#scarlet red lipstick that looks like paint: required

[softgrungeprophet]

video game mods are like, a dozen different lighting "fix" mods that nerf the purposeful tone and mood with "realistic lighting" (full-spectrum with no nuance) and usually at least as many sexy clothing mods for female characters, or mods that make a female character "less ugly" by giving her a full face of really bad looking makeup and removing freckles or other "imperfections"

(make whatever mods you want but i'm still going to judge you)

[muzanswaifu]

alri' alri' Shiggy getting his body worshiped, he is a beef cake <3

Shigaraki x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Smut, bodyworship kink, spit kink, lipstick, oral sex, lipjob, mentioned kidnapping, Stockholm syndrome?

-

Shigaraki relaxed against the warmth of the cushioned sofa, a well needed comfort after his long, tedious work day.

It was no walk in the park what he did, and the grueling work made his muscles ache and head spin. He just wanted to ease up for a bit, work out the tight knot that was growing in his back. Your delicate hands smoothing down his shoulders did the trick.

"Fuuuck, that it," he groaned. You spent a hot minute working the muscles in his tight shoulders, fingers digging into the intricate tissue to get blood flowing. His skin was calloused and tough, so it required a great deal of effort to get to the problematic layer. He hissed with the heady friction, prompting you to nuzzle into his neck and place a gentle kiss to his cheek. Your lipstick stuck like blood to his skin. Lipstick that was same deep shade as his violent eyes that looked down upon you like a predator. It was his favorite color on you, and you were grateful that it was the only crimson that ever painted your body in his dangerous presence.

You shivered and leaned forward to place another on the corner of his mouth. He captured your face in the moment, wrapping all but his little finger around your chin to bring you in for the whole thing. His lips against yours were dominant and all consuming, spreading throughout your entire body. His saliva pooled into your mouth, watering you like he was the source of all living. You consumed every drop of it. He pulled away unhurried, a thin strand of your connection still tied between your tongues until it fell down your chin. Your reached over to thumb away the scarlet paint on his lips, only spreading across his mouth like blood on concrete. The color coupled perfectly with his murderous eyes, hooded and sultry. His hand dripped off your face allowing you to resume your activities.

Your fingers traced along his toned physique as you rounded the seat, settling in front of him on your knees. Shigaraki could see you properly now, how your body was decorated in intricate red lace and thin straps that accentuated every curve. But the lingerie made you feel even more exposed than the nude man in front of you. It pushed your breasts up and out and made your hips flare sexual. The thin slit revealing the core of you caused your cheeks to flush in embarrassment. But he preferred you like this, pretty and delicious. You were his delicate dessert in a world full of shitty appetizers.

Your mouth pressed along his jawline and graced down and along his neck, leaving dark lip prints all over. The kisses were soft and intimate, nothing over a hint of tongue. He sighed in pleasure and sunk into the chair. Any other day and he might've rushed you along by bending you over his lap and having his way with you, but today, right now, he wanted to be tended to - slowly. He wanted to be worshipped.

Your paws kneaded his powerful thighs as your silky mouth grazed down his body, covering the scarred flesh in lipstick. You nestled your cheek against his peck when you came upon it and glanced up all cute and innocent. He chuckled amused, stroking your other cheek with a curled finger. He was soft like that sometimes, even went as far as to whisper in your ear about how good you were. His good girl. It set off butterflies in your stomach. You continued down his chest, locking eyes with the man. The little mewls that left your lips made his cock twitch against your belly, but you tried to ignore it. It would gets its turn in due time.

Your tongue peeked out to lick the contour of his toned abs, stopping only to plant ardent kisses along the muscle. You remember seeing him on the news so long ago, how frail he was then. You're not so sure when he had gotten so athletically built, you hadn't belonged to him back when he wasn't. One day he was thin and unacquaited, and the next he was rugged and telling you to spread your legs for him if you wanted your family to live. You supposed he was being merciful ... in his own twisted sort of way.

Tomura's fingers dug into the armrests, urging himself not to impale your throat on his length right then. There was something so satisfying about letting you take your time on him. He had trained you well and was quite pleased with the results. You obeyed kindly, knowing he wasn't to be tempted into anger too harshly. And he returned your efforts, treating you warmly like a lover, bringing you gifts, making compromises with you. If anything, you were more like his girlfriend than his prisoner, and he made sure you thanked him for it.

His pelvis, you nibbled on his hip, the smacking noises making you both keen. The kitten tongue and teasing kisses made his erection hard to ignore. But there you were, snacking on his flesh and making a mess of everything but his raging clue. You could tell he was getting antsy, so you stroked his hand sweetly, as if to tell him just a moment longer. Tomura bit his lip and sighed with his renewed patience.

Finally you seemed to grow closer, feathering kisses along the insides of his spread thighs. His cock stood tall, the hot veins pumping in anticipation. You've always thought his was rather gorgeous, despite him seeming against it. Heavy and thick, with such a blushing hue. He could fill every part of you with ease and swelled to a size that made you whine when he was pumping you full. The downside was that you couldn't deep throat him, but he told you it didn't matter. You couldn't prove it, but you were sure he had a soft spot for you.

"Oh fuck," he sighed as your mouth finally grazed over the throbbing flesh of his cock. Your breath was hot upon it, and the man shuddered. You smirked before pulling away. He glared daggers at you, mouth threatening to open and chastise you. You whimpered and cuddled his length between your shoulder and your cheek, so innocent but so dirty at the same time. Your lips puckered to ghost a kiss to the shaft, making him wince. He didn't allow you to edge him, so this was the closest you were gonna get.

Shigaraki growled but relaxed back into the seat.

You ran your face along his prick down to his scrotum, kissing one gently and taking it between your lips. You graced his sac with gentle sucks, releasing each with a wet pop before moving to the other. His balls were especially heavy today, so you knew it would be a while before he was properly emptied.

Tomura was practically howling from the attention, despite the pleasure being a tease compared to having his dick touched. But he he loved having you dote on his body like this, adoring him like the god he was. You should be grateful he took you in. Otherwise you would've been some nobody. Instead you got to kneel in front of the one that millions feared and taste his flesh of unwavering power. Maybe one day you could even officially stand beside him as his woman, but for now, you weren't ready for that. You still had more training to do.

"That's enough teasing pet." His tone was soft and honeyed with a hint of irritation. Your mind told you to take offense at such a degrading nickname, but you whined instead, rubbing your thighs together to appease the aching at the center of you. His hand caressed the side of your face, bringing your nibbling to a halt. You nudged into the warm touch and leaned down to reapply the bloody lipstick. He brushed your hair out of the way to help you out.

Maybe he did have a soft spot for you. Because you didn't act like he was some great abomination, although he very much was. You were intriguing and acted out just enough to keep his attention. It peeked his curiosity as to why you felt so secure to take those little leaps of faith with him, but he wanted to maintain that trust, that intimacy. But he knew you had a soft spot for him too, regardless of everything he's put your through and taken away. You retaliated against the other villains when they interacted with you, refused to meet their demands as if they were, well, villains. You never treated him with such blatant disrespect, you made him feel glorified. You liked him, liked the way he made you feel and the power he held over you. It made you feel safety in the unsafe. You battled with this epiphany at first, the villain encouraging you to let go and give in. Why fight such pleasures when he was buried between your thighs and making you melt into perfection?

A smooch deepened into the swollen head of his length, soft and slow. Your hand were gently coiled around his hips, and your breasts grazing his thighs. His cock throbbed harshly against the delicate embrace. You kissed it like you would his lips, leisurely. You moved to the other side, giving a velvety stroke of your tongue before smothering the flesh between your lips. When you pulled away, a syrupy string of precum and spit dripped between the two of you, keeping you together. Tomura couldn't help himself and bucked back into your heated mouth, pressing the tip into your lipstick and smearing it. A little gasp left your throat at the sudden movement, but you reacted quickly, moving to the side so you could pepper quick pecks along his shaft.

"If you keep moving, I'll bite you~" you sang.

He looked down intimidating at you, eyes seemingly to glow under that shading of his scruffy hair. "Do that and no food for a week."

You ghosted your canines down his sensitive skin, teeth nearly snagging. He tensed immediately. You knew by now he was all bark and no bite and could call his bluff in these situations. Besides, he seemed to like a bit of teeth every now and again.

Shigaraki scoffed and pinched the bridge of his nose before settling down.

"Fine, just ... hurry up."

You mewled your thanks and continued your adoration of his body, powerful and opposing. Everything about him was. You could taste the well-earned sweat that glazed his brawn and the metallic flavor of his scars. It turned you on how dangerous he was and how well you could please him. You hummed against the piece of cock captured between you lips and released it with a wet smack, as if you were munching on a piece of meat. You suppose you were.

After you'd sampled every inch of his member, you pulled back to admire you work, pleased with the countless prints of your lipstick scattered across his pulsing flesh. The visual left your insides feeling slick and empty. No one could worship his perfect body like you could.

You smiled to yourself and got up to escape. You had to act out a little if you wanted his undivided attention. He caught on immediately and snatched you back down to him, a harsh hand wrapped in your locks. Shigaraki yanked you up so your ear was level with his mouth. He leaned in to whisper through bared teeth.

"Just for that - you have to drink all of my cum tonight." He held you against his heated flesh, heart beating energetic in your chest. You'd rather he be mad thinking of you than content and forgetting. But he was wise to this little game of yours, acting like a mischievous little minx to hold his focus. You wanted him, wanted him to notice you. He did of course, but he couldn't let you know that because he liked having you desperate for it.

You stuck your tongue out against his cock, top lip resting on the opposite side. You let him rock your head up and down his dick like you were some toy. He didn't penetrate your throat, only used your lips and tongue to rub against his aching veins. The whimpers and moans that vibrated against him went straight to his balls. He moaned himself, pleased with the gifted hot sensations that he definitely deserved.

Saliva trickled down his shaft, strings of it following after your tongue with each glide. With one last act of rebellion, or was it obedience, you groped his balls, rolling the sac in you hand carefully. You felt him throb and knew he was close.

After a few more moments he pushed you down, shoving his tip between your lips and emptying his load. You swallowed quickly, savoring every gulp lest you be punished. But he pulled you off to shoot the last of it across your lips. White on red. Red on white. Sin on innocence. Innocence on sin. His signature colors.

You panted against his thigh, continuing to massage his aching balls. You knew he was far from done for the night based on the swelling, as if his stiffened cock wasn't obvious enough. His grip loosed on you scalp and brushed you away. He motioned toward the bed across the room for you to take your place on it.

"Show me your pussy. After I've had my fill of that, your gonna lie there - obediently - and let me ravage you."

You were already ready with hands wrapped around the backs of your knees and pulled up to your chest. The missing center of the lingerie left you completely exposed, cunt on full display and dripping onto the sheets. He chuckled at such pathetic compliance.

"And then you're gonna swallow. Every. Last. Drop."

You hated how the thought made you salivate.

[septembersghost]

I was a person who thought Maroon was about Harry on first listen and now feels dumb because the Jake of it all could not be more obvious lol

you're not dumb! first of all, the whole album was a lot to take in at first blush, and secondly she relies on some repeated themes in very different senses, so it requires some time and depth to unpack.

let's take dancing. our girl loves dancing as a theme ("and you know i wanna ask you to dance right there, in the middle of the parking lot!" "with you i'd dance, in a storm, in my best dress, fearless." "i'm wonderstruck, dancin' 'round all alone."), and in each context, it's different.

for example, we get dancing with joe j: "i'm not much for dancing, but for you i did." "tonight i'm gonna dance for all that we've been through, but i don't wanna dance if i'm not dancing with you." with him it's part of his charisma and even swagger ("the life of the party, you're showin' off again"), to where we also get, "sashay your way to your seat, it's the best seat in the best room."

we get dancing with jake, "we're dancing 'round the kitchen in the refrigerator light," and there it's a little about that love being hidden away, the nostalgia she's remembering before the crash and the heartbreak.

we get dancing with harry, "you moved the furniture so we could dance, baby like we had a chance," and it's the desperation for their love to not be splashed everywhere, the anxiety of everything swirling around them.

we get dancing WITHOUT calvin, both the entire theme of bejeweled and, "i was dancing around, dancing around it."

we get dancing with joe in dwoht and cowboy like me and glitch, dancing like it was the first time, dancing through an avalanche, swaying as the room burned down, dancing is a dangerous game, "i thought we had no chance, and that's romance, let's dance," and it's all her fear and worry of losing him, of being too much, of ruining things, of romance not lasting, and what happens is (in my interpretation), when the music stops and they're no longer dancing, he's still there. in the silences, in the stillness, painting maps on the ceiling, reaching out for her hand, asking for sweet nothing. the friction and the movement of the dancing can go quiet, and he's the constant. he doesn't drop her.

SO, this brings me to maroon.

