by one, and the music faded to silence. The prince went to bed with one or two or three pretty women he wouldn’t care for by the next day. Up in his room, Lumiere popped open a bottle of champagne.”

I set the opening to take place almost immediately after “Lit By The Sun,” though this time showing the evening Lumiere and Plumette never got—the stolen croquembouche up in their bedroom, the sharing of champagne among the servants. In the original timeline, obvs they didn’t get that—they got fire and feathers instead—but yeah. I am totally alluding to my own goddamn fics.

Plumette, lighting the candles by the bed, grinned at him over the flames. He laughed and raised his glass.

It’s not a lumiereswig post if there’s not a fucking fire reference.

“He’s turning just like his father—the prince’s father was like this, too,” Mrs. Potts explains to the musicians, who know nothing about the palace or its politics. They nod and move closer to each other on the bed. “We don’t know what he’d do without us. He’ll be fine, though; we try not to intervene. D’you only have wine up here, Lumiere? I could use a cup of tea.”

Foreshadowing of future bullshit, and also reminding the readers that Garderobe and Cadenza WERE NOT PART OF THIS PALACE-POLITICS SHIT. They did not deserve to be cursed!! fuck you agathe!!!! #justiceforgarderenza2k18

“If you cannot take a little sparkling wine, get yourself to bed, grandmother,” laughs Lumiere, and she swipes at his arms and makes him laugh. He eases into a seat between Cogsworth and Plumette and throws his arms around them.

Really trying to remind everyone how fucking close the staff is. The fam. Also, fuck you bill condon for not letting lumiere hug cogsworth every .3 seconds

“Think how long it has been!” he says. “Forty years for you, Cogsworth, but most of my life for mine. Why, I came here as a teenager—imagine me, only a little older than Chip! Fresh out of Paris and still reeking of the apothecary shop.” He grimaces, thinking of his father’s dusty store in a side-street of the city. He had fled, then, looking for the glamor his missed; in his room in Paris he had practiced dance steps, reveled in fashion, adopted the graceful movements of the court as rebellion against the bourgeois facts of an ordinary existence. He had come to this palace, and he had lit into life; dancing and feasting and glowing like gold made Lumiere’s heart sing.

EYYYY IT’S A HEADCANON I TOTALLY MADE UP

but tbh it makes sense to me (and has always made sense to me) that for all his glamor-gold, courtiers-and-candelabras bullshit, lumiere is not from an upper crust background. he’s too extra to have been born to it. That level of golden eyeliner and tequila has to be aspired to.

“We met in this palace, do you remember, mon trésor?” Plumette is close in his arms; her scent—fresh and light, like candy and macarons—right beside him. “I was only fourteen, and I loved you right away.”

“I loved you before I met you,” murmurs Lumiere. “I could never forget.”

Lots more foreshadowing, and also backshadowing. Gotta remind the idiots in the audience which motherfuckers in this story are in love.

The next day is their day off. It is their one day off in the year.

honestly this makes no sense (one day off a year???) but it’s adam. pre-curse adam. i can write him to get away with pretty much any bullshit and be like “””*shrug* uhhh he’s a beast, dudes, of course he banned puppies and kittens from the palace and hates daisies and sunshine”“

also tbh i hate the whole adam dialogue sequence, it’s really badly written

Adam stands in the lonely, empty halls. If he stands in the tower, he can see them weaving their way through the forest and down to the village, to spend their day in the company of each other, in Lumiere and Plumette’s case, or with loved ones, in the case of Mrs. Potts. No matter what, all the servants have each other. And Adam has nobody.

casual evermore references whenever we can’t get in a flame pun

….after all, at least when he yelled they looked at him.

someone told me this line broke them and i am forever pleased. yes mofos!!! relish my very slipshod, mostly shite grasp of the english language!!!!! revel in my poor grasp of human psychology!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“Lumiere! The night grows old.”

 The crone grows young.

to make up for the shit in the previous chapter, I really enjoy this bit. the whole bashing-between-the-palace-and-the-village nonsense just makes me happy.

Belle wakes up to a jolt in the road, and the rough wool blanket on her face, and the smell of cheese and paint and horse and wind clinging to her skin. She rubs her eyes and tries to wipe away the sleep. They’re in the wagon, again, and Maurice is hunched up in the bench, encouraging Philippe to trot faster. The contents of Belle’s entire life are jammed in around her, a moving nest of drawings and gear-boxes and packets of cabbage-seed.

aaand we’re with belle. I had to rewrite this chapter about five million times because it wasn’t working—I had planned it out too much in advance, you know, and was just like regurgitating the writing rather than writing it—but I’m happy with the textural detail of this bit. Again, sometimes it pays to use the words around what you’re going for rather than the literal sensation; in this case, cheese and paint and horse and wind, and that rough wool blanket. Home, but also chill, and travel, and being uncomfortable, and the 18th century equivalent of going on a road trip and eating crackers in the backseat while dad’s up front and the crackers making the seat all gritty and reading books in the light of the passing streetlamps, ya feel?

Lilles, Reims, Amiens

i don’t understand french geography

A tiny, delicate gesture from his long fingers; it is a surprisingly sophisticated movement for a man in a yellow peasant’s vest, with candle wax creased in the dirt between his fingernails.

this whole chapter is slightly hard to read because it’s clearly trying too hard, but i hope i got across (or at least, whacked you across the forehead with) the bits i felt were important: lumiere’s current emptiness, but the last imprints of who he ought to be hanging around. i also tend to mention the peasant’s vest too many fucking times, just because the image of lumiere wearing anything that’s not satin & silk is fucking devestating. also, it will be important later, and i need yall to remember that LUMIERE DOESNT LOOK LIKE HE NORMALLY LOOKS

“I am nothing now,” says the man, in a flash of vehemence so sharp it is like seeing a flame in the middle of the forest. He looks up to her—his face broad, and white; and it is an empty face, and beyond the fire in his words there is nothing there at all. It is as if someone washed out all his color, and left him only with his yellow vest.  

you can tell, again, this is a lumiereswig fic because suddenly the language is all about fires and flashing and flickers and flames and there’s probably going to be a reference to the sun fucking setting at some point

also, honestly, this was hard to write because i was seeing it as a fucking movie in my head, and transcribing ‘ewan mcgregor lies on a village stoop looking fucking dismal’ is not what literary writing is made of

He welcomes her to the stoop with the flick of a wrist and a tiny nod with the pipe,

just to remind everyone once a-fucking-gain, Lumiere Is Not Normal, And You Can Tell Because He’s Not Being Very Welcoming. like honestly if you don’t say hello by doing a song and dance what the fuck are you doing

“I knew someone once who treasured books that way as well,” he says, and a smile drifts across his face, homeless. Something in him is sparking up at the story: dim, and faint, but laughing. “He once made me read the whole Odyssey—”

ok yes thank god the fic is finally getting good again

Sorceresses turning people to pigs, and the lily-eaters forgetting their homes, and Penelope undoing the days until her husband returns

ON. THE FUCKING. NOSE

also if i make a literary reference in a fic i am almost 100% of the time trying to make an obvious as fuck connection between the two

Deeply, deeply frightened. Not of the man on the stoop—she has never seen anyone more harmless, to be quite honest; he is such an empty man, with such silent, lifeless limbs—but of the thing inside his eyes when he speaks of his past. It is Other—a thing not rooted in a Parisian background, or the empty face, or the subdued soul. It is a large streak of gray inside the man’s blue eyes, a gray empty and unnatural and as hollow as cold ice. Staring at his eyes, Belle finds herself clutching her arms with fear.

ahhhh fuck subtlty has gone totally out the window. yall are kind and see what i was going for, but i swear this could be better done if i knew shit

It is obvious to Belle that this is a practiced ritual, the sharing of the secret wine.

in retrospect this fic would be sadder if cogsworth or lumiere weren’t friends, but uhh…i just couldnt bring myself to it.

“Oh là là, he acts as if the French accent is difficult,” says Lumiere, puffing smoke….

LIKE YOU CAN SPEAK FRENCH ANYWAY, YOU SCOTTISH DIPSHIT.

“Get off my stoop!” yells the woman. “D’you have wine down there, Lumiere?“

“If you cannot take a little cheap wine, get yourself to bed, grandmother,” calls Lumiere.

and that’s called taking yourself too seriously and referencing your own fic from a few chapters ago

“Mrs. Potts, the crockery-man’s wife,” says Lumiere, and takes a large gulp of the wine. “I barely know her. Thank God.”

PROBABLY THE BEST LINE IN THIS FIC SO FAR. fucking love the simplicity that does so much more than every labored reference to emtpy fucking limbs or colorless eyes beforehands. one simple line and we’re all fucking realizing THE EXTENT OF ALL THIS SHIT

i gotta head off now but i’ll do the rest later tonight

[send me one of my fics (or a bit from a fic) and i’ll do director’s commentary on it—ask here]

[luminaxandra]

I repost it cus i pressed the wrong button

You guys know i LOVE freaky deaki stuff rite I JUST CAME UP WITH AU… again… A CIRCUS VOLTRON AU!!!

okay so 1st of all It’s more like a freak show circus not like normal circuses we have 😂😂

Lets start with Allura, She’s the circus owner, the circus doesn’t travel around to often sadly but it’s like an amusement park so it works. She has a heart of gold but encased with Fucking steel and she loves to help ppl, she picks up stray people on the streets no matter what they look like THE WEIRDER THE MORE SHE LIKES THEM. She is amazingly rich from the money her father left for her when he died, She owns the Circus of Altea “Where all your Magical Dreams come to life”. She takes no shit from anyone and she makes sure everyone knows it. People say she’s an elf from outer space due to her deformed Ears and unusual Eye color. Her circus is humungous almost half the size of disney land, why? Because her circus is divided into teams to appeal to people more and each team has to fight (metaphorically) for the right to perform in the Main Stage of Altea (There’s like 5 big ones and a lot of small ones) also everyone just calls her Princesa lol

And then we havd Coran, The Gorgeous Man. 😂😂😂 He is Altea’s head manager and Voltron’s care taker cus let’s face it Lance is favorite no matter what he says. He doesn’t make a lot of good food most of the time but he tries so the team learn to eat it. He likes to help Pidge and Hunk with their Tech business, He watches over Lance when he’s practicing and tell stories with him over some healthy dose of Chores, he sits besides Keith is silence when he knows keith isn’t feeling well, He talks with shiro over some hot cocoa when he’s having Insomnia and can’t sleep. But most of all he takes care of his dear Niece, Allura when ever she needs him. All around best Gorgeous man. Coranic the amazing. 😉

Next is Shiro, The LEADER of the main Altea team, Voltron. He is the Ring master/Beast Tamer of Voltron no Animal can resist his charms, even the most feral beasts turn into smol kittens around him, He is an AMAZING leader the best there is. He coordinates all the scheduling for the Team’s performances, he handles all the grown up stuff including stuff like talking to allura about taxes and paydays. He is in his mid twenties and still looking like a hotie all the while. Older and teenage audiences love him. The kids love to play around with the smaller animals. He takes A+care of his team mates and His animal partners. His main ones are the 5 Lions of Voltron. His eyes are formed like slits and he has increadibly sharp claws that can cut through steel. Is currently in a relationship. (sorry honeys lol) he was from the Garrison Military before he got “mysteriously kidnaped” and escaped to the streets before allura found him. Stage name : Beast Master

Forth is Keith, knife thrower/Fire breather the right hand man of voltron… and their Glorified guard dog. He won’t hesitate to rip a bitch if they try to hurt his family, has an immunity to flames that NO ONE can explain, He and Shiro were really close before Shiro disapeared, but when he did Keith did a lot of stupid shit trying to find out where Shiro was. Is also currently in a relationship. He used to be in a fighting ring trying to get by on the streets before allura found him trying to mug her. She beat him up ofc but afterwards she gave him an offer he couldn’t refuse. He and Lance go on Petty fights every once in a while but they always make up in the end. He likes to train with Shiro for what? No one knows they just think it’s better if everyone knew how to fight but the others aren’t as worried. Keith is a Huge softy at heart even though he doesn’t like to show it. (#Tsundere Doof), He and Pidge are close friends all due to CONSPIRACY THEORIES. They like to have coffee together nufd said.Fun fact : people like to think that keith is an alien. Stage name : Dragon Breath

Lance is next, Ah Lancey lance McClain lover boy extraordinare. Singer/Main Acrobat of the group, Prone to do a lot of stunts during his shows. Fun fact, He’s a mermaid tail and all, with fins as ears and gills. Well most of the times except during Once in a month Premium V.I.P shows only opened during the full moon of the month he has legs, he does gravity defying acts in the air, Wether on the Trapeeze, Rings, or silks he can do them all. Funnily enough he has a different story to tell everytime someone asked him his backstory but only one person truly knows and that’s someone who has been with him through everything, Hunk Garrett. Lance is usually in the sidelines during shows as he’s mostly singing for the acts but he loves his job. He makes sure people are captivated by the acts by his singing drawing them in like it was their last breath. Allura found him on a shipwreck with Hunk Beside him trying to keep him alive and Pidge panicking trying to call someone on their 5% battery phone. Kids ADORE him. Another fun fact during a full moon something happened to the kitchen Gas tank while Coran was walking by Lance was with him at the time when he smelled something weird, he jumped out of his portable tank (It kind of looked like buckets you could move around with wheels) and pushed Coran out of the way permanently scaring his back. He Is currently in a relationship. Stage name : Siren

Next is Hunk, The sunshine boy everyone loves The Strong man/Co-Technician/Head Chef of Altea. Hunk can lift bolders with ease but even with his strength he’s still a soft cuddly teddy bear he cooks for EVERYONE in Altea he spend hours prepping with the other chefs and he loves it. The faces people make, that utter amazement the troupes show when they eat his food is what he lives for. He likes to go to the local orphanages and donates food and toys before spending time with the kids there with Lance (In his wheel bucket thing). The kids there practically treat them like family already since they visit so much on their off days. You rarely see the two apart unless Hunk is spending his time with tech, Cooking or Hanging out with his Girlfriend Shay. Though even then Lance likes to tag along and Shay doesn’t mind, she thinks of Lance like a cousin of sorts they do each others nails a lot and talk about daily circus gossip. Hunk is in a Relationship with shay but Is also in a platonic relationship with Lance. #BestCuddlyBros4Life (Shay is 100% cool with it since she gets Lance cuddles and kisses too) He was with Lance for almost all his life before he met Pidge at the tender age of 13 while pidge was still 10 who was looking for her Family. The three of them have been inseperable ever since. Stage name : Strong stone.

Last but not least is Pidge a.k.a Katie Holt. Occasional Tightrope walker/Main Technician. She likes to work in the background she gets everything ready and she sets everything up for the team (she also gets satisfaction from ordering the newbies around to do it for her lol) She handles Lights, the Stage works and Also as the Stage manager making sure everything goes according to plan to the second. She spends time with Lance when he’s practicing his acts but stays away when he’s singing unless she’s in a particularly bad mood and wants to be calmed down, She’s usually with hunk talking about techy stuff that almost no one understands. But she’s always with the two of them whenever they have free days with no work she even sometimes join them to the orphanage. She’s still looking for her Family because she’s 1000% sure they’re still out there waiting for her. That’s why she’s with Altea with their abudant amount of income Allura has supplied Pidge with all the tech she needs and now all she has to do is to find them. SINGLE N PROUD 4 LIFE YO.Stage name : The Pupeteer.

Ages are exactly like Canon

(Psst . #Shklance)

And thats it for now.