#where he starts wearing eyeliner and black nail varnish

[angstyaches]

I want Shayne to start wearing eyeliner, purely so that it runs down his face when he cries.

#yes I'm feeling mean towards the boy today #whump #crying #aesthetic #sickfic #This is only partially true lol I always had headcanons #where he starts wearing eyeliner and black nail varnish #StW Shayne

[angrylizardjacket]

All That Glitters {Roger Taylor}

A/N: 1917 words! Hi, okay so this is really a bit of a weird one. It’s difficult to try and demonstrate such a visual medium through, you know, writing. So this is the teaser trailer for Giselle’s biopic that’s being made around the same time as BoRhap, or like, a little bit before. I think I’m gonna make the plot a separate post, so I guess enjoy this trailer lmao. Big Love to @ginghampearlsnsweettea, who I love and would die for, for being the co-captain of this runaway OC that’s gotten much more involved than I thought it would. I’d really really appreciate feedback on it. 

[And All The Queen’s Men ‘verse masterpost]

All That Glitters (2018) | "Midas" Teaser Trailer [HD] | 20th Century FOX

[id: It’s a close up on Young Giselle’s hands playing the piano, playing the opening notes of what is recognisable as Trot, Canter, Pirouette (The Show Pony Song), she is wearing gold nail polish. The background is blurry but it shows a pale cream lounge room, an indistinct painting on the wall, and a beige sofa. Her father sits on the sofa, he wears a pale yellow sweater and beige slacks, and sits with one leg crossed over the other, he’s reading a thick, old book.

[GISELLE’S FATHER] Have I ever told you the story of King Midas?

Young Giselle’s hands still on the keys. The image fades through as the brass and drums section of the song come in and Trot, Canter, Pirouette (The Show Pony Song) plays over the following scenes;

We see a hazy room filled with golden light streaming in through a set of blinds on the right. Giselle sits in the middle of the shot, not facing the camera, on a brown leather sofa. Gold records lining the walls, and in front of her is a large, wooden desk with an ashtray on it, the person behind the desk is blocked from view mostly by Giselle, but it’s Ray Foster; he’s wearing a Hawaiian shirt.

Cut to; Giselle in a classroom, studiously taking notes. It’s mid afternoon, the light coming in hitting her face is a pale, cool yellow; mid-afternoon sunshine. She sits at a pale wooden desk, hunched over, wearing a soft orange sweater, but her pants are not visible. She’s surrounded by other students, all in greys and beiges, all taking notes; she stands out, vibrant amongst them. She looks up sharply, as if to take more notes and we cut to;

She’s sitting alone in a dressing room, looking into a mirror lined with golden bulbs; her hair is slicked back, she’s wearing a white silk slip dress; she’s wearing eyeliner and red lipstick, and is looking at herself a little disbelievingly. She turns to look over her shoulder, as if hearing her name; the camera pans to follow the movement and;

The camera keeps panning, keeping the movement kinetic as we see her on stage, looking back at her band with a nervous smile. She’s wearing a black velvet bouffant number, and the band are all dressed in black waistcoats ensembles with red pocket squares matching her lipstick. The camera pans around until it’s behind Giselle and she’s silhouetted by a warm white light against the darkness. After a beat, the lights come up on the audience to reveal a full house cheering for her.

Cut to; the lights are down on the audience but it’s a close shot of John Deacon watching her from the audience with an expression of awe, stage lights shining in his eyes; he’s on the very right of screen in the foreground. He’s near the middle on the bottom level of the theatre, the people in front of him as all standing, dancing together, some are jumping trying to get her attention. Giselle in the background, out of focus, is swaying to the music, eyes closed as she sings.

We see a wide shot, John and Giselle facing away from the camera, with Freddie Mercury, Roger Taylor, and Brian May in that order facing them. They’re in a rehearsal room, space half setup with a drum kit at the left of screen, a guitar case on the floor to the right of Brian, and a bass leaning up against the wall. The walls are dark wood varnish and all four members of queen are wearing pale or white clothes. Giselle wears a yellow sundress, her shoulders are tense.

Close shot of Giselle and Freddie shaking hands, both in profile, Freddie grinning and Giselle wearing a small smile.

Cut to; Giselle in Ray Foster’s office, the light is still golden, coming in through the blinds, but Giselle looks relaxed, her hair slicked back and wearing a black blouse and pencil skirt, one leg crossed over the other, arms out across the back of the brown leather sofa. She wears a smug smile.

[RAY FOSTER VOICE OVER] I’ve never had a single go gold like this before.

[GISELLE] It’s a blessing and a curse.

The music starts to really pick up as we get into the chorus, overladen with shouts of various and indistinct reporters as we fly through various headlines (‘A GENERATION’S INFATUATION WITH MEDIOCRITY’, ‘STEALING FROM ROYALTY’ accompanied by a picture of Giselle and Freddie having lunch together, ‘“JAZZ ROCK” PERFORMERS, POINTLESS AND PANDERING?”) and interviews with various people (‘The Secret Life of Giselle’ a very smug looking former assistant smiles at the camera, sitting primly as she’s interviewed. / ‘She Should Be So Lucky’ an angry reporter in a suit rants at the screen, flicking back and forth between the video of Giselle’s ‘the should be so lucky’ comment. / ‘Songbird of a Dying Genre’ interviews with critics (all of them old white guys) who just wave her off and roll their eyes.)

We zoom out of this final clip to see a wide shot of Giselle sitting at a desk at the very right of the screen, lit by the warm white light of a lamp while the rest of the room is lit by the cool blue light of the night sky streaming in through a large set of glass doors that separates her from the television that’s running the slander piece on her.

Close up over her shoulder reveals her to be writing the lyrics for Dinner and a Show and the music seamlessly transitions into a fast-paced version of Dinner and a Show as she rips the page from her notebook. The page moves to cover the screen for a moment and when it comes away we’ve transitioned to;

Giselle in her first performance at Top of the Pops, singing to a cheering crowd. She’s wearing a black, floor length slip gown with glass beaded detailing, and black gloves with red glitter and sequins on the hands, reminiscent of blood. Giselle belts along with the music as the song ends and there’s an extreme close up on her lips, painted red, with red glitter trailing from the corners. She takes in a shaking breath. The cheering grows louder, drowning out the final notes until it becomes overwhelming, and we can see that Giselle is still breathing hard, shaking a little. The sound and the picture fade out.

[GISELLE] (She sounds tired, a little forlorn) Everything I touch turns to gold.

It shows a close shot of Roger Taylor smiling mischievously at something on his left, he’s holding a cymbal in one hand and offers the other.

[ROGER] Is that a promise?

Cut to a shot of Giselle, standing up and looking over him, smirking and raising her eyebrows at him.

[GISELLE] (far happier, a little amused) I think it’s a threat.

Wide shot; she takes his hand. Trot, Canter, Pirouette (The Show Pony Song) picks up as soon as their hands touch. The song slowly gets faster over the following images.

Smash cut to the two of them on stage holding their joined hands above their head as they take a bow, in slow motion, facing an arena crowd in the middle of the day. Brian, Freddie, and John stand either side of them, but they’re the only two holding hands. Queen, again, is very casual attire, pale jeans and t-shirts and singlets, and Giselle wears a blood orange cocktail dress, off the shoulder, fitted until it flares out around her hips, falling just above her knees.

Cut to Giselle leaping into Roger’s arms wearing a white, flowing dress, and him in a fitted black tuxedo, he spins her around, kissing her passionately, and the camera spins the opposite way around them. They’re outside, under fresh green trees and dappled sunlight.

Cut to; Giselle and Roger are sitting on either ends of a sofa, their backs to the audience, watching the Rolling Stone Reporter pace back and forth, talking animatedly; the setting is a lot like Ray Foster’s office, however the decor is all modern, slick and white, and the fluorescent light bathes them all in a cold white light. Giselle and Roger share an amused look.

There’s a top-down shot of the two of them lying side by side in bed, but not touching. The bed is large with cream coloured sheets that are slightly tousled and plain white pillows, there’s a lamp on either side, illuminating them both in a peachy-gold light. Giselle wears a pair of pale blue pyjama shorts and a matching singlet top. Roger’s wearing a pair of tight black jeans and an open fringe vest. Neither looks happy; Giselle is contemplative and Roger is frowning. Giselle turns to look at him and the light around the room starts shifting until it’s made clear that these are two different shots side by side, spliced together. Roger reaches up and turns off his light, the whole room bathed in blue light, and he sits with his head in his hands at the edge of the bed. Giselle is still looking at the point where he was, squinting as a few golden-orange rays of a sunset hit her face. Roger looks up, as if he hears something, and walks out of shot.

Cut to a camera whip-panning to a moment during Freddie’s birthday party. Freddie stands in the middle of the frame, back to the camera, wearing his military jacket and ostentatious crown. The world around them is bright and joyful, with gold lights overhead, and the crowd in brown, yellow, and orange attire, but Giselle is wearing a midnight blue cocktail dress and a silver shawl, and Roger’s wearing a white blazer with blue shirt underneath. Freddie is standing between both of them in the foreground, separating them visually, and both look shocked, but Giselle doesn’t even look at Roger before she stalks off camera. He chases after her, both of them heading to the left and we crash cut to;

The music cuts out and we hear and see a door slam in Roger’s face. He’s still in the same outfit as the previous shot, but he’s put in sharp relief by the cold white light of a streetlamp, the rest of the world a dark grey-blue behind him. We fade to black.

A golden spotlight fades in with the first notes of Ache being played on piano, and the very faint roar of a crowd. All that can be seen is Giselle, illuminated by the singular spotlight, wearing a cool-toned copper, crushed velvet slip dress, tears in her eyes, everything behind her is a void of darkness. She’s holding a microphone, taking deep, shaking breaths.

[YOUNG GISELLE VOICE OVER] It sounds like he got everything he ever wanted.

Giselle takes a deep, shaking breath, closing her eyes, the sound of the crowd roaring and of Ache’s beginning dies down and a singular tear escapes her eyes.

[GISELLE’S FATHER VOICE OVER] Yes, but at a terrible price.

She opens her mouth to sing but we cut to black.

The title card; “ALL THAT GLITTERS” lights up in a block font, with lights in the letters, reminiscent of a Broadway sign. We hear Giselle sing ‘I feel the ache, feel the ache, feel the ache.’ but it’s just her vocals, ghostly, echoing, and a little ethereal. End id.]

#roger taylor #roger taylor x oc #roger taylor imagine #bohemian rhapsody #bo rhap #borhap #borhap imagine #and all the queen's men #giselle x roger #the angry lizard writes #queen

[spacerockwriting]

Dimmed Lights

For the Shipmas 2018 Prompt: Christmas lights in Hogsmeade

Thanks so much to @littlerose13writes for the prompts!

Read on A03

“Al, what should we wear this Saturday?” Shagging blond hair is pushed out of the taller one’s eyes. “I’m thinking my jumper your grandmum kitted, or should I wear my one with the snitches? Oh, the nifflers wearing hats!” He rummages through his trunk, shifting through various of worn jumpers.

The crisp fall air was slowly turning into the cold dampness of winter. Hogwarts had already had their first snowfall, and Hogsmeade was all prepped and ready for the holiday shopping season. It was a Hogsmeade weekend, the first and only of the holiday season, and Scorpius was overly excited. He loved when all the fairy lights would light up the small village and how the shops would suddenly sparkle more than normal. People on the streets seemed friendlier, and students bustled around with that energy that only the holidays could bring.

Every year since they started going to Hogsmeade, him and Albus would get dressed in their warmest jumpers and go see the lights in Hogsmeade. They would marvel at the holiday displays in some of the stores and do their holiday shopping. Warm butterbeer and cocoa would eventually make its way into the evening time, as their scarves would be wrapped tighter as the night grew chillier.

It was a tradition Scorpius was fond of. It reminded him of simpler times, back when his mother was alive and he would squeeze between her and his father while they went around the local village and looked at the lights.  When he arrived at Hogwarts, the first two years the lights were forgotten. His mother grew more ill, and his father had other priorities. When it came time for third year, he and Albus accidentally stumbled upon the lights one evening. Al was drenched wet with a snowball from his older brother, and the two took refuge in a cozy corner of the Three Broomsticks, warm butterbeer and coca in hands.

Scorpius craved the warm taste of butterbeer and cocoa, hands linked with Albus as they walked along the snowy streets.  They’d laugh at something stupid, then Albus would say how he played guitar better than one of the street performers. There’d be a promise of hearing his band play again, followed by a playful push and shove. Scorpius would hope there’d be a kiss, but he doubts that would happen.

Albus walks in heavy footsteps to his bed. He’s wearing a torn and tattered band shirt and blue plaid pajama bottoms, dark hair shagging over his bright, green eyes. “I’m not going,” Albus mumbles out and Scorpius lets out a sigh. He looks at the chipped black nail varnish on his best friend’s fingers, and the smudges of eyeliner that still cling to the underneath of the bags under his eyes. “I don’t think I should,” Albus adds, and Scorpius’ heart sinks.

“It’s tradition,” Scorpius says back. It’s a small, desperate plead, but with little effort. “We always go see the lights in Hogsmeade.”

“I don’t—“ Albus looks away, starting to pick at the black nail varnish. When he chips enough away, he then goes to pick at a green thread on the bed. “I don’t think I should go. But you can go,” Albus finishes quickly. “Don’t let me be the reason you don’t.”

Scorpius looks at the ceiling, then scoots away from his trunk and places himself onto the bed next to Albus. “We always go together,” he repeats.

Albus frowns, frustrated. He shuts his eyes. “I don’t—“ He squeezes his eyes even harder. “You should go without me, okay?” There’s a tear that trickles out his eye. He’s looking over at the wall, keeping all glances away from Scorpius. He shoves his pillow to his head, curling up. “I don’t want to go,” he huffs out. “I don’t want to go to stupid Hogsmeade, with all the stupid couples and stupid people and stupid shopping,” he grumbles. “I don’t want to look at the stupid lights. I don’t want to look at stupid displays. I don’t want—“

Scorpius frowns. He’s not normally angry, but getting frustrated with Albus has become more frequent. Ever since Albus had his first real boyfriend, he’s been more less confidant, more anxious, and his heart seems more shattered. The breakup really destroyed his best friend, and Scorpius only hopes his love can help mend his best friend’s heart, if Albus will give him the chance.

“Well, maybe this isn’t about you,” Scorpius snaps, removing himself from the bed. “Ever think of that? Maybe I like going to see the lights with you. Maybe I want to hold on to some of these stupid things. Maybe, for once, I just want to do a nice holiday event with my best friend. But no, I can’t, because you’re moping again.” He sighs. “I get it, Al. Jake’s a fucking jerk for breaking up with you after a shag, and is the biggest arse this side of the world. But maybe, for once, I wanted to not have things be about Jake and have fucking fun with my best friend.” Albus blinks, looking over at Scorpius. The swearing from his best friend draws his attention, as Scorpius isn’t the one to normally swear and cause a commotion. Scorpius doesn’t usually explode like this. “For once, Albus, can’t we just do something fun together without your moping? He broke up with you, it’s over.” Scorpius sighs, then tosses a small box onto Albus’ bed. “By the way, Happy Birthday.” Scorpius slams his trunk shut, which startles the little ferret on the window sill.

Albus blinks at Scorpius, picking up the small box. “My birthday isn’t until June.” He sits up, wiping at his eyes. “You know that.”

“Yeah, well.” Scorpius scratches at the back of his neck. This was dumb. He shouldn’t have done this, his brain screams to him. “Go on, open it,” he tells his best friend.

Albus picks apart the wrapping. He pauses to read the card attached to the parcel. “Albus, Happy One Year. Love, Scorpius xxx.” He pulls off more paper, revealing a small jar of pepper imps. Confused, he looks at the blond. “What is this for?”

“I was going to give it to you Saturday, but you’re not going to the stupid lights. Saturday marks your one year of sobriety from potions.”

“You remember?” Albus’ tearful eyes soften. They’re still damp, but he’s turned to Scorpius, facing the blond who has moved off his bed.

“Of course I do,” he whispers. “How could I forget?” Scorpius goes to sit beside Albus. “Al, you were absolutely fucked out of your mind. Because of school. How could I not remember?” Scorpius hesitates, but goes to put a hand through Albus’ shaggy hair. It’s grown a lot longer compared to the patchy mess it was a year ago. Scorpius ruffles it, agreeing with the cousins and relatives that would suggest Al needing a haircut. But Scorpius knows that Albus has no desire to cut it. He wants to grow it like the muggles in the book he’s read, the very same book he’s been obsessed with lately. He gently removes his hand from the boy’s hair.

Albus goes to rub at his hair, ruffling the strands back to the mess it was. He looks at the pepper imps in his lap. He squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry.” He reaches to grab the plush owl from the corner of his bed, squeezing it to his chest. “Merlin, I’m so sorry, Scorpius,” he repeats. His eyes leak tears again, although this time Scorpius isn’t angry. “I’m such a horrid friend, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s,” Scorpius pauses. He takes a glance at Albus and his owl, then at Albus’ pet ferret. “It’s okay, Albus. It’s okay.” He scoots closer to the brunette, leaning in to give him a hug. Albus hugs back, not turning the hug away like he normally would. The two stay clutched in their hug until Albus’ sniffles quiet down, then eventually disappear. The two then break apart, as Albus lets out one last snuff.

“Do you still want to go see the lights with me?” Albus asks. His voice is softer, something that has changed in the boy since his break up.

“If you promise to act surprised about the dinner I had planned,” Scorpius replies back, his voice equally soft.

Albus’ lips twitch into a small smile. “You planned a dinner, too?”

“Y-yeah. It’s a big deal. I thought maybe celebrating would be good for you.”

Albus takes in the words that the other says. He thinks back to a year ago, when he was overly dependent and stressed out over school. He remembers the Christmas before, where he was moody and angry, coming home from the hospital just mere days before Christmas day. Scorpius had given him a box of chocolate frogs, along with his Christmas gift of a muggle vinyl record he adored. The two had sat in his room for hours, and Scorpius didn’t even tease him about his short haircut or inability to eat certain foods. Scorpius may have been the one who found out, but he was also one of the few who didn’t treat him like a patient.

He thinks about how Scorpius was one of the few who didn’t treat him like a patient. He thinks about the term after his potion, where Scorpius took care of him, helping him feel better. Scorpius was there every day to bring him food, to read to him. Scorpius had decided to skip various Hogsmeade outings just to sit with Albus, who wasn’t allowed to leave the castle. Scorpius played every game available, and did every puzzle he could find. They spent so much time crammed in their dorm room, and Albus couldn’t be more thankful for his best friend.

Going to see the lights was something Scorpius deserved. Scorpius needed this. The hardest part about being sick was the fact that he had to witness everyone else’s feelings about it. He had to see Scorpius being calm and quiet, and he had to see James act responsible, and he had to see his parents look hurt. But mostly, he had to see Scorpius be soft about everything he did, like he was holding back every tear he didn’t want to cry.

Albus figures maybe he should do this. Suck up and just go see the lights for Scorpius. He thinks maybe, just maybe, this could be good for him too. If this is what made Scorpius happy, then maybe he should just suck it up. After all, he spent near all of last term clinging to Scorpius’ every move and shadow. How could this really be any different? Plus, the way Scorpius’ eyes grew wide at the lights, and the way he sipped his warm beverage, always made Albus feel warm.

Besides, how could he skip out on a stupid tradition over a stupid boy? His heart clenches at the mention of stupid boy, and he forces all glum to the pit of his stomach. He had fucked up last year when they went and Albus was too fucked to really remember, and he was probably already going to mess up this year, but, at least he wasn’t fucked out his mind.

The pain of the breakup still weighed heavy in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t know if he could ever feel better again. Scorpius was here to bring out some sense of normalcy, and he was trying to celebrate something that Albus wanted to erase forever from his mind. But he couldn’t, as those things would never be the same again between the two of them. Scorpius deserves this, Albus’ mind tells him once again. He nods in agreement to himself and lets out a bit of a sigh.

Getting off the bed, Albus goes to his own trunk, pulling out some of his own worn jumpers. He pulls out one with dancing hippogriffs on it. It came from his uncle’s shop, a part of a line of wacky holiday jumpers. Technically, the hippogriffs can be charmed to dance and move, but Albus had been advised by his Uncle George to not charm the wool when around those with a less than quality sense of humor.

“I wish thinking the hippogriffs could go with the nifflers,” he suggests. “If that’s okay with you.”

Scorpius smiles. “That’ll be perfect.”

#scorbus #Scorpius Malfoy #albus severus potter #shipmas 2018 #Dimmed Lights #ccsquad

[ragwitch]

Soooo. Now I'm back with a prompt, because you deserve all the good things in life and I'll make it one step closer to a full prompt list! Because I saw that you were hoping that you'd get enough! Well here's one more! Darcy/Bucky soulmate au (where you only see in black and white before you meet your match). Ps. Never done a prompt before so idk if that is too specific or not specific enough but I like your writing style enough to let you take whatever liberties. I'm just here for the meetcute

I have A LOT of feelings about this kind of soulmate verse!!! This is more than I meant to write, and probably a lot of extra stuff that you didn’t need outside of your meetcute, haha! But I definitely want to play with this again, so thank you so much for the prompt! I really hope you like it.

Pairing: Darcy Lewis/James Bucky Barnes

Rating: T

When Darcy Lewis was sixteen, she did not believe in soulmates. Her parents weren’t soulmates and they were the happiest couple she had ever met. None of her friends had soulmates and they were falling in love left and right. Soulmates, the Hues, were fairy tales and the people who claimed to have them, see them, were stuck up liars.

She had Values, and the sharp brightness of the sun or the glitter over water, or the deep absorbing darkness of a shadow at night were just as beautiful as any color a Hue could claim to see.

_

At twenty, in the desert, after electrocuting a man to the ground, Darcy Lewis stood next to Jane Foster.

“The night,” Jane whispered, staring up to the sky with sudden tears rolling down her cheeks. “The night has hues. Oh my god.”

If Jane Foster, the most practical, scientific, no-bullshit person Darcy had ever met, could see hues then they must be real.

At twenty, Darcy Lewis believed in soulmates.

After the Destroyer had been destroyed and Thor had vanished, Jane drove them both to Las Vegas to the nearest pigmented shopping district. Jane bought a can of Night Without Light paint (Value #5279832 and nearly black to Darcy’s eyes) and Darcy bought a gallon of Kernels paint (Value #1854) to paint her room in.

“That’s…a little obnoxious,” Jane said, wincing at the hue card in Darcy’s hand.

“Perfect,” Darcy said with a shrug.

They bought patternless clothing, dresses and shirts and pants all in one value, one hue. Darcy picked everything based off it’s name. Cockatrice, Envy, Electrical Storm, Life Blood, Bitter. Jane bought Deep Lake and New Growth and Dirt.

“People will think you’re Hued,” Jane whispered into Darcy’s ear in the dressing room.

“Perfect,” Darcy said with a shrug.

There was a department of hues for the body, eye powders and lips stains and nail varnishes. Jane wrinkled her nose at it all. Darcy bought one thing, a lipstick called Kiss Me.

“They look silly,” Jane said on the way home after stopping at a gas station. “I never knew how silly everyone looked, dressed in values. Spreading them on their faces. They don’t match. It’s all…splotchy.”

Darcy stopped wearing any makeup but the hued lipstick and her Value #9999999 eyeliner and mascara.

“The world doesn’t match,” Jane told her, out in the desert while she stared up at the sky. Darcy wondered if she was still looking for Thor, or if it was the hue of the stars and the dark sky that she was in love with now. “They tell you everything will be in hues, when it happens. But the world is designed for Values, we’ve built over all the colors.”

The next day Darcy wore her shirt the hue of Envy because she burned with it.

_

When Darcy was twenty-four she believed in soulmates, she believed in Hues, and believed she would never meet hers, would never match Jane’s descriptions of grass and sky and skin to their actual tones.

“But you’re so young,” Thor told her as Jane napped, upright at her desk.

“Only eight percent of the world sees hues,” Darcy said, scribbling with pigmented markers into a blank notebook. Orchid and Cerulean were nearly the same value, a reminder that her world was incomplete, missing information.

“And how much of the world is your age or younger?” Thor asked. “There is no age-limit on meeting your soulmate.”

“I don’t have five thousand years to wait, Thor,” Darcy said, raising her eyebrow.

Thor smiled. “You believe I am Jane’s soulmate.”

Darcy stared at him. “Of course you are.” He had landed and Jane’s world was in color. Those were the rules.

“Perhaps,” Thor said with a shrug. “I would like that to be so. We have always lived in color on Asgard, and we have the notion of a soulmate but no proof of it like Midgardians. Do you know what I think?” Darcy didn’t want to know what he thought. She didn’t want Thor saying anything but that he loved Jane and Jane loved him and it was a perfect absolute that brought Hue to Jane’s life.

“What?” she asked finally, because Thor had been patient.

“I landed, and I proved Jane’s work,” Thor said, and his fingers brushed against Jane’s hand, making hers twitch and reach for him even in sleep. “Tell me my love’s heart does not belong to her work, that her soul is not entwined with the stars.”

_

Finding your life’s purpose was about as easy as finding your soulmate, as it turned out. Maybe Thor had been right about Jane. They were still in love, that much was clear. What was clearer was that Jane’s priority was understanding, perfecting, and protecting the pathways of the universe. And Thor’s priority had always needed to be Asgard. Still in love, but not at once, not in rhythm together. And Jane still saw hues.

So Darcy had a degree and after the disaster of the Accords she found her calling. Unfucking the relationship between the world and it’s heroes. She loved it. She woke up everyday ready to kick ass. She felt fulfilled and purposeful and happy and satisfied.

She stared at the world and she counted every shade, the thousands of values in the moving ocean, in the streets of cities, in the sky. Orchid and Cerulean were close but they were not the same. There were more than 999,9999 little strands of light to see in the world. It was an infinite spectrum of value and it was beautiful.

_

The world did not end. Not when it was supposed to. Not when they promised it would.

That was good too. That would make Darcy’s job a lot easier. Heroes saving the day always did.

_

She almost didn’t notice, not at first. The heroes were trailing into the tent, one after the other, and it was a gloomy day, although by all rights the sun should have made an appearance for their victory. The world was muted, values blending softly together.

It was the Black Widow’s hair she noticed first. A low value, but bright and…words she didn’t know. The Black Widow’s hair…was hued. Everything. Everything was hued. Darcy gasped, a broken rattling breath, and fell back into her seat. Her skirt on her lap was vivid, saturated, strange and violent and Bitter.

“Bucky?”

She looked back up and Captain America had The Winter Soldier by the shoulder, worry between his eyes as the man—there was so much to see, she felt dizzy with it—stared raptly back at her.

“Hues,” Bucky said.

Soulmate, she thought. And some tiny, silly voice at the back of her head thought, Not bad, Darcy.

“Well shit,” Tony said and Darcy realized they really ought to talk about how ridiculous the hues on his suit were. Even if only eight percent of the population had to see them. “Let’s give them a minute.”

One by one the others left the tent—it was in a value, the tables and chairs were all valued too, as if a part of her world hadn’t changed when it had—but with the flick of the curtain Darcy could see that the outside world was riddled with hues and it made her heart pound. Bucky Barnes hadn’t moved, only watched her warily. She stood up and nearly laughed at herself. She was wearing the most…obnoxious colors. She must have spent the last seven years of her life looking like a color-blind Hue.

He was dressed in values but the hues of the room, the hues of her, of his hair—rich and warm and she wanted to touch it—bounced off the polish of his metal arm.

“You’re so…” he started and then swallowed heavily, eyes growing big as if he just realized he was about to speak out loud. But he came closer until they were standing just a step or two apart. She felt like she was learning a whole new language without being given any words. She had understanding and no vocabulary.

“How does anyone do this?” Darcy asked, finding his eyes and feeling shy and urgent all at once, feeling like their sharp pale color was peeling away all her secrets. “It’s everything at once.”

“You…” he started again and Darcy watched his eyes drift down to her lips. “That’s…quite a hue.”

“Kiss Me,” she said.

Bucky blinked at her and then before she could explain, he was there, warm hand pulling her closer by her cheek and mouth slotting over hers. Darcy made a sound, half-surprised and half-excited, and then her arms were over his shoulder and he was groaning as she returned the kiss, wanting every texture and flavor of him all at once. There was Hue in this too, she thought, the warmth of a mouth was a color and the taste of a man’s breath was a color and the feeling of fitting against a body so much larger and brutally stronger than her own was a color.

They pulled apart with a gasp and Darcy grinned, seeing the electric splash of her lipstick smeared across his mouth. She lifted her thumb to wipe it gently away and he leaned into the touch.

“The hue,” she explained, smiling at him. “It’s called Kiss Me.”

A new hue spread over his cheek and Darcy touched that too.

“It’s a good name for it,” he said, the blush (she had a dress called Blush and she wondered if it would match this) fading from his cheeks as he nestled her closer against him, and Darcy’s skin blossomed at every lick of touch. “A hue like that feels like an instruction.”

“Follow it again,” she said, watching his eyes change, darken. (Value or hue, who cared now?)

“Yes ma’am,” he said, and kissed her again.

#wintershock #darcy lewis #james bucky barnes #darcy x bucky #soulmate au #light and color theory in romance #ragwitch prompt party #80daysofunsaidthings

[suzyturnerbooks]

It’s the last Monday of the month, which can mean only one thing. It’s time for the Fab40s! And this month, we’ve gone a little bonkers (well, I think I’ve gone a little bonkers anyway LOL). It was Sheela’s turn to choose the theme and she looked east for inspiration: choosing the Japanese theme, Harajuku.

What the heck is Harajuku?

Well, I had absolutely no clue either. Thank goodness for Google! I found the perfect article that explains everything you need to know about Harajuku fashion. Basically,  Harajuku started out as anti-fashion and has developed into its own style of Japanese streetwear with no rules. It covers a huge variety of different styles put together, but basically it’s creating your own, unique outfit without sticking to any particular trend, if that makes sense? Have a look at that article I mentioned and all will become clear. It really is quite fascinating, to be honest.

So, what did I wear?

Hm…. good question. What the heck did I wear?! Well, I started by scrutinising my entire wardrobe. Initially I did consider going down the Harajuku Goth route but then figured that would be too predictable for me (you all already know I’ve always been a bit of a closet goth). So I decided to something colourful and bright instead. Surprisingly, I don’t have THAT many colourful and brights items in my wardrobe lol.

My first choice was floral tights, white shorts, white shirt with a crazy bright neon orange tank top over the top of the shirt. But it wasn’t quite right. Perhaps because I felt like I needed more prints to mix and match, real Harajuku style. So I tried again and the next outfit felt right–if not completely alien at the same time. But I stuck with it and piled on the accessories and then revealed myself to hubby…

Yes he laughed

He said I looked like I was going to a fancy dress party. And I totally get that…BUT, I felt great wearing this crazy outfit. It made me happy. It made me laugh. Would I wear it out to dinner or to the shops here in the Algarve? Well, no, probably not. Would I wear it out on the streets of Japan? Hell YEAH! I know I’d probably fit it perfectly.

The super girly pink blouse was from Bershka quite a few years ago, and the skort was given to me by Sophie at Sophie’s Golf Shop (yes it is a skort that you’d wear to play golf lol). I bought these floral tights from H&M ages ago and have never worn them because I’ve never found the right outfit for them (until now!). A few pairs of shoes later, I remembered my peachy brogues from Clarks. For a little added extra, I picked out my Tommy Hilfiger grey striped cardigan and threw it over my shoulders. I love how it *goes* with my skort but clashes with everything at the same time!

Accessories

No surprise here that every single piece of jewellery I’m wearing (apart from my engagement and wedding rings) were gifts from my mother-in-law lol. I figured with Harajuku style, the more the merrier, right? And to top it all off, I added a purple floral umbrella.

My hair & makeup

Well, I couldn’t do Harajuku style without at least trying pigtails–or pigbuns–or whatever you want to call them! If you look closely, you can see major white hairs white in my centre parting lol. And I love them! As for my makeup, I went all out for the pink. Pink eyeliner pink lips and pink nail varnish. A little OTT perhaps, but so is my entire cray cray outfit!!!

So, what do you think? Are you impressed with my Harajuku styled outfit? Or do you think I look ridiculous? Go on, be honest, but imagine me on the streets of Japan and not on the streets of the Algarve! But that’s enough about my crazy Japanese-themed outfit, let’s see how the other gals interpreted this fun theme…

Sheela, Sheela Goh

Coming Soon

Dee, Dee Sayz

Dee really does look like she’s stepped off a street in Tokyo! I l just love how cool she looks with the all black ensemble and the baseball cap. The addition of the pulled-up socks and the crossbody bag make this look scream Harajuku!

Outfit Details:

Shirt: Mango

Shots: Kosamui, Bangkok

Shoes: Delhi Market

Socks: Local Shop, Gurgaon

Bag: Miniso

Cap: Local Shop, Gurgaon

Shelbee, Shelbee on the Edge

OMG Shelbee is rocking the theme this month! I love everything about this outfit–the fishnets, the frilly socks and Mary-Janes are utter perfection with the black and white striped skirt and then the leopard print lace top! Just gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous!

Outfit Details:

Coat-Kohl’s

Corset-Adore Me

Top-Torrid

Belt-Cato

Skirt and Bag-Thrifted

Tights-Target

Socks-Amazon

Shoes, Jewelry, and Arm Warmers-super old

Daenel, Living Outside the Stacks

Coming Soon!

Our fabulous guest this month, Ada of Elegance and Mommyhood

Ada has taken complete inspiration from her Detroit backdrop which reminds her of cities like Tokyo. I can see the Japanese inspiration in that fabulous dress. Doesn’t she look beautiful? Love it!

Outfit details:

Silk Wrap Dress – Express.

Fedora Hat – Vintage from London UK.

Wedge Sandals – Nine West.

Location – Detroit, MI, USA.

And me…

WHERE I LINK UP

Fake Fabulous

Ageless Style

Not Dressed as Lamb

Shelbee on the Edge

Style Splash

Living on Cloud Nine

A Pocketful of Polka Dots

Nancy’s Fashion Style

Chic & Stylish (Mumma B Stylish)

Elegantly Dressed & Stylish

Top of the World

Elegance & Mommyhood

Confident Twosday

WOW on Wednesday

Glamadventure

Harajuku – the Fab40s have gone Japanese! It's the last Monday of the month, which can mean only one thing. It's time for the Fab40s!