"dancing with no shoes" is connected to dancing around in the refrigerator light to me, where they'd be barefoot in the kitchen (a place where, with joe, she found sacred new beginnings), and also, i think, it's a little bit of, "he didn't like it when i wore high heels."

then we get the reference to new york, which also recurs repeatedly with different people (holy ground/joe j: "first glance feeling on new york time;" atw10/jake: "your brooklyn broke my skin and bones;" cbbh/harry: "new york, be here, but you're in london...;" false god/joe: "i'm new york city" "you're the west village;" daylight/joe: "back and forth from new york, sneakin' in your bed;" hoax/imho regarding various heartbreaks and losses: "you know i left a part of me back in new york").

in maroon, it's connected to the dancing: "and i chose you, the one i was dancing with in new york, no shoes, looked up at the sky...and it was maroon," very much conjures the skyline at sunset, and the autumnal feel, and "getting lost upstate."

then there's the wine lyric: "the burgundy on my t-shirt when you splashed your wine into me," and its closest sister being, "you're still all over me like a wine-stained dress i can't wear anymore." the key here is context about clean - a lot of people think clean references harry, but i personally think it's about jake and her recovery from that situation (plus, she was nowhere CLOSE to clean from harry yet at that point aklsdkljfdg she wrote style after clean).

taylor's scarlet lips are very "red lip classic," but she was already wearing her signature red lips when she was with jake (the stain on his own lips that she called home is from her lipstick imo, although i've seen people say it could also be from the wine).

and then, of course, there's the biggest clue, because she is unhinged (affectionate), and it's that she was clearly and prominently wearing the red ring when she announced maroon's title, and the entire song is just varying shades and contours and depths of "red." loving him wasn't only burning red, it was splashes of burgundy wine, it was rosé, it was the bruising purplish red (in fact, the red of loving him mixed with the blue of losing him), the blood rushing to her cheeks, the rust between telephones (phone calls were a significant aspect of their relationship and are mentioned across red as an album), the carnations mistaken for roses (which is SUCH a metaphor, and i say this as someone who actually loves carnations haha, but it's like - i thought this was rare and valuable, when it was cheap to you). it was so red it was maroon. (red is track 2, maroon is track 2).

moreover, the legacy he left isn't only his memory hanging over her, it's also a literal legacy. it's red being the masterpiece it is and finally being recognized as such. it's all too well being considered the gem of her catalog, being so celebrated and beloved that it was TRANSFORMED for her. it's almost marveling that this is what all that pain became - a real fucking legacy.

all that said, mr. styles intentionally borrowed imagery from taylor when he wrote about her. "she's lying in bed with my t-shirt on, just thinking how i went about it wrong. this isn't the stain of a red wine, i'm bleeding love." "same lips red, same eyes blue." "the fridge light washes this room white." "that nice dress in my wildest dreams, lipstick stains you left still on my sheets." i could go on lol. so making the connection wasn't missing what she was saying, it only requires sorting out the varying details.

there's a difference in the sonic approach too - the longing and sad uneasiness in maroon versus the anxiety and even aggravation in question...? i think she wore the red ring for maroon and used the very obvious OOTW sample in question...? to make it certain we knew which stories she was approaching.

question...? is very much a conversation, whereas maroon is a recollection, and i think that's important too. she's not talking directly to jake, she's remembering. (there's also the fact that the cadence of question...? is not dissimilar from keep driving.) harry said, of both of their songs, "it's the most amazing unspoken dialogue ever." i honestly think question...? is taylor continuing it.

[silkenstarlight]

wild cherry sweet

Summary: Bucky and Reader have to dress up for a mission. Bucky likes Reader’s look, maybe a little bit too much.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x agent!reader

Warning/s: smut (18+ only, minors dni); dirty talk, oral (male receiving)

Word count: 1.9k

Find part two here

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Author’s note: i have really been wanting to buy some red lipstick recently so this may or may not have been inspired by that oops

Do not repost! Likes and reblogs are welcome and encouraged :))

“You are breathtaking.”

You turned away from the bathroom mirror, leaning against the counter and meeting Bucky’s gaze with your own. His eyes raked up and down your body, clad in a slinky, silken dress that shone bright beneath the fluorescence and clung to your every curve like liquid. You smirked at his gawking eyes and raised brows, carefully wiping the excess lipstick that bled from the corner of your mouth with your pointer finger. That motion drew his attention upward, his eyes settling on the plump set of your mouth, painted a sultry, deep shade of scarlet.

He huffed a breath and shook his head, trying to form the right words to compliment you, but they seemed to instantly evaporate from his tongue the moment he opened his mouth. Instead, he walked towards you, taking your hands in his and stroking his thumbs against your soft skin, laughing at himself as he gaped like a fish out of water in response to your beauty.

“Well, you don’t look too bad yourself.” You jutted your chin slightly at his suit, a neatly-pressed, all-black ensemble that only seemed to further enhance the icy blue shade of his eyes. 

“Thank you,” he said, voice low and hoarse. He leaned closer, pressing his lips to your ear. “Lipstick’s a good look on you.”

You shuddered, pressing your body closer to his warmth and rocking your hips into his. When he started kissing that sweet spot at the juncture between your jaw and your ear, you couldn’t help but let a breathy moan escape your lips.

This had been your plan all along, of course. You didn’t wear a full face of makeup often, usually foregoing the glamorous, airbrushed look for the bare-skinned practicality of moisturizer and sunscreen. Your job as an agent required you to be on the ball, willing to give up the remainder of your day for the sake of a mission, oftentimes on just a moment’s notice. You couldn’t afford the time and effort of beautification with an occupation that required so much blood, sweat, and tears on the daily. But, tonight was different. Tonight, you and Bucky were preparing for a different kind of mission than either of you were used to.

The GRC was hosting an exclusive gala, invitations to which were only granted to the wealthiest elites in the country. Politicians and A-listers would surely be in attendance, secretly and silently admitting their support of the GRC’s eviction of post-Blip refugees. Such an event was bound to attract some hostility, whether through hush-hush internal transactions between its elite, yet seedy, attendees, or from some outside menace, like the lurking risk of a re-established force of flag smashers. You and Bucky both decided that it would be prudent to attend, just in case you were dealing with fraud or a full-blown terror threat. You both wanted to be ready, to be able to face whatever troubles may arise, from the inside. So, you had to look the part.

You had chosen the dress with the event’s black-tie dress code in mind, of course, but the lipstick was all for him. You had been picking up the bare necessities at the mall, a tube of concealer and a new type of mascara, when the red-gradient display of lipsticks caught your eye. Every shade, ranging from coral to plum, offered a different mask, a slight variant on the character you would be playing the night of the gala. Would you be the coquettish twenty-something, all bright, glossy, and new? Or, would you be the mysterious seductress, daubed in smokey shades of maroon?

After a few moments of careful deliberation, one shade in particular had caught your eye, and your lips twitched into a small grin. You plucked the tube from the shelf. Velvet ribbon red, its label read. A deep, sultry shade, reminiscent of the garnet, wine-soaked tones that were so popular in the ‘40’s. The natural shade to choose, of course, for Bucky Barnes’s companion.

Now, you felt his hands release yours, grasping the fabric at your hips with greedy hands. He continued kissing your neck in a blatant, hungry display of need, lips bowed in a slight, mocking smile when he heard the soft moans that his affection pulled from you. You gripped the edge of the counter tightly with one hand, desperate for purchase, and dragged your other hand up his abdomen, settling your fingers lightly on his chest.

He drew his teeth against your neck and sucked lightly, and you were sure that he was trying to leave a mark, a flagrant signifier to the attendees of the gala you were already late to that you belonged to him, and him only. When he pulled away, examining the petechiae he had branded on your skin, you brought both hands in front of you, tracing them down his front in a flirtatious caress and settling on the buckle of his belt. You leaned forward, pressing your forehead to his, taking in his blown pupils as you adeptly released his buckle and unzipped his pants. In a sudden gesture of dominance, you pushed him back to the opposite wall, directing him by the hips. When his back hit the wall, he let out a soft, purring laugh, pleased by your control. He pecked you on the lips, a quick and chaste gesture that contrasted with the unexpectedly sensuous direction the evening was heading into, and you slowly lowered to your knees, maintaining eye contact with him the whole time, pulling his pants down slightly to expose his underwear.

You braced your hands against his quads, running your fingertips up and down his legs in a slow, teasing motion that made his jaw clench. He balled his fists at his sides, not ready to usurp control from you just yet. You simpered, proud of the fact that you had this man coming undone in the palm of your hand, without having even touched his cock yet.

Soon, though, you brought your mouth close enough to his lower half that he could feel the heat of your breath through the thin fabric layer of his underwear. His eyes fluttered closed in anticipation, hips rocking towards your face, and he combed his fingers loosely through your hair, tugging lightly to grant you permission to keep going. It was sweet, the way he was simultaneously so respectful of your boundaries, but so eager to feel your mouth on him. Neither of you cared that it would ruin your makeup, that after this, you would be late for the gala. You both craved a distraction from the nerves that accompanied a mission like this.

You dragged your fingernails along the waistband of his underwear, leaving light scratching marks across his lower abdomen. He moaned softly, a sound that you hoped to sear in your memory forever. And then, you reached inside, pulling his already-erect cock from the tented, taught fabric. The tip glowed an angry red, already leaking pre-cum.

You looked up at him through your lashes and flattened your tongue against his base, dragging it all the way up to his tip. He gripped your hair tighter, the delicious pull of your hair taught in his fist driving you to swirl your tongue around his tip and take him slowly in your mouth.

“Goddamnit,” he muttered as you slowly began to bob your head up and down his length. “Gonna ruin that pretty makeup of yours.”

You pulled back to respond, lips separating from his cock with a satisfying, wet pop! “‘S’alright,” you slurred, palming him roughly with your hand, fingernails dragging against sensitive skin to offer the perfect balance between pleasure and pain. He bucked into your grasp, breath stilling in his throat, and you smiled, sucking the tip of his cock back into your mouth.

You worked him slowly into your mouth, until he hit the back of your throat and only a couple of inches remained outside of your mouth. He noticed this, eagerly watching your progress, and took control, holding your head against him, applying a gentle pressure until you slid down the rest of his length. When your lips pressed against his base, you gagged slightly, inhaling deeply through your nose. You maintained eye contact the whole time, even as your eyes pooled with tears from the strain of looking up.

“What a good fucking girl,” he groaned, rolling his hips against your mouth and smearing your lipstick on his skin in a vulgar imprint of wet, lusty red. You felt a wet, needy warmth accumulating in your core at his acknowledgement, but you kept your hands firmly rooted at his hips, so desperate to please him. “What would people say if they knew you were such a slut for me?” His voice was gruff but lilting and playful, as if he knew that this turned you on as much as it did him.

Finally, he released the pressure, pulling back to let you breathe. After a few seconds, though, you increased your pace, guiding one hand down to his balls and gently massaging them. He closed his eyes again, lost in the tantalizing sensations of your tongue, but he held back, refusing to let the slow and steady pistoning of his hips devolve into the frenzied motion he so desperately desired to adopt in order to finish. Your cheeks hollowed against him, sucking hard, granting him permission to let go.

He understood. Short, shallow movements quickly turned into deeper thrusts, punctuated by quiet moans that rose in pitch as he came closer and closer to coming undone.

“Gonna paint you with my come. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You couldn’t respond verbally, could only stare up at him as his cock breached the entrance to your throat in faltering, uneven motions. That was the final straw. His grip on your hair tightened and he held your head down flush against him, cock pulsing, as his orgasm ripped through him. One final, unabashed and guttural groan escaped his lips as he succumbed to his ecstasy and painted the back of your throat with ropes of come. You mirrored his sound, moaning around him with an enticing vibration.

He held his length inside your mouth for a few seconds, still holding your head against him, not ready to let you retreat just yet. But as his cock grew sensitive, he pulled back with a quiet, overstimulated moan. Your mouth felt empty without him, lipstick smears and strings of spit painting your face in a satisfied, sexed-out portrait of lust. He beamed with pride, hooking his hands under your elbows and pulling you up to your feet before pressing his lips firmly against yours in a gesture of gratitude.

You broke the kiss, cradling his face in your hand. Laughter bubbled in your throat, and, seeing your light-hearted demeanor, he began to chuckle. You stood like that for a minute, laughing in each others’ arms, momentarily uncaring about upcoming missions or smeared makeup.

He took a deep, yet shaky, exhale, and smirked. “Well, we’d better get you cleaned up. Those mascara tracks are pretty telling, and we’re already late.”

You shrugged. “Worth it.”

He brought his hand up to your face, cradling your cheek and wiping the messy smudge of lipstick from the corner of your mouth.

“Oh, absolutely.”

Part two

[thenightgodess-feyrearcheron]

NYX'S BIRTHDAY ❤❤❤ It has been one year since Nyx was born. One year since the she had been given the greatest gift of her life. Today Rhys and Feyre had planned to take Nyx out for the day and bring him home at night for his birthday celebration. Although he might never remember, their family had planned a grand birthday celebration at the River house. Walking across the Rainbow with Rhys and Nyx in his arms felt like a dream. The first few months after his birth were tiring. Feyre and Rhys spent most of their time with Nyx. After having one more death experience, not just to their lives but the stillborn baby that Nyx bad been scared them to their deaths. Feyre and Rhys couldn't let go of him. It all felt like a dream and one day she would wake up and feel that her son wasn't living or Rhys was dead. These thoughts always plagued her. She tried her best to remind herself that this was real, this beautiful gift will be there with her for as long as she lived. Nyx had been a calm boy. Oh he made life a living hell when he was hungry or when his nappies weren't changed soon. Apart from that he was was very calm and giggly mess when Rhys or Cassian made all sorts of funny faces. He was an observing child. Everything new thing or shiny objects caught his interest. Amren had a smirk on her face all the time when he was all caught up in trying to grab her ruby necklace. Rhys was always patient with him. Considering he has had a little sister of his own, she shouldn't have been surprised he was good with babies. He took care of nyx most of the time knowing Feyre has never lived with a baby before. He held him at night, sang lullabies to him (which came as a surprise to her  as she had never heard him sing), changed him time to time, dressed him 3 times a day (using the heaps of clothes that mor had bought for Nyx), soothed him with his stars(a thing that made Nyx stop crying), all in all, he was completely wrapped around Nyx's little finger. Nyx absolutely adored the animals Feyre made with water, all the bubbles in the bath courtesy of summer court magic, the wind she sent towards him to sooth him. She loved everything about him; his bulk of black hair, chubby cheeks (thanks to the amount of feeding he required until 8 months), his lovely white skin, his beautiful wings and all of him. She had cried when he had started crawling at 7 months and tried standing when he just a month back. He was loved by everyone. Mor bought him so many clothes (some of which she had made herself when she was young for Rhysand's child), toys, blankets with full of stars (without which he would throw a crying fit, Elain baby sat him often when Rhys and Nyx were tired, she made some nice baby dishes for him now that he could be given some food, Nesta was still weary around us but she loved Nyx and dotted on him, Azriels shadows intrigued him completely and Cassian always made him laugh by making funny faces, Amren usually didn't hold him but the small number of times she had seen her carrying the baby she had a small smile on her face, not that any of them had commented on that.

Walking in the artist quarter of Velaris, she could see her son seeing everything from where he was held in Rhys' arms. All the people were stopping by and congratulating them on Nyx's birthday. After Nyx's birth her mother instinct were very high. She would usually keep Nyx tucked under a blanket but today the people deserved to see their heir. Although she had asked Rhys to put a glamour on Nyx so that people would remember completely how he looked. She had been anxious all the time they were out. Rhys had assured her and placed a glamour on nyx so that people would remember him but couldn't be able to tell the exact details of his looks.

They finally reached the place where music was being played. It was such a happy music. Full of life. Nyx was completely drawn by it so they stood in front of the musician. The male bowed his head to us in greeting and smiled as he saw Nyx. He was completely drawn by the music. He wiggles in Rhys' arms and started jumping and clapping his hands. Rhys let out a joyous laugh and set him in front of the musician. Nyx now had started wriggling his hips and clapping his hands. He looked so happy and so live that she had forgotten all her worries and started smiling too.

'Looks like our son is a music lover' she said to Rhys who was completely awed and elated.

He let out a chuckle and said as he kept a hand on Nyx's back 'Indeed, Nesta will be thrilled '

Indeed she will be.

They let Nyx enjoy sometime and walked to the Painters part. Nyx was used to the smell of paint but here it was full blown he had started sneezing making Rhys to transform into his mother when mode. Feyre let out a small laugh and told him that it was time to leave the Rainbow.

They walked across the Sidra as the sun was setting, the sparkling water looked like diamonds, and the sky had turned into a full of colours of pink,purple, orange, red and blues.

Rhys windowed them to the River house after some time, Nyx far too used to the feeling.

She changed him into his best clothes, which unsurprisingly Rhys had chosen black with grey embroidery and black pants and his glossy black shoes. He truly looked like he was the heir of Night court. She place nyx on their bed as she went to the bathroom to get ready. She had opted for a plain blue gown, which fit her perfectly. It was simple and sleeveless with halter neckline and backless. She curled her hair in simple waves and kept it down, swiped a layer of kohl on her waterline and her lips were coated in scarlet red lipstick. When she was done, she found Rhys dressed too. He was twinning with Nyx. As she came out she saw him shamelessly trailing his eyes from top to bottom on the work she had done. She smirked at reached for him.

'You look ravishing Feyre darling'  he purred

Her cheeks flushed a little as she said 'so do you're with a wink.

He chuckled and held Nyx in his one arm and held another for me. Together we went downstairs where everyone was gathered. As soon as we came downstairs a chorus of "happy birthday" sounded. Rhys smiled and Nyx, who apparently had no idea they were their to celebrate his birthday just giggle at the attention he was getting. He was soon passed into Mor's hand who gave him a smacking kiss and passed him to Cassian's arms who grabbed him and started tickling him and threw him in the air and grabbed him as soon as he came down, completely ignoring Feyre's glare and saying "Don't worry, I won't drop him". Rhys was watching everyone, a smile played on his lips. Cassian passed Nyx to Nesta and Elain who was sitting together on the couch, both placed a kiss on top of his head as Azriel kissed his cheek and held him in his arms. They all settled after sometime, now that all of them had held Nyx and he was back in Feyre's lap.

The dinning room was decorated in full of balloons, small fae lights hanging on the ceiling, ribbons of purple and grey flying on the walls, a large round cake in the middle of the table which was surrounded by all sorts of food. It looked absolutely stunning. Everyone gathered around the table as Feyre and Rhys with Nyx came towards the large cake. Feyre place a small cake knife in Nyx's hand and covered it with her own and Rhys' and they together cut the cake as everyone sang a birthday song. The moment was so precious and joyous that feyre had tears in her eyes. Rhys ofcourse notice and sent a soothing and loving caress across the bond.

Soon everyone dug in the food which Rhys had requested Sevenda to send to the house.

And then the time came for presents.

Cassian had given him a charmed stone that flown in the night, bright enough to see in the dark without harming the eyes, Nesta had given a musical box that played sof music and lullabies, Elain had given a brass ankle that would keep him calm, Mor had presented him with an orb of night sky, Amren had given him brooch that was designed as his wings, Azriel had gotten him a pack of children's story books, Rhys had bought a projector that would make the entire ceiling of his room look like night sky and she had given him a collection of his paintings since he was born.

They all talked, laughed, banged and laughed together that night.

As the night dragged on, Feyre carried Nyx to his room, changed him into his night clothes .

She placed him in his crib with a kiss on his forehead as she whispered 'Goodnight my little star' and left his room

[pathofcomets]

let me uncover the weight of your bones

fandom: wandavision

pairing: wanda/vision

summary: It’s an illusions show, someone in the public explains, before someone else shushes them. The lights die out, in the order they appeared. For five seconds, no one breathes, no one blinks, just waiting for something else to happen. Wanda’s skin crackles with the force of magic in the air.Then the magician appears, slowly: they can first see just his white gloves, the handkerchief tucked in his front pocket, the cut of his black suit. Finally, slowly, the last to appear, is his smile: warm and kind, which makes the children in the audience let out a sound of joy, again. His eyes are, determinedly, focused on Wanda’s. (OR The Night Circus AU that no one asked for but I consider myself very galaxy brain for having written it)

The circus arrives without warning.

No announcements precede it, no paper notices on downtown posts and billboards, no mentions or advertisements in local newspapers. It is simply there, when yesterday it was not.

***

1901, Novi Grad   

Wanda Maximoff, gathering her tarot cards for the day, sighs and prepares herself a cup of tea. It’s still early in the evening, early enough that the circus is still stilled, though the town is frantic with its arrival. When Le cirque de rêves is here, all her usual business stills: familiar magic dropped for those few days of dream-like experiences. Wanda can feel what the circus actually is; it thrums at her veins, it blinds her with red at the edge of her vision. Magic, and magic so powerful, so dense, so true that it seems fake for those who have not eyes to see or minds to understand.

It’s scary, Pietro says, and he goes away for however long the circus is around, almost like his powers cannot coexist at the same time as someone else’s, when that someone else is not the person he’s shared a breath with ever since before he was born. Wanda pulls her older deck, the one her mother received on her behalf on their first birthday, a premonition in itself, and starts shuffling it in-between her hands, looking out the window at the descending sun.

One card drops in her lap: The Tower.

She grabs her red scarf and steps out. It rained the night before, and some of the chill remains in the air, though the sky is clear: the circus will open tonight. The number of visitors for the first night is usually high, and wherever she looks around her, Wanda sees just filled cafes: groups of friends waiting for the last hour to drip by, children dragging parents to hurry along, hats forgotten in adult hands.

Even from this far, she can almost taste the cider on her tongue, a memory so vivid that she knows it’s not just a memory. No, it’s magic at work. And where it’s scaring her brother, because this is unknown, unlike whatever they have going on, it calls to Wanda. She’s one of the fans of this place: she receives letters following the movements of the circus across the globe, and she counts down the days for its arrival. She wears the red that gives her away, she nods her head at others who wear this sign of recognition. Besides that touch against her neck and the red lipstick around her mouth, she’s dressed entirely in black. Blending in is more her purpose, rather than standing out.

At least that is not something new.

The girl at the ticketing booth just waves her in; Wanda recognizes her both from an earlier reading she’s done today, and the last time the circus has been around, and she smiles with gratitude, before stepping inside her favourite place on earth.

She likes that the circus moves; that to be a lover of the circus, the circus has to pick you, has to enter your space, rather than the other way around. She cannot say what is so special about Novi Grad, to have it be one of the places that this magical circus returns to, over and over again, but Wanda is suddenly glad to call it her home. Because for a few days, now, it is a home that she shares with all of this.

She takes in a deep breath of air: the smell of popcorn, the light burnt wooden edge from the bonfire, hints of sweetness that she cannot place. She grabs a warm drink for herself, feeling the ground vibrating under her, magic at work at the seams keeping together this entire place. She can only imagine the amount of power it requires to just keep it standing, let alone allow people move from one side to the other, allow outsiders trip and stain and awe at it all.

It was impossible for her not to fall in love with this place. Those five years ago when it first filled the field at the edge of the city, it also filled her mind and heart with the possibility of her powers. She grabs at a twig from one of the bushes painted white: between her fingers, a rose blooms a deep, blood-like red. She waits in front of the living statue for a long time, arm extended towards her, until finally, slowly, each digit opens up and closes around her offering.

At the feet of the performer, in a cursive that almost seems to seep through the material of her podium, In Memoriam. There are no names attached to the memory, so Wanda allows herself to place the offering for all of her losses, besides those of the circus’, which she knows nothing about.

On the first night at the circus, she always does this. She thinks of her parents, who never got to see either their children’s powers, or to understand the magic at work here. And then she visits her favourite tents.

She takes off the cap of a scarlet bottle, and in it, she finds stored the smell of Pietro’s hair in the summer, freshly cut grass and sweat and something of her father’s cologne, discontinued several years ago. She inhales, a memory from her childhood, and she wishes she could hide it inside her pocket, have it forever. She knows she could, too, probably without being found out, but somehow it doesn’t feel right to claim as hers something out of this place that belongs to so many others.

She places it, carefully, back on the table. She gets lost in the tent of mirrors, mistaking the corner of a red scarf in a mirror as her own, when it belongs to another rêveur. The laugh echoes inside, no outside sound gets in. It takes her a while to find the flap to get out again, and by a bright white light, checking the watch at her wrist, she realizes more than half of the night has already passed.

Time flows differently here. Or rather, time feels different: too full, at any point just a wrong turn away from a discovery that would make it stop altogether.

Wanda takes a left on a path that she knows did not exist here the last time she’s been on circus grounds, and she finds a new tent. Additions are rare, she reads about them in newspapers, deciphering articles painfully slow, with dictionaries strewn across her lap, when she cannot find descriptions in a language that she speaks fluently. Tying together the opening to the tent is a card, on which someone wrote, in beautiful cursive, a performance schedule.

She spends a bit staring at it, memorizing it, for now it’s too late to make it to even the latest performance, and then she prepares to go home.

 *** 

The next day, she gets ready even earlier than usual. Sprawled on her table, the tarot cards await her pick. The Tower, again, meets her glare, the crumbling walls a sign of something she cannot recognize. Just yet, she knows, but it’s frustrating how much the anticipation tickles at her senses.

She retraces her steps the night before. She’s the first person who discovers the new tent for the night, and she spends a while walking between the chairs, trying to decide which one would be the perfect seat, when she doesn’t even know what the performance she’s about to see is about. The tent is (still) nameless.

Wanda is always courageous by force, strongest when she fears. So she finally sits down in the front row, the chair right in the middle. Inside, it is warm enough that she tugs at her scarf, though she places it across her lap: the circus loves its favourites just as much as the rêveurs love each and every bit of this place.

One by one, the seats get occupied: an excited family to her right, a couple at her left, an elderly woman at her back. Wanda slumps in her chair more, and a kind hand pats her shoulder in thanks, the nail polish a bright red. Wanda smiles.

At that moment exactly, the tent goes dark. Now that she thinks about it, she cannot recall having seen any lanterns or candles inside this place, and the flaps stayed closed unless someone entered or exited the tent. It is almost like nothing but will kept it alight. She has no doubt that’s probably exactly what happened.

One by one, white sparks go off. A childish squeal at the first burst of light, which in the air transforms into flowers and birds, running around the dark sky of the tent. Despite the light of them, Wanda cannot make out the sewing of the tent, or the poles keeping it together, no matter how high the light moves. It’s like they are under the open sky – she has to force herself to keep her hands properly placed in her lap, before she actually tests the reality in front of her.

It’s an illusions show, someone in the public explains, before someone else shushes them. The lights die out, in the order they appeared. For five seconds, no one breathes, no one blinks, just waiting for something else to happen. Wanda’s skin crackles with the force of magic in the air.

Then the magician appears, slowly: they can first see just his white gloves, the handkerchief tucked in his front pocket, the cut of his black suit. Finally, slowly, the last to appear, is his smile: warm and kind, which makes the children in the audience let out a sound of joy, again. His eyes are, determinedly, focused on Wanda’s.

And only then, the show truly begins. The best magic shows are those that are magic, but convince the audience that are just smart tricks. The man in front of them passes through objects, allows a flutter of white doves fly right through his body. He picks up items that should not have budged against the strength of ten men. He flies.

Wanda counts each trick, attributes it a name, tries to find a pattern. When the show ends, she doesn’t budge from her seat, and the room slowly fills with a new round of patrons, for a second time that night. She sits through each performance; much later into the night, the tent flap closes behind the last other person inside, with a finality she knows means it’s over.

Anxious, she plays with her scarf, counting in her head. She gets to 100, exactly.

“Hello,” a voice says from behind her, but Wanda doesn’t startle, doesn’t even turn around.

The man chuckles, pleased and she cannot even guess why. His voice suits him, even more so when he steps around her chair, keeping a proper distance from her, a smile at his lips. It’s different from his expression while he performs: this time softer, the lines more defined around his mouth and eyes, and Wanda cannot look away from him. He’s doing the same, measuring her with his gaze, figuring her out.

“Did you enjoy the tricks?” he asks.

“They’re not tricks,” she says, and her tone leaves him no space to contest her words.

However, he doesn’t look angry. If surprised, as well, he doesn’t show it. She’s suddenly embarrassed by her words, by her fervent devotion to his shows, by what she can, now, awkwardness and disappointment flushing cold through her bones, only call a mistake.

“Look again,” is all he answers her.

Wanda sits up, sudden enough that her scarf drops to her chair, forgotten behind in her haste to get away. The illusionist picks it up, carefully placing it on the back of the chair, saving a seat that he’s not sure will be occupied the next evening.

And he turns and leaves as well, the night late, their patrons only the most devoted. He remembers her scarf, her red hair as well – and he smiles, picking a bag of chocolate mice for Morgan.

 ***

The next couple of days, the chair remains empty throughout all of his performances, just the red scarf, a flag of defeat. Tony tells them their next destination, and while no patron would be able to tell by the usual bustling of the circus, this is the last night in Novi Grad.  When the illusionist finally reveals himself to the public, a face that he’s been searching for all along is there welcoming him.

The papers will write a dashing review of his performance that evening, in French, German and Japanese. The man to whom the tent belongs to will be known as Illusion, and his playground, simply, the Illusionist’s tent.

Wanda learns he goes by Vision, for those in the circus.

Vision does not say goodbye.

The circus never needs it.

*** 

"Rêveurs" are members of the unofficial fan club for The Night Circus. They are extremely devoted to all aspects of the circus. Rêveurs distinguish themselves from everyone else due to their uniform: all black or white clothing, with a single red accent (such as a scarf).

 *** 

1905, Novi Grad

Wanda gathers her tarot cards, the last of her clients gone for the day. Pietro, who never bothers her whenever she’s working, appears at her side, startling her when she turns around to grab something to, finally, eat. She had an elder woman as a client who told her, once, that people prefer their fortune tellers to look a bit sickly, so she amps herself up on caffeine only, forcing the shaking of her hands, and leaves her first meal to late in the afternoon.

Her brother waves a stack of letters and envelopes in the air, going through each of them, reading her name in voices that he thinks fit the handwriting font. One of the envelopes is6 black. From above the papers, Pietro raises an eyebrow at her.

Wanda lunges herself across the space separating them, grabbing everything from his hands.

“None of yours, correct?” she asks, and at his nod, she disappears in her room.

Pietro cooks her meal for her, and when he knocks at her door, she’s already wearing ink stains, writing replies. He recognizes which one she’s opened first, because the paper inside the black envelope is equally as dark, the ink rather a bone-like white. Only the signature is red, but from where he stands, he cannot make it out, without obviously making it clear to Wanda that he’s trying to read her correspondence. He catches a looped S, the cut of a V.

“Wanda?”

“Hm?”

“You know what you’re doing?”

At this, she raises her gaze to her twin, the man she’s keeping out of the loop because she does not want to hurt him. She’s reading at his frown, how deep his worry actually is. And with just one word, she has the power to silence him forever on this topic, because he trusts her enough to make her own choices, even if he does not necessarily agree.

“Yes.”

Vision calls her his favourite audience, because he doesn’t have to convince her of anything: neither that the show is real, neither that he is faking it all.

Wanda draws her own conclusions. Wanda has her own convictions.

 *** 

1908, Budapest

“Only you could have managed to give anxiety to a robot,” Pepper jokes, patting Vision’s shoulder as she passes him by.

Tony chuckles, from where he’s matching dotted stockings to a black, puffy skirt. They’re waiting, all in Morgan’s pink room, for her to try out her circus outfits: she wants to blend in with the special patrons, and so her outfit shall be the typical monochrome, with the touch of red. She has a heart shaped purse put aside especially for it, a birthday present from Peter, the trapeze. Vision is the only one that, all the time, has been pacing around, like a caged lion, waiting for the hours to pass, to opening night.

“He is technically not a robot,” Tony mumbles, and Morgan erupts from her closet, all black ribbons and white frills.

She twirls straight into Vision’s arms, who catches her with ease, picking her up over his shoulders.

“He’s the Illusionist,” she says, prolonging her vowels, a bit of awe in her voice.

Well, now he knows which is Morgan’s favourite tent.

“Does this have anything to do with your mysterious letters?” Pepper asks, innocent enough that if both men want to ignore her question, they can choose to.

“Are they that mysterious if we all know about them?” Tony snorts.

Vision’s ears turn red under their teasing. While Tony helps Morgan out of a jacket with too many buttons, Pepper softly takes him to the side.

“Is she that important, that you can’t even relax before your own performance?”

“No,” Vision pauses, taking in the chuckle of a father, the warmth of this room so filled with love. “Not yet.”

 ***

1913, New York

“All I’m saying is, it’s just a bit creepy when you do…” Wanda waves her hands in the air, pointing at the wall of a tent that has been separating her from an alley, their decided meeting point for the night, through which Vision just walked through “that.”

He fumbles with his words, something that she’s beginning to find extremely cute.

“You were here, so I just assumed-”

“Well,” she laughs, pointing her popcorn bag at him, inviting him to grab some. “I’d normally hear people approaching and know they’re coming. You’re just… there.”

“Magic,” Vision says, a pleased twinkle in his eyes.

Wanda’s nose scrunches in delight. He offers her his arm, and she leans against his body gracefully. She is not one of his daily audience members anymore, his shows now learnt by heart: she can tell which part comes next by the way his magic shifts around her, so familiar she is to the push and pull of it. Instead, she explores the circus, and once his performances are over, they meet to do so together.

It’s the third time she’s followed the circus in another parts of the world. The others have still been in Europe, close enough to her hometown that her brother saw nothing wrong with allowing her to travel. This time around, she’s in New York with Pietro, chasing ghosts or running away for long enough to become ghosts themselves. Vision, the gentleman that he is, does not ask about her circumstances, and just enjoys her company, because it’s rare enough as it is.

Her accent is fainter now, growing fainter still.

When they walk like this, no one recognizes Vision, no one bothers the Illusionist, even as his tent has become one of the most sought after, both in popular knowledge, and the more elitist circles of the rêveurs. When they walk like this, the only people stopping them, or bumping them in one direction or another, hunting a particular attraction or discovering a new corner of the circus, an untaken path, are other people in the circus.

Tonight, however, he’s taking the lead. By the stalls where the famous circus treats are sold, Wanda finally notices that something new has been added to this selection as well. The smell is so familiar that it makes her mouth water, and she turns not towards where the traditional street snack of her home is being sold, but to Vision.

“Is this-”

He smiles, shrugging one of his shoulders, as if to shake off any of the credit that she so desperately wants to give to his kindness.

“Yes.”

She grabs his hand in hers, squeezing once, in thanks. It’s all he needs. She doesn’t let go of his hand, even as she struggles eating the sweet dough, sticky on her fingers, with just one hand.

“No one dislikes you, Wanda.”

She pops another bite in her mouth, pausing to consider his words, knowing that they’re not entirely true, knowing that, however, he believes them so.

“Thank you.”

 ***

Wanda loves the circus like she doesn’t love many other things. Its people, however, with one exception, she holds quite complicated feelings towards. People whose trust she still has to gain, because just as she can feel Vision, there are a few people who can feel her, and enough who don’t like her simply because she got his time, she got similar enough powers.

She never showed those to anyone. Not by her own volition, though.

In her hometown of Novi Grad, a news has run just several months before, of a witch who blew up an entire building. She was trying to save people, but it’s not like she got the chance to tell her own version of the story.

In a place that circles the globe, they catch up with things, eventually.

 *** 

1914, Chicago

Vision tightens his hold against her coat.

“Maybe it’s better if you just stay here.”

Wanda wants to weep.

“I can take care of myself,” she says, and Vision’s thumb rubs soothing circles against her arm.

Panic flares behind her eyes. She wonders how long it’d take Pietro to get to her, if something were to happen.

“It’s not your safety that we are worried about,” he adds, this time softer, searching her face for a sign that she might understand where he is coming from.

But she does not. To her, it is obviously clear that however Vision reached this conclusion, he didn’t take anything that he knows of her into account. Or maybe she knows him – and he knows her – way less than they wanted to pretend they did.

When Wanda uses we, she means her and her other half, her twin. When Vision uses we, he means at least a hundred other persons.

There are still people around her, so he’s constraining her in more ways than he wants to admit. She starts walking again, Vision’s arm still linked with hers. They step on battered paths, by tents both old and new, known and still fresh, and Wanda doesn’t stop for any of them, watching where she goes, but not truly seeing. With each turn, as the silence stretches between them, Vision’s expression becomes more and more pained.

Wanda leans closer to him, checking the time. They’re at a corner of the circus grounds, where the colours are more vibrant, the black-and-white monochrome of the place not quite as strong. It’s 5 in the morning, late enough that even the most devoted have retired for the night.

She tugs her arm free, this time Vision lets her.

“Wanda, if you do this, they’ll never stop being afraid of you.”

He searches her face, hoping that his words will echo somewhere in her heart. For the first time in over a decade, she is scared of this place, understands her brother’s reluctance. She steadies herself on her feet.

“I cannot control their fear, only my own.”

In the monochrome world of the circus, for just a second, a corner flashes red.

 ***

For four years, the circus does not travel. No one knows where it is weathering down the war, and no one has the time to consider such trivialities. The place with no home remains unmapped.

It takes the Maximoff twins three more years to find the courage to return home. When the circus arrives, Wanda does not go. Pietro sits in an armchair, following his sister with his eyes, as she walks in circles around their small apartment, a miniature mimicry of the circus layout. What she wants to purge from her mind, her body remembers.

“Wanda?”

“Hm?”

“What truly happened?”

And she tells him, because she has no one else.

 *** 

1922, Novi Grad

The curtain to her reading room parts, and Wanda almost flies the man to the other side of the building. It takes his own magic, pulsing bright and strong, to keep her on her seat.

Tony Stark just sits on the chair across her, his hand palm up on the table.

“So? Read my future.”

She crosses her arms at her chest. Her eyes turn red, but he just waits. Eventually, she points to the tarot deck; he either misunderstood her trade or is mocking her for it. Either way, she wants him out and out fast.  

“Wanda,” he sighs, and she bristles at the fact that he knows her name, dares say it with so much familiarity. “I think you hurt Vision’s feelings.”

“You tried to keep me in the circus.”

“I did that to protect you.”

This time, she does fly the man to the other side of the building.

 *** 

1923, Bucharest

Wanda crosses the street, pulling the hat more determinedly over her head, the rain intensifying further. The restaurant where she is supposed to meet with Clint is actually filled with members of the circus enjoying a day off, rainy days the only ones where the circus remains definitely closed. It’s the first time they came to this country, and Wanda thought herself safe enough, until four days into her trip, the circus arrived without warning.

She stopped tracking it. While dedicated reveurs are still sending her letters, now that the circus and its magic returned, and newspapers are picking up again at its wonders, she is dedicatedly tuning it out.

She enters the restaurant, hovers by its door. She does not dare use her magic, even as it would help make her less noticeable, and she tries to explain to a waiter what her partner is supposed to look like, to send him a message, the place of meeting changed. The waiter twists his nose, obviously displeased that he is about to lose business because of her –

But he nods his head. Wanda twists on her feet, pushing at the heavy door, preparing to face the rain and the wind again. On the cobbled stone, she walks slowly, afraid her heels would slip on the wet pavement, and for someone determined, it’d take nothing at all to catch up with her.

The rain, merciless against her skin, stops. She does too, stilled on the spot, looking up at the margin of a black umbrella, frowning. She drags her coat closer to her body, looks in the other direction, refusing to acknowledge the person standing next to her. She doesn’t sketch even the intent of a run.

Caught, again. On the boulevard, they’re the only people out.

“Wanda,” he says.

“Vis,” she replies, and something in her twists with the familiarity of the nickname.

His expression breaks, a downward pull at the corner of his mouth, like it pains him to hear her voice after all this time. It’s the truth; it’s been eight years since she’s rendered him immobile inside his own playground, and he realized he’s nothing when placed next to this woman. He’s spent many days reading over their letters, bottling his memories of her, hoping she’d show up again for one of his performances, like something hasn’t broken between them.

A foolish wish, he knows now. And he has learned human hearts cannot be put back together as easily as a chipped porcelain tea cup. But he has learned that mechanical hearts can start beating.

He offers her his arm, a mimicry of their familial walks, on the other side of the world. She takes it, but this time it is her moving him through poor lit alleys and streets whose names he forgets as soon as he catches.

“What do you want?” she asks, but her tone does not sound unkind, just defeated.

“I’m sorry.”

She looks at him for the first time since they met, gauging his sincerity, having forgotten how to read him without first searching. Besides the different cut of his hair, Vision looks just like all those years ago, when he first held her gaze on a podium, and she realized she cannot look away anymore.

“Me too,” she breathes.

Vision, finally, smiles. She stops in front of a corner coffee shop, cosy shelter far away from the popular roads. He presses the handle of the umbrella in her hands, delicately straightening the hat on top of her head. Wanda, finally, smiles.

 ***

1923, Prague

“Pietro,” she whispers out in the dark, holding her breath to hear him shuffling in the bed.

After so long, she can almost feel him opening his eyes, squinting at her form, illuminated from behind by the kitchen light.

“What?” his voice is hoarse, but he raises in the bed, pats down the mattress so she can join him.

Her feet are cold from the floor, and so she hurries by his side, stealing his blanket and draping it over her shoulder, offering the other corner to him. Pietro drags it over their heads, even as he ends up with an elbow in his ribs, and her indignation at disregarding her hair altogether.

He grunts, and then waits in silence for Wanda to say whatever she came here to tell him. Because his sister would not wake him up in the middle of the night for anything but the extremely important. He can almost feel her thinking, biting at her lips anxiously, searching for the proper words.

“They,” she starts, and he almost jerks away from whatever she wants to tell him. “do not age either.”

He sputters, lost at words, shocked at the revelation.

“Pietro,” she tries again, this time looking at him, her eyes red, though he knows she’s not actually using her powers on him, just proving her point. “They’re just like us. Or we’re just like them, but it’s been over twenty years, and nothing… no one changed.”

One of his arms come, soothingly, around her back, dragging her closer into a hug. Because while Pietro simply embraced their powers for what they were, a twist of bad luck in their orphaned life, Wanda has been trying to make peace with her own, get to the reason behind the whys and hows. If this is what she wants, if this is what she needs, how can he deny her?

 ***

The cards do not speak to Pietro like they do for his sister, he has not the skill to bend them to a stranger’s destiny. And yet, he is the only other person allowed to touch her old deck. And yet, a bit of her lives in him, anyway.

Pietro thinks of his sister, a red spot on the history of The Night Circus, and draws a card.

The Lovers.

He tries several times more, and always, the same card. He swears, careful to put the tarot deck back in its place, even if Wanda will know immediately that someone else’s magic has touched them, when she’ll retrieve them again. For a bit longer, he can pretend.

For a bit longer, he can think about what he can do.

 *** 

1927, Athens

Pietro doesn’t want to be here, everything in him tells him to run, as fast as he can – which in his case, is so fast that he’d be back in this exact spot in the blink of an eye. But by his side, his twin stands, serene, waiting for the lights curling in the name of the circus to light up, announcing its opening. It’s the first time she is to step foot inside the circus again, in over ten years, and her face holds just the pure anticipation of a child waiting for magic to happen.

She holds his hand when they pay their entrance fee, when they cross the border to this world. She’s not wearing her typical outfit, and neither is he; for the first time, they’re two stains of colour on the monochromatic background of the circus. Wanda, in a red sundress, and him in a blue shirt. It’s a transgression matching the bloom of their powers, and he knows the choices, even if not thought over, have been intentional. This time around, it’s not Wanda trying to fit in, but Maximoffs letting everyone know who they are, how they are.

When Wanda uses her powers here, Pietro can basically feel it, so much powerful is the magical thrum of the circus. The red rose in her hand is simply there, when before it was not, and she stops in front of a living statue, set in the form of a weeping angel, painted entirely in white.

“You have to,” she says, and offers her rose to Pietro, who looks doubtfully at the object, at the performer, still unmoving, and then at his sister.

“Why?”

“Tradition.”

She points with the tip of her boots towards the inscription, now even more faded than she remembers it. In the memory of who, the eternal question, now more and more harder to even find. The statue smiles, though it takes her a minute to get it to its full power, and Wanda bows in front of her, allowing her brother to learn the first lesson of this place: patience.

“Find me,” she says instead of a goodbye, and Pietro is left staring after her, determined step, hair flaring at her back, his light.

Looks like she didn’t need him, after all. He returns to the statue, watching each muscle relaxing and tensing, as almost imperceptibly, the angel rises to its full height, meeting his stance, accepting his offering.

Even after all this time, she can still remember exactly where their meeting point is. She passes a few changes: tents taken out, tents added in – and she feels the familiar curiosity, of wanting to try out each and every one of them. Wanda turns around the corner and there he is.

“This is new,” Vision says, looking at her from head to toes, and Wanda smiles, pleased.

“Bad new or good new?”

“Just new. It suits you.”

She nods her head at him, accepting his compliment. “I know.”

 ***

Wanda opens her palm up, waiting for her brother to drop something – whatever he has stolen, in her waiting hand. When he doesn’t, she slaps his arm, with enough strength that he winces.

“You are going to get killed if you keep stealing things.”

“You know, I’m 12 minutes older than you.”

“Pietro,” she warns, and then finally, he passes over to her a white hair ribbon.

She raises an eyebrow at him. Next to that, he places an almost transparent bottle, and her expression softens.

“What does it smell like?”

Pietro sighs when Wanda leaves the items behind at the ticket booth.

“Freshly washed bedsheets in winter, when we used to share the same bed as kids.”

She takes his hand in hers, and they step out.

 ***

1931, Paris

He has not sent a proper address, because the house and the room are hidden anyway, untraceable to most people. Instead, on the black card that Wanda discovers, in-between the tarot deck that she uses to practice her fortune-telling, there’s just a dusting of magic that, if she wants to, can lead her back to him.

Vision opens the door at the first knock against the wood, startling her. Her cheeks are flushed with the effort and the hurry, her lips a lovely red. He wants to lean closer, press his mouth against hers, but what he does instead is to help her out of her coat, careful so that her hair does not knot in the buttons.

“So you’re here for a while?” she asks, accepting the cup of mulled wine that he presses against her frozen digits.

“At least a month. People are getting burnt out, and a break to let everyone do whatever they want seemed like a good idea.”

“Is it not?”

“I'm grateful for it,” he adds, and he’s not looking around at his apartment, or out the window at a crowded Parisian street, but at her, here in a space that he calls his home.

Wanda moves around an armchair, looking through his bookshelf: volumes in at least seven languages, spanning from history to physics. Her fingertips rest against the leather spines, parts of Vision’s inner world visible.

“What is your favourite?” she asks.

“Guess.”

Her hand colours red as she’s trying to find her answer with magic. Out from the shelf, a particular volume flies out, hovering in the air between them. She catches it, turning around so she can read the title.

“Shakespeare’s sonnets? Vision, you’re a romantic!”

He laughs, delighted, and Vision discovers that he doesn’t really mind the teasing if it comes from her. He comes closer to her, picking up the volume, turning its pages until he finds a dog-eared marking, clearing his throat.

He’s blushing even before he starts reading, but his voice remains clear.

“All days are nights to see till I see thee, / And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me.”

She’s looking at him, transfixed, something in his words that is more than just a simple repetition of his favourite lines.

“Wanda… I’m going to kiss you, okay?”

“Okay.”

And so he does, just a soft press of his lips against hers. Wanda places her mug on his shelves, ignoring the start of his indignation, and she pulls at the collar of his shirt, dragging him closer to her, her mouth finding his.

 ***

1938, Novi Grad

“Can you,” Wanda struggles to shove at Pietro’s shoulder, forcing him inside the tiny booth of the café. “calm down?”

The rain keeps falling, so violent that it almost drowns the sound of the piano player tuning their instrument. Pietro looks around the place: recognizes a few people from the city, though most of them are visitors, here for the circus, here from the circus. He frowns, grumbling his order of hot chocolate.

“Are you sure he will show up?”

Wanda places her leather gloves on the table, shuffling out of her coat. Her hair dries in a second, when none of the patrons besides her twin are even paying attention to her. Pietro is rather intent on glaring holes in her, waiting for a reply that will satisfy him, though there’s no satisfying him at this point.

“Of course,” she says, and her brother looks outside the window, where the rain forms a curtain he cannot see through, and then back to his sister.

She doesn’t seem to be anxious at all, despite the terrible weather outside, which would have kept even the more devoted lover inside. They’re lucky enough to have gotten here right before the brunt of the rain started falling. He cannot say the same of Wanda’s mysterious man. His sister, however, is patiently stirring in her own cup of hot chocolate, stealing scoops of whipped cream as she patiently waits. The tower of cream never gets smaller, and Pietro pushes his own mug closer to her, so she can do the same thing to his own drink.

She sticks her tongue out at him; his mug fills up again with whipped cream anyway. He smiles at her.

Vision indeed shows up – actually exactly on time, since the twins were early just because of the bad weather. He slips in the booth next to Wanda, and the only tender gesture that passes between them hinting at the blooming of a relationship is the three second grasp of his fingers around her hand.

Oh, and the fact that his sister immediately lights up.

Pietro knows, five seconds into meeting Vision, that he’s good for his sister – maybe even better than good. He enjoys his night, however, torturing him with questions, surviving all of Wanda’s kicks that she delivers under the table.

 *** 

1946, Novi Grad

The Maximoffs survive bombings and pretend it doesn’t bring back the worst of the memories, that the shacking of their bodies, long after the sounds died out, is not really there. And it’s stupid, because they survive so much worse, so why is Pietro gone, by foolish misstep?

He saves a child, running as fast as he can, to place himself between a young body and bullets. His softest spot, because Pietro could never let go of that day when they were 10, and he has been forever a child at heart since then. He fails to consider he leaves his twin behind.

For three days, Wanda locks herself in the bathroom, because it’s windowless, and allows the room to bleed in red, allows herself to scream until her throat goes raw, iron taste on her tongue. On the fourth day, she buries Pietro.

Just because he died heroically, it doesn’t make it any less real that he is no longer. Just because he died heroically, it doesn’t mean that her pain is dulled.

“How?” she asks, but no one can give her a satisfactory answer.

She has not been there to witness it, she just felt him go down, felt the life pour out of his body.

They’re not supposed to die so easily. He’s not supposed to be dead, leaving her behind. There are not many people in attendance for the funeral to begin with, half a century placing her brother all across the map of the world. A few of them are members of the circus, a few old friends, some elders that have known them since birth. Wanda remains, rooted on the spot, long before everyone else has left. Vision, by her side, holds an umbrella above her head and hands her his handkerchief. She will not return it; at her touch, the material turns red. Her magic is erratic, barely contained.

It rains the entire day. Wanda tells Vision to go away, let her be, because she doesn’t know how the magic will lash out, in her state.

The rain continues throughout the night, and Vision stays.

 ***

1953, Edinburgh

Wanda’s stopped by a gentleman wearing a fake, red rose at his chest, who introduces himself as one of the foreign newspaper columnists whose paper she kept ordering, ages ago, though he is old enough to have passed over his business to his daughter. He recognizes her by the red of her hat, a habit that has died down with the years of hiatus, but that veterans still know about.

“Did your mother taught you about that?”

Wanda doesn’t think she looks really that young, but takes the compliment gracefully. They make a detour by the Ice Garden, his own personal favourite. When he asks her which tent is her favourite, she lies. When they end up by the bottled emotions, she can taste the Kürtőskalács on her tongue, and hear Vision’s laugh. She closes her eyes, pained with the vividness of it, the stretch of time between then and now.

She sits for Vision’s last performance, next to the gentleman. At the end of it, he kisses the back of her hand and thanks her for the company. Wanda doesn’t budge from her seat.

“Hello,” Vision says, an echo of times past.

This time around, she rises to meet him in a kiss, in an embrace. Vision’s hand is tender, brushing her hair away from her face. He helps her up on the stage, just slightly elevated, and he takes her usual audience seat. It didn’t feel like it when she was the one sitting down, but the distance is almost non-existent.

She reaches out with her arm, and Vision meets her halfway.

“Wanda, I’ll speak for myself but I think this,” and he pauses, to look at the place where their hands are linked, “t-this works.”

“It does,” she answers, nodding, her expression softening when she meets his eyes.

“What if we both just – just lost our trains, the next ones, and all those that follow?”

My powers do not dazzle,” she whispers, and her hand drops from where she is holding on to his.

Vision grabs it back, lifting it to his lips, kissing each finger one by one, finishing with a soft, long press of his mouth against her open palm.

“Stay not with the circus, but with me. Wherever you want.”

And suddenly they’re not inside the circus anymore, but rather Vision’s apartment, as she has first known it, back when they became lovers: the books, the soft sheets, the smell of old paper and sweet morning breakfast.

“Wanda,” he says, almost reverently.

“I’m tired of running, Vis. I can’t run without him.”

“Then stay. With me.”

He comes closer, still, resting his forehead against hers. The illusion disappears from around them and they’re again in his tent, on his scene. And they both know it’s for a last time.

[cancerousjojian]

Would you mind doing Kiss Prompt 22 with Natasha? Thank you!

me @ natasha romanoff: i love u bitch ❤️

22. A kiss that is leading to more, but is interrupted by a third party.

Natasha had been yearning, itching to get you alone all damn day.

It proved to be quite difficult though, when you both were surrounded by a dozen others celebrating your collective victory.

Alcohol was being served, but Natasha was sober. You had managed to dodge every drink offered to you, mostly by Tony and Maria, claiming that you had somewhere to be tomorrow morning that required your full, non-inebriated attention.

But you and Natasha had other plans.

She looked at you devilishly across the bar, and gave you a small, yet somehow innocent smirk. You just nodded to confirm whatever plan she had conjured up to get you alone.

“Y/N and I are going to go check on Bruce.” She said about the man who had passed out and fallen asleep hours ago. You nodded, and followed the redhead upstairs.

“Nice one,” you said, but you barely got the words out before Natasha was attacking your lips with her own. The red lipstick she painted on her lips earlier was surely all over your mouth, but you couldn’t care less. All that occupied your thoughts was the alluring mirage of the woman nibbling at the flesh of your collarbone.

“Nat,” you groan as she continues to throw caution to the wind. You can still hear the sound of laughter and clanking glass from downstairs, and it’s makes you a little nervous.

You’re both so encapsulated in each other that you don’t realize a certain super soldier standing atop the stairwell.

“Steve!” You gasp, but it’s muffled by Natasha’s lips, which were still ever present on your own.

She pulls away to look at Steve. “D’ya mind, Rogers?”

You look at her quizzically while Steve throws his hands up in defense. “Hey, I was just coming up here to go my room. Where I sleep. It is 11 p.m. after all.”

Your cheeks must be a flaming scarlet color by now, you were so embarrassed. Nat didn’t seem at that shy, though. She never was.

“Well go on then,” She smirks at the Captain and finally takes your hand in hers. “I guess we’ll let you sleep, Grandpa.”

You’re both headed back downstairs to continue to partake in the festivities, but you don’t know how much longer you can do this.

As if reading your mind, she whispers lowly in your ear so that only you can hear, “I’m not finished with you.” She takes advantage of the close proximity to place a kiss on your cheek, pulling away and looking down at you with twinkling eyes and your legs feel like jelly.

You’d wait all night, and she knows it.

request a type of kiss prompt!

[askalt2d]

“Okay, we’re done wif the primer stuff– stop blinkin’! You’ll wreck it!” 2D frowns down at him, and Stuart tries not to smile.

“Sorry, it’s hard not to blink. Okay. Holdin’ still.” He corrects his posture and sits as statue-like as he can as 2D picks up a small, narrow brush from the table.

Bored on his flight home from Japan, and with unlimited free wifi at his disposal, 2D had fallen down a rabbit hole of beauty tutorials. Makeup had been something he’d been vaguely aware of, but he’d never really considered it an art before. Now, though, armed with half-remembered knowledge, he’d proposed practicing on Stuart. Stuart had readily agreed.

“This,” 2D tells him confidently, holding up a ludicrously expensive eyeshadow palette he’d picked up from some shop in London, “is eye paint. It goes on your eyes.”

“That makes sense.”

“I told ya, don’t move.” He scoots closer, perched on a stool that he’s slotted between Stuart’s legs while his husband sits stock-still on one of their kitchen chairs. 2D dips the brush he’s holding into one of the colors. “Close your eyes.” Stuart does, dutifully, and feels the soft bristles stroke against his lids. 

He loves these bursts of inspiration that 2D gets sometimes. For a brief time over the fall, it’d been knitting– Stuart had kept the lopsided, holey scarf despite 2D’s embarrassed protests– and before that, flower arranging. The cycle starts with 2D finding some video or photo online showing off a craft of some kind, seeking out how it was made, buying far more materials than necessary, and experimenting with it until he either gets bored of it or frustrated with the results.

Stuart has sat for watercolor portraits, modeled flower crowns, worn clumsy jewelry, had his nails painted in bright patterns, and had his skin stained by homemade bath bombs. It fills him with joy to see 2D excited about something, even if the result isn’t the best– or even if it sometimes actively harms him. His husband’s enthusiasm is always infectious, and Stuart adores the look of satisfaction and pride he gets when he does something well.

“Okay, lids are done!” 2D announces cheerfully, drawing the brush away.

“Can I open?”

“Yeh, but just for a second. Your lashes are next.” Stuart gingerly opens his eyes. There’s a mirror on the table that he glances towards, but 2D quickly turns it away before he can see. “Not yet!”

“Do I look good?”

2D grins, his tongue poking out slightly through the gap in his teeth. “Ya always look good, Stu.” He kisses his nose lightly, and comes away with foundation on his lips. “Now, keep your eyes open for the mascara.”

His movements are more confident this time– they’ve both used a bit of mascara before, for photoshoots and for fun. Stuart isn’t quite sure this many coats is necessary, though. 

2D has him shut his eyes again for the eyeliner. Stuart can feel his hand shaking a little, but he isn’t too worried. The small tremors are normal for 2D, from a combination of his past physical traumas and side effects from some of his various medications. It doesn’t bother 2D much; he’s still capable of extraordinary things. And for the stuff that requires rock-steady hands, Stuart is always happy to step in and help.

“It’s a bit crooked...” His voice is very, very close. “Looks pretty okay, though. Keep ‘em shut while it dries, then we’re doin’ lips.”

“Can’t wait for that.”

“Yeh?” Despite his closed eyes, Stuart can hear 2D smile. “Ya plannin’ on markin’ me up?”

“Kiss marks look gorgeous on you, bluebird.”

“Only when they’re yours.” He kisses him, and Stuart sighs happily. He tastes like the cocoa they’d shared that morning, sweet and warm. 2D lingers for a while, and then reluctantly draws back. “O-okay. Pink or cherry red?”

“You’re the artist, love. You pick.”

“Red, then. Open your lips for me, just a bit?” Stuart does, opening his eyes at the same time. 2D’s face is close, brows scrunched endearingly in concentration. When he notices that Stuart’s looking at him, he smiles. “Ya look amazin’.” Unable to speak, Stuart lifts his brows a little, and 2D laughs. 

His lips take a much shorter time to do than his eyes, and it isn’t long before 2D pulls away, satisfied. “Ca’ I look?” Stuart asks, careful not to press his lips together.

“Uh-huh!” 2D holds up the mirror, and Stuart examines himself.

It looks a little bit like he got punched square in both eyes by someone who’d dipped their knuckles in wet paint. Stuart’s eyelids are drenched in pink and gold, with a thin, wobbly streak of black traced a good half centimeter above his lash line and curving all the way up to meet the ends of his eyebrows. His eyelashes look like spiders’ legs, long and clumpy, and his vibrant scarlet lipstick is definitely overdrawn on his naturally thin lips.

2D beams with pride. “Wot d’ya fink?”

“I love it,” Stuart says honestly, breaking into a wide smile himself. “Bluebird, I look gorgeous. You did such a good job– these colors look amazin’ on me!” It’s clumsy and garish, but so thoroughly 2D. Wonderfully vibrant, completely infused with attentiveness and care, done sheerly for the love of it.

He kisses his husband, making sure to leave plenty of kiss marks on his cheeks and lips. 2D laughs, not even attempting to push him away. “I’m so glad ya like it!”

“It’s beautiful, 2D.” Stuart grins. “Thank you.”

[iwillgiveyoumyhappiness]

김병관, Kim Byeongkwan

anonymous asked:

Since my feet are killing me (I hate ugh heels) I'd love to make a request. Something extremely fluffy, today I'm in the mood for sweetness. Bestfriends!Au where Byeongkwan from A.C.E. shows up at her best friend's date (he somehow knew the guy wouldn't show up) and makes her spend the funniest day of her life. If you can, of course, otherwise don't worry! Hope your day is going smoothly. -Saturn

Group: A.C.E. (에이스)

Member: Kim Byeongkwan (...in case you didn’t realize)

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.

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She tapped her freshly painted fingernails impatiently against the silk tablecloth. She checked her phone again, a paranoid habit of hers for the past hour and a half. 

“7:30...” she muttered. With a click of her tongue, she tossed her phone down with a clatter. “That jerk.” 

She looked down at her sparkling dress with a certain amount of disdain. Here she was, all prettied up at some fancy restaurant for someone that wouldn’t even show. 

“Did he ditch you?” a voice asked. 

She didn’t even jump. The voice was all too familiar to her.

“How did you get here, Byeongkwan?” she asked, a small sigh fallowing straight after. She turned in her chair to look at him. He stuck out like a sore thumb in the high-end restaurant, fitted in nothing but ripped jeans, an over-sized tee-shirt, a beanie and a single earring in one ear. 

He shrugged, an easy smile resting on his lips. “Stalked you here,” he said casually. He sat himself down across from her with a huff. “I told you not to date that jerk,” he said, resting his chin against his palm. “I said that it’d only end in tears.” 

She crossed her arms contrarily. “He might still show up.” 

He quirked a brow. “He’s two hours late. He’s not coming, buddy.” 

Slowly, her gaze softened. She sighed, “I know... I know he’s not coming.” She hid her face in her hands, hitting her forehead a few times. “God, I feel so stupid. You warned me about him!” 

He chuckled. “We all have to rebel against our best friends at some point, I guess.” He leaned over the table and took a sip from her wine glass, ending with a satisfied breath of air, followed by a lip-smack. “Well, screw him!” he said loudly, turning a few heads. “He might not have shown up, but the night’s still young.”

She looked up at him with furrowed brows. “What’re you planning?” she asked suspiciously.

“Literally nothing,” he said with a laugh. “Tonight’s a night for spontaneous behavior. I mean, look at you!” He pointed to her with an over-the-top gesture. “You’ve got on the best fitting dress from the deepest recesses of the closet, your hair’s all done up, you’re wearing heels, even though you always complain about how much they suck—you even pulled out the red lipstick!” 

He gave a pointed look to the bold shade, knowing that she only wore it for special occasions. She must’ve been really looking forward to it. “You look like a million bucks, dude,” he said, softer than before. “So that’s why I insist you go on a friend-date with me tonight. We’ll stay out until you don’t even remember that asshole’s name.” 

A smile had been slowly creeping across her scarlet lips, finally blooming into fullness at his suggestion. “That sounds...” She chuckled a little. “Really good,” she said. “It sounds really, really good. We haven’t done anything like that for years.” 

He nodded, his smile mirroring hers. “It’s been too long, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “But what if someone recognizes you?”

An impish fire lit in his gaze. “Then we run.”

The fire lit in her, too. She stood up and grabbed her purse. “Where to first, then?” 

He thought for a moment. “McDonald’s?” he suggested. 

She snorted. “I’m a little over-dressed for McDonald’s, don’t you think?” 

“Then we’ll make a pit-stop first.” 

“When you said we’d make a pit-stop,” she started, “I didn’t think you meant that we’d be renting you a tux.”  

He adjusted his tie cockily. “You said you felt over-dressed.” 

“So you decided to make both of us over-dressed?” she scoffed, the smile pulling at the corner of her lips not going unnoticed by him. 

He held the door with the yellow ‘M’ open for her, flicking her forehead as she walked past him. “Hey, I’ve gotta have my bestie’s back.” 

She chortled and rubbed her forehead. “You’re an idiot.” 

“Takes one to know one,” he teased with a smirk. 

She groaned. “Ass.”

“Jerk,” he countered. They both looked at each other before busting out laughing, drawing the attention of the employees and the few customers scattered around. “Madame!” he called to the cashier. 

She covered her face, already feeling the red creeping up her neck. “Oh my gosh,” she said, reaching out blindly to try and hit him with her purse. “Shut up! You’re so embarrassing!” 

He ignored her. “I require your finest table! One suitable for royalty!” 

“I hate you!” she laughed, trying to keep her voice down. 

The cashier giggled at the sight, partly out of embarrassment, partly out of fondness. “Right in the back, sir,” she said, pointing out the way. “There’s a big window where you can see the cars pass by.” She winked at them. “Fit for royalty.” 

So, there they sat in a McDonald’s at 9:00 on a Wednesday night, her dressed up in a sparkly, eggplant-colored dress, her clavicle draped in a lovely pearl necklace, and him in a dapper tux. He had refused to take his beanie off, though. They sat right next to the window, counting all the white cars that drove by.

“People are gonna think we’re dating,” she said after they’d counted 12 white cars and gotten their food delivered to them. She took a big, unladylike bite out of her burger, a sliver of pickle sticking to her chin. “I blame you for that.” 

He shrugged. “Eh, let ‘em think what they want,” he said. He reached out his fist, a sign for them to initiate their secret handshake. “We know the truth, bub.”

She finished the handshake expertly. “That we do, bub,” she beamed. 

“By the way,” he started, “might wanna get the veg off your chin.”

That night was more than memorable, and she’d never been so grateful for being stood up on a date. Her friend was worth more than that jerk could ever mean. Kim Byeongkwan meant an evening spent late-night-eating, running through quiet parks, playing on old swing-sets and sharing an ice cream sundae at around 4 AM. 

That night... It was beautiful. It was very Byeongkwan, and he was right. 

You didn’t remember that jerk’s name.

.

.

.

We all need a best friend like Byeongkwan, let’s be honest. Can I have one? Please?? I’LL BE GOOD, I PROMISE-

Ahem... Sorry about that.

For My Saturn: 

I hope this makes you feel really soft and inspires some spontaneous nature in your heart. I hope that you do things you wouldn’t normally do and have a lot of fun, filled to the brim with confidence! I hope this short little story gave you the warmth of the Southern Cross.

Only walk on flowery, starry paths, my Saturn. 

[mackinmacki]

The Modern Art of Dating

Rating: K+

Word Count: 4681

Summary: Meeting on an online dating service, the two queens of evil have to get past their own worries in order to potentially find something desirable between them.

Pairing: Bowsette x Booette

Notes: The idea of writing anything like this came to me after talking about it with @the-canine-king. We’re both bad influences on each other.

Links: (AO3)

Sitting in front of a large, ornate mirror, Bowsette carefully brushed her hair with firm strokes. Staring at herself in the mirror was a regular occurrence for the vain queen, but tonight held a special purpose. She was getting ready for a date, so she had to look even more perfect than usual. Putting the brush down on her vanity, she grabbed a hair tie and worked her scarlet hair into a ponytail. She gently patted her hair as she gazed at herself, feeling pretty damn good about herself. Perhaps a second opinion was required, though.

"Kammy!" Her roar echoed through multiple rooms of the castle, no doubt reaching the right pair of ears. While she waited for her right-hand woman to get to the room, she busied herself with trying on accessories. She grabbed a spiked black collar and affixed it around her neck, twitching it until it felt perfect against her skin. Then she grabbed another one and wrapped it around her upper arm: one for the left and one for the right. This was a night where she needed to dress to impress, and she always looked pretty damn impressive in spikes and leather.

"Yes your Majesticness?" Kammy came into the room as Bowsette was putting a pair of spiked wristbands on. She flew over to the vanity on her broom, stopping in mid-air and fixing the purple witch's hat on her head. "Oh, you look wonderful, your highness! Ah yes, you're going on a date tonight, aren't you?"

"Yes, and that's why I need your opinion on something." She pushed back her chair and stood up, smoothing down her black dress and showing herself off to her elderly adviser. "Do you think this is too much? Or perhaps too little? Perhaps I should get a bigger ruby..." She tapped the jewel stitched into the her dress, resting comfortably against her chest. It matched her eyes, but maybe it wasn't impressive enough. "But where could I get a bigger jewel at this time of the night..."

"You worry too much, your Sexiness. Any denizen of the kingdom should be honored to go on a date with you." She flew close enough to where she could pat Bowsette on the shoulder. It wasn't hard to tell that this was a big deal for her. Though she was the baddest and toughest queen in all the land, Kammy was more privy to the scenes behind the tales of grandeur. She knew this was her first date since the kid had come into her life. It would make sense that she was a tad nervous.

"This is not just any date! I'm going on a date with a queen! The Queen of Scream! To treat this like an ordinary date would be folly." Fire burned from her mouth into the open air, nearly singing Kammy's broom as she started to pace around the room. "A queen deserves only the best from a prospective partner. That's what I would expect as well." She turned on her heel, facing Kammy again. Though she enjoyed wearing heels to accentuate her height even more among her minions, she worried that would be too intimidating for the much shorter queen. "You know she captured Mario in a painting, right? In a painting! I've seen him hop in and out of those things all the time! How did she even do that?"

"Your Vileness, take a deep breath and stop pacing. It's making me dizzy." Bowsette scowled as she stopped moving, reluctantly taking a deep breath. "You look wonderful, and even a queen would be cowed by the awesome might of your beauty and power. Remember, you're not just a queen. You're the queen. Think of all the minions you rule over, and all the times you've kidnapped the Princess. All while raising your son to follow in your footsteps. Shouldn't that be enough for even the Queen of Scream?"

This took Bowsette back. She'd gotten so caught up in being extra perfect for her date that she'd let all the great things about herself slip into the back of her mind. "You're right, Kammy. I have done all that. A date's no problem for someone like me!" Energized now, she tilted her head back and breathed out a stream of fire to the ceiling. "Alright! Let's finish this up!" She stomped confidently back to her vanity, sitting back down and putting the finishing touches on her looks.

"That's my queen!" Kammy smiled as she watched Bowsette put on red lipstick and her favorite ruby earrings. The lights from the vanity shined on her horns, showing that she had given them a thorough cleaning beforehand. This was a serious night for her, so it was important that she was feeling as confident as ever. Getting her there was a part of the job, and she was always happy to help.

With her looks on point and every hair in its proper place, she was ready to go. Grabbing her leather jacket off of the side of the vanity, she shrugged it on and took one last look at herself. She was really feeling herself there. Looking damn fine. Flashing her reflection a toothy grin, she shoved the chair out of the way and started to walk out of the room. "Knock 'em dead!" Kammy yelled after her.

"She already is!" Giving Kammy a thumbs up, she confidently strode to the garage, where her Flame Flyer awaited. She was going to knock Booette's ghostly socks off tonight!

The two of them knew of each other, of course. It was hard to not know the most powerful evil beings in the kingdom unless you lived under a rock. Their travels had never brought them together, though. Now they'd be getting together for the first time, and on a date too. The reason this was all happening was because of a dating website. Yes, even great and mighty royalty sometimes needed the assistance of the internet. Neither of them had expected the other to be on the site, though, so they were both rather surprised to have been matched up together. Turns out they both had a love of artwork, real estate, and being evil, of course.

Deep within the darkened forests on the outskirts of the Mushroom Kingdom was a large, decaying mansion. At least, it looked that way from the outside. On the inside was a dark and splendorous interior: the home of the Queen of Scream, Booette. Her preparations for tonight's date were a bit different than her counterpart. She'd gotten up early that morning, then spent about two hours phasing through every wall in the mansion, wailing and panicking like hell. After a break to play a game of hide and seek with some of her brothers and sisters, she resumed her complete panic session.

Dating wasn't something she had a lot of experience in. Her skills were more geared towards haunting and interior decorating. Going on dates, though? That wasn't exactly her forte. If her stupid brother Booberry hadn't set her up a dating profile without her knowledge, she never would've done something so outgoing. She also would've declined the date and deleted her profile if the woman she'd been matched with wasn't so attractive. It had seemed like it'd be okay at the time, but now she knew she'd been wrong. This was definitely not okay. It was terrifying. Even more terrifying than herself.

She was what she liked to call 'selectively anti-social'. In truth, though, she was just shy. At times it was to the point of ridiculousness. While she was perfectly capable of socializing with her family, or being super scary to any pesky plumbers that were skulking about, being around others in regular settings freaked her out. Having someone merely make eye contact with her was enough to make her hide her face and want to escape back to the comforts of her mansion. There was nothing she could design that was scarier than socializing. How was she going to go on a date - in public, no less - without making a fool of herself?

As the time for her to leave for her date approached, she was still shaking in her heels. She'd finally settled on a lacy white dress that went down to her ankles, covering her modesty in its entirety. Whether to wear something formal or more revealing had been a focal point of her panicking that afternoon, but in the end formal had won out. She couldn't imagine how difficult it'd be to hold a conversation if she felt everybody's eyes were on her. This was as close as she felt she could get to looking good without drawing attention to herself.

Some of her family members had flitted in and out of the rooms she would find herself, offering advice or trying to get her mind off of the worries. For the most part it didn't work, since fashion wasn't something most of them were all that knowledgeable of or into. That meant she needed to figure these things out on her own, and it wasn't helpful to her already-frayed nerves. She'd never felt this way before, but she'd never gone on a date before. Hell, she'd barely left the mansion, unless it was to break ground on her new gloomy mansions. With all the money and jewels she had lying around every nook and cranny of her mansion, she figured that she might as well invest it in property.

There was only so many beauty products a ghost needed to use. Her shock-white hair always tended to be set perfectly, and tonight was no different. Even in her darkest hour, at least her hair looked nice. The only makeup she used was some blush on her cheeks, since she wanted to at least have some color somewhere. She was pretty damn pale, as befitting someone who was, well, dead. Her skin was a ghostly - heh - white, and the sun did not do any favors for her. Blush was her best bet to put some color in her cheeks.

She fiddled with the shimmering ruby necklace she wore, as if trying to find the perfect angle for it to sit. It was all just an attempt to delay the inevitable, or maybe to distract herself from losing her nerve. She wasn't sure which, since both probabilities made sense. If she was on a date that involved a haunted house, that'd be great. Her date would have to enjoy her phasing out to haunt all the furniture and lights, though. That might be a bit too much for a first date. Well, for her, anything was a bit too much. She was liable to start crying if the sound of a large grandfather clock going off hadn't snapped her into focus.

"I'm going to be late!" Back to panicking, as she floated up through the ceiling of her underground chamber and ran through the walls of her mansion from the back to the front. The Boo Pipes were waiting out in a dilapidated shack she used to house the vehicle. She had all the money in the world to upgrade it, but this was a cheaper option that fit her aesthetic perfectly.

Getting in the car, she just hoped that she didn't mess this up. Bowsette was the ultimate queen. The woman of fire and fright, one whose rage burned as red as her hair. Getting to go on a date with her was the chance of a lifetime - deathtime? - and she got the feeling that there wouldn't be a second chance if she did something dumb or acted way too shy. She could only hope that things ended up okay.

Bowsette got to the art gallery first, about ten minutes before they'd agreed to meet. She got out of her car and waited at the entrance to the gallery, leaning on a pillar while popping her jacket collar up and down. There was nothing else she could do with her hands at the moment since she left her trusty stress Goomba at home. She only stopped because she didn't want to tear the leather. It was good-ass leather, for real. She rolled up her sleeves and checked her watch, wishing time would go faster.

Right on time, her date made it to the entrance. Bowsette was immediately floored by the translucent beauty heading her way. She'd seen pictures, but they paled in comparison to the real thing. Whether she was floating up the stairs because she was, well, a ghost, or because she was immediately smitten, she wasn't sure. All she knew was that this date instantly became much more important than it already had been.

"Booette!" She pushed off the pillar and walked over to her date, pushing down any stray sensations of nervousness and worry. Confidence was key here, and she had plenty to spare. Flashing a big grin, she took Booette's hand in her own and lifted it up, giving it a kiss. Classic romance. Looked like she hadn't lost her touch. "Glad you could make it."

"Th... Thank you." Considering how white she was, any embarrassment would become quite apparent. There was no hiding the blush that started to spread over her cheeks, though she tried all the same. Hiding her face with her free hand, she knew she'd already made a mistake. If she couldn't even take a simple kiss on the hand, how was she going to deal with anything else during the date? She was so embarrassed, due to her own actions more than anything Bowsette had done.

"So... Wanna go inside?" Bowsette frowned slightly, but she recovered quickly outwardly. Inwardly, she was feeling a bit of those nerves coming back. Was she not interested now that they met in person? Could it be her looks? She was sure that she'd made herself absolutely perfect tonight. No, she couldn't let those kinds of thoughts invade her mind. If there was any hesitation right now, she'd surely stomp it out once inside. It'd still be a date to remember, and in a good way.

Booette nodded, not trusting her vocal chords to work properly. Her hand slipped from Bowsette's, and presently she was following behind her into the museum. At least, that was the case until the door was held open for her. She blushed again at her date being such a gentlekoopa, her mumbled thanks almost too quiet to be heard. Once she was inside, she stood there and waited for Bowsette to take the lead again. She felt more comfortable following behind her, where she wouldn't be stared at.

With Bowsette in the lead, that allowed her to feel more comfortable staring without having to hide her face in embarrassment. She was glad she had that chance, because wow, her date was gorgeous. It seemed like she'd gone for the first turn kill on the first date, wearing the well-known 'little black number' that looked damn incredible on her. Hugging her body in all the right places, she could only wonder if the dress was backless. The leather jacket she was wearing obscured it, but she didn't mind too much. It made her look extra cool and badass.

The museum was having a special exhibit that day, something that both of them could enjoy. In an appropriately darkened area of the building was an exhibition on creepy and unsettling paintings. They both showed their tickets to the employee guarding the entrance, allowing them to pass by the curtains and be swallowed up by the darkness. Well, almost darkness. There were pale, low-energy lights lining the floor so that people could see where they were going. Probably to avoid lawsuits and all that.

Lights hung from the ceiling just to illuminate the artwork, two crossing beams per portrait. The two of them stopped in front of the first one they came across, which was a rather grotesque bat swooping down from the ceiling of the cave onto an unsuspecting spelunker. At least in the darkness, Booette felt more at ease. Besides being her element anyway, everyone was partially obscured by it. She could make believe it was just her in that gallery. Her and Bowsette.

Before they moved on to the next painting, Bowsette grabbed her hand and smiled at her, her teeth glimmering from the shine of the ceiling lights. "Wouldn't wanna lose you in the dark." She was rendered speechless, only able to squeeze Bowsette's hand tighter as she led them to the next painting. Surely the lights weren't needed to see her embarrassment now. Her cheeks burned bright enough to light up any room.

She became intimately aware of how warm Bowsette's hand was. It was almost like there was actual lava in her veins. That made sense, though. She was the fire queen, after all. Still, she couldn't help but find her focus being mainly attached to her date's warm hand. It was incredibly comforting, even making her feel less nervous about the date as a whole. She found herself no longer wanting to let go. Maybe they could just hold hands for a little while longer. Or forever.

Halfway down the gallery, she'd been mostly silent. Though holding hands had made her feel a bit more at ease, she still found it difficult to make conversation. Instead, Bowsette was the one who fueled the conversations, while she gave short responses. She was worried that she was coming off as cold, though. Those short answers could be seen as curt, which wasn't her intention at all. There had to be something she could say to break the ice.

"It's... chilly in here, isn't it?" When she said 'break the ice', she hadn't meant to make everything cold-related. This was what happened when she opened her mouth around people she didn't know. Now, if they had their backs to her, then that was all fine and good. She could sneak behind them and haunt them to her heart's content. This, though? This was what happened when she was out in the open: exposed. Metaphorically exposed, anyway.

"Hmm? I didn't notice." It was hard for Bowsette to get chilly. She was basically a walking heater, so she could move through most winters without a problem. Most of her jackets, like the one she was wearing, wasn't even for warmth, but for looks. She'd roll up the sleeves to avoid overheating, but leather jackets were always cool. It seemed like the prime opportunity to use it for something cooler, though. Rolling down the sleeves, she stopped and removed it, then put it on her date's shoulders.

"Huh?" Booette looked at her shoulder, barely able to see the jacket in the darkness. It could sure be felt, though. Like a warm weight on her shoulders. Her cheeks burned as she slowly slipped her arms into the jacket. She felt much warmer with it on, though she wasn't sure if it was because of the jacket itself or because of the person who had given it to her. "Thank you... I-I appreciate it." She popped up the collar to obscure her embarrassment, as well as the small smile on her face.

"No problem!" Bowsette gave her a thumbs up, grinning as they held hands again and continued through the gallery. She'd chosen to take Booette there because they both held a love of fine art. Despite her own terrifying castle and evil nature, she actually was more of a fan of scenic artistry. However, she was sure that her date would enjoy something darker, so she decided they'd go to this specific exhibit. Considering how Booette's eyes lit up at times over certain paintings when she didn't know Bowsette was looking, she'd consider her assumption to be correct as usual.

"Now this one I really like." Near the end was a painting that really caught Bowsette's interest. It was a darkened forest, with black, dead trees comprising all of the 'greenery'. Shadowy figures stood at the edges of the canvas, almost seeming to dance in and out of existence. This was the kind of artwork that she'd want hanging in her castle. She'd like to see Mario escape from that.

"Mm. It really shows a quiet despair of loss in a world dying around you." Was that the artist's intent? Their vision. Who knows. Honestly, she was just making all that up. Using a heightened vocabulary she'd gained from reading book after dusty book alone in her mansion, she was sure she could easily make up some pretentious meaning to any artwork they passed by. She hoped that was enough to impress her date. They'd been having a great time so far, but she wanted to make sure she was cultured enough for someone like Bowsette. Coming to an art gallery on the first date was a refined selection, and she didn't want to disappoint.

"Yeah, it... absolutely does. I couldn't agree more." She nodded, pretending that she had any idea what that meant. Damn, her date really was an art connoisseur. She'd figured as much going in, but she wasn't a huge art snob. Not that she thought Booette was a snob, of course. She didn't know much about the reasons behind art. As long as it was cool, that was fine with her. She was a... cool connoisseur.

When they reached the end of the exhibit, it still wasn't that late. Since they were allowed to see the rest of the museum, bar the other special exhibits, they decided to keep going and see more. Booette found herself loosening up a bit more with each room they went into, even laughing when Bowsette claimed that one of the portraits of a rather dashing looking Koopa was an ancestor of hers. She could even get the pose from the portrait down perfectly.

In a room full of statues, Bowsette got a bit too into making up stories for the chiseled beings. Putting some excitement into one of the stories, which was some kind of retelling involving parts of her own life, she accidentally slapped one of the statues with her tail. Eyes wide, she hauled ass to grab the statue and keep it from crashing to the ground. Pulling it back up into a standing position, she wiped the sweat from her brow and looked over at Booette. "That didn't happen." She just covered her giggle with a hand and nodded, not wanting to admit just yet that it didn't matter if one measly statue got broken. It was she who had donated them in the first place.

Eventually they reached the end of everything they wanted to see. The museum was close to closing too, so that was perfect timing. They ended up in the gift shop, as one always wants to be before leaving. The two of them split up to look around, with Booette finding herself by a rack of print-ups of some of the paintings in the gallery. To her delight, she found that one of them was the painting that Bowsette had said she liked. Smiling to herself, she picked it up and took it the register.

She didn't have to wait long, since there was nobody in line. When she finished paying for it, she floated over to Bowsette and held it out with a shy smile. "I bought this for you. You said you really liked this painting..." She hoped that she liked it. It'd be hard to come back from being rejected on that.

"Yeah, I did. Thanks!" She took it with a grin, but then immediately turned that smile right-side up. "You didn't have to spend anything on me. I gotta find something good for you too." Before Booette could tell her that she didn't need anything, she had turned right around and zoomed down the aisle, looking at everything with a quick, critical eye. Would she even have time before the shop closed?

It was on the same rack of print-ups that she found what she wanted. A different painting, one of a sad, ghostly woman in a white dress sitting on a bleeding throne, seemed perfect to her. 'The Woman in Wight'. That was clever, she was pretty sure. It seemed perfect for someone like Booette. Silently applauding herself, she went up to the register and paid for it, then handed it to her curious date. "Told ya I'd find you something!"

Booette took it, looking over the painting print. It kind of looked like her, actually. Though her throne didn't usually bleed. It was the thought that counted, though, and there must've been some thought put in it to make sure she'd like it. She was really flattered, almost choking her up. Smiling, she ducked her head in embarrassment. She couldn't hide her smile this time, though. "This is really nice. It's... really sweet of you to buy it for me." Bowsette beamed, pleased with the response.

They walked outside with their prints in hand, a surprise gust of wind greeting them as soon as they exited the building. Booette shivered a bit, but Bowsette seemed completely unaffected. She looked so cool, honestly. Booette was rendered awestruck with both how cool and thoughtful she was on their date. Oh, and attractive. She was also very attractive. Couldn't forget about that.

"I had fun tonight... Thank you for taking me here." Outside of the exhibits, and in the night's sobering chill, she could feel her anxiety returning. She wished that she was holding Bowsette's hand again. At least then she'd feel warmer and less worried about her dating performance. She'd had fun, but had Bowsette? It seemed like she did, but she couldn't know for sure. Mind reading wasn't a power that ghosts had, unfortunately. Would she want to know the truth if she could, though?

"No problem. I had fun too!" As far as Bowsette was concerned, their date was a rousing success. It'd been so long since she'd been on a proper date that she'd wondered if she'd forgotten how to even do it properly. Since Booette had fun, though, it seemed that she wasn't as rusty as she'd feared. Perhaps that meant they'd even go a second date. She hoped so, anyway. It wasn't likely that she'd have a chance to go on a date with someone else who was even close to as interesting and easy on the eyes as her woman in wight over there. "So how 'bout you give me my jacket back on our next date?" She decided to go for it, hoping that her svelte charms would work to her advantage.

"I... think that should be acceptable." Blushing at both Bowsette's forwardness and her own agreement, she stepped closer to her date until they were face to face. Surprising even herself, she leaned in and softly kissed her on the cheek. Stifling her laughter at the shocked expression on Bowsette's face, she whispered "Call me," before turning and gliding down the steps to her car. She couldn't believe that she'd done that, but she could admit to herself that it was worth it. A second date sounded wonderful, and she felt a bit giddy being the one to shock her otherwise-gregarious date into silence. All the way down to her car, she could only think about Bowsette's big smile, carefree attitude, and her very warm hands. Also those back muscles that had flexed ever-so enticingly with certain movements she had made. That dress had been backless.

Still on the top step, Bowsette watched Booette glide away in stunned silence. She put a hand on the cheek that had been kissed, feeling a ghostly chill on the spot where it would usually be very warm. It didn't take long for her to break out into a big smile, though, pumping her fist excitedly. "Yes! Second date, baby!" She tilted her head back and blew a breath of fire into the air, clapping her hands excitedly. The museum's nightwatchman, just exiting the building, looked at her curiously. "What are you looking at, bub?"

[domesticateddarkling]

How To Feel Foxy:  Lessons from the Queen of Burlesque

The irony of this post is that I'm typing this in my pajamas, without an ounce of makeup on my face.  

I can't help but look at Dita with a sense of awe, and not come away inspired.  In a sea of overly-bleached and spray-tanned women, she was a breath of fresh air.  Here she was pale and raven-haired, dressed to the nines with a vibrant scarlet pout.  

I adore the fact that she takes inspiration from a bygone era, and that she just doesn't dress like it, but that she lives and breathes it.  

Hence, the reason I consider her a personal icon of beauty.  

So, just in case you may be feeling a little bit ugly, here's a list compiled by StyleCaster.com featuring Dita's greatest beauty hits:

1. “Finding and making your beauty mark is about living as your authentic, empowered self. If this is what the world calls being an eccentric beauty, so be it!”

2. “Strive for glamour! Glamour is enchantment, wonder. It is standing out from the crowd by way of flourish, manners and charm. Glamour is a thing of beauty—but it’s not about being born beautiful. Glamour doesn’t belong to to those naturally stunning, or to the rich, or young. Hollywood has no monopoly on glamour. Glamour is the creation of beauty and allure, and anyone can create it.”

3. “I’ve always considered myself a woman who knows that being around other great women is uplifting and inspiring and doesn’t detract from her own greatness.”

4. “Spending money you don’t have on a jar of hope isn’t going to change your skin or your life.”

5. “I keep two three-pound weights around to strengthen my arms. Traveling with them is not always possible. So imagine my joy during a hotel stay when I discovered I could optimize my morning lunges by clutching a in each hand an unopened bottle of Champagne by the neck!”

6. “A beautiful thing doesn’t have to be new, or even particularly valuable or precious, as long as it’s a thing to behold.”

7. “No matter what your calling in life, better nutrition means a better chance of looking and feeling glamorous all day.”

8. “Like lipstick, scent can change how we feel and how others perceive us. Because scent is so tied to memories, we often evoke the past wen trying to describe a smell. Like memories, scent is ephemeral.”

9. “Makeup is as essential as shelter and bread. Don’t just take my word for it: The US Government, in all it’s infinite wisdom, recognized during World War II that women considered lipstick not only a necessity, but representative of the very definition of freedom and democracy. So while seamed stockings made the list of rationed items, lipstick did not.”

10. “I never see the light of day—not even a cloudy day—without sunscreen.”

11. “I wear makeup not because I am embarrassed about how I look without it. I’m not trying to hide anything. I just really, really enjoy it. I love what it does for me, how I feel with it on. What’s wrong with that?

12. “What I’m in a squeeze—for time, elan, comic relief—I think: What would Betty Grable do?”

13. “I’ll let you in on a secret. Sometimes when I am out flashing a prominently thickset cat eye, it can mean, just possibly, that I messed up. I likely started with the liquid liner wand between my fingers and the best intentions for a fine line. But on occasion, the wand has a will of its own. So instead of wiping the slate clean and starting over (because, really, who has the time?), I build on it.”

14. “Perfume is the veil of glamour that enhances a woman’s beauty. And no way was I going naked!”

15. “I always felt like the ordinary one between my two sisters. I could never claim any striking features. No full lips. No big eyes. There are many “ideal” traits I wasn’t born with. But in that moment with my lips painted Cherries in the Snow red, I felt like a million bucks. The siren call was clear: this was who I wanted to be.”

16. “I never go to the beauty salon to have my hair colored…because of my blonde roots, I color my hair every two weeks.”

17. “So often, a stranger or friend will admire my look, and, in the same breath, hopelessly follow up that he or she can’t possibly achieve such “perfection.” I am not perfect. Who is? What is perfection anyway, but striving to be the best you can be?”

18. “When it comes to bright lipstick and applying it, men become as focused as babies during this simple act.”

19. “I learned from a hairstylist in Japan to take a cropped, flat-pile powder brush (a dome powder brush works as well, just reserve it for hair and not the face!) and spritz it with hairspray, Quickly run the moistened brush over any baby hairs on the top, sides, back, and hairline.”

20. “What’s my remedy for reducing cellulite? No overhead lighting!”

21. “Being sexy isn’t bout one look any more than it is about one thing. For me, it can be about gorgeous lingerie, stockings and garters. But it’s not because I want men to approve. It’s what I like. Ultimately, it’s what makes you personally feel sexy and confident. Plus, a smile is always part of the equation.”

22. “A woman cannot be expected to wear red lipstick and eat with joie de vivre and not check her makeup. A powder compact with a mirror is one of my most accessible beauty secrets.”

23. “Given the choice between a bad makeup or a bad hair day, I’ll always take the makeup. A wonky cat eye can be quickly fine-tuned with a Q-tip or more liner. But bad hair? Little more can be done with dull or listless or frizzy locks than wrapping up the entire mess in a turban.”

24. “Even on those days when you’re feeling the most beautiful, not everyone is going to agree. They may never. It requires a certain courage, a certain craziness, to be able to live life without compromise, to step out the door and risk ridicule. When someone calls another individual ugly, all I see is that the one doing the insulting becomes instantly less beautiful. Consider it a compliment to be mocked for being beautiful; energy is never expended on mediocrity.

25. “Be honest with yourself. If you can’t, after all, who can?”

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39 Best Hair Color for Dark Skin that Black Women Want 2017 - Girls Best Hairstyle

New Post has been published on http://einmodelhaar.com/39-best-hair-color-for-dark-skin-that-black-women-want-2017-girls-best-hairstyle/

39 Best Hair Color for Dark Skin that Black Women Want 2017 - Girls Best Hairstyle

39 Best Hair Color for Dark Skin that Black Women Want 2017

While there are no wrong hair color answers, the best hair color for dark skin are ones that set off the rest of your features and complement your personality.

For both light and dark skin, there are corresponding hair color shades that work better than others. Whether you are black, African American, Latin American, East Indian or just have a darker skin tone, we are here to help you decide. In this article, we’ll highlight the best hair color ideas for dark skin to help you choose the best hair color for your dark skin tone.

So, what hair colors look best on dark skin? Over the years, the hair color trend for dark-skinned women has rapidly changed. Black, blonde, brown, white, red, yellow, green—the rest of the colors in the rainbow and more. Women have been trying all sorts of hues on their hair to make themselves stand out. Of course, each type of shade has its advantages and disadvantages, so we’ll tackle them all here.

NOTE: since our skin tones are very diverse and vary across every woman in the world, we will categorize skin color to light brown, medium brown, and dark brown skin tones.

39 Best Hair Color for Dark Skin that Black Women Want 2017

1. Best Hair Color for Light Brown Skin Tone

A light brown ombre in dreadlocks makes an elegant presentation for light brown skin tones.

source

source

2. Best Hair Color for Medium Brown Skin Tone

source

source

3. Best Hair Color for Dark Brown Skin Tone

If you’re seeking a sexy yet subtle hair color for a dark brown skin tone, check into purple hair paint. The dark brown to black base keeps your hairstyle grounded so you won’t stick out like a sore thumb. But, by adding a touch of purple color, it accents your look and lets your face shine. Be the rockstar of your office with these purple highlights.

Having dark hair with a dark brown skin tone can make you fade into the background. A silver color ombre brightens the look of women with dark skin while adding needed contrast. If you work in a corporate job, the silver hair color is a good choice if to add style while keeping with a conservative overall appearance.

Another option for women with dark skin is to go with a soft dusty pink hair color. Blending the pink hair color while keeping the tones muted creates a near-natural look. Tight curls further blend the color tones and add shimmering movement. Complete the package with complementary lipstick shade. Pink hair is a popular choice for black women.

Related: Pink Hair on Dark Skin (see number 9)

A subtle dark red, dark purple color looks good on dark brown skin. It has just the right amount of pop to look modern and contemporary.

1. Dark Brown Hair Color for Dark Skin

Nowadays, the most popular hair shade for dark-skinned women is dark brown. It is relatively the “safest” color because it doesn’t stand out too much from the color of your skin, but unlike natural black hair, it can complement the glow of your brown skin in a subtle but flattering way.

For light, medium, and dark brown skin categories, dark brown hair will always go well with your skin color. Hair dye shades such as chocolate brown, deep brown, espresso brown, and coffee brown are simple hues that can make your hair blend with your natural skin color.

Beyonce with Chocolate Brown Hair:

Another advantage of dying your hair dark brown is it requires much lesser treatment compared to other shades, since natural black hair can be dyed the ideal dark brown shade in only 1-2 treatments. Consider this shade if you’re thinking of dying your hair for the first time.

2. Medium to Light Brown Hair Color for Dark Skin

This shade is a notch higher than dark brown, encompassing tones such as honey, caramel brown, milk-chocolate brown, and latte brown, among others. For all dark skin colors, medium to light brown hair is a good recommendation since it suits everyone and is easy to match with almost any fashion.

Caramel Hair Color on Dark Brown Skin Tone:

When you have to stay conservative, but can’t stand to be ordinary, look for a hairstyle that sticks to natural color tones. A two-toned hairstyle with a dark brown base and caramel brown tops is a great example. Keeping the hair colors layered and neat adds a level of sophistication to your look. Feel confident at your next outing with this luxurious statement.

Light Brown Hair on Medium Brown Skin Tone:

source

Medium to light brown hair is still not an outrageous hair color, but it does offer a bit more boost to dark skin tones than dark brown hair. For dye shades that are lighter or brighter than your skin, your hair can make you look brighter and give you an additional glow.

On the other hand, for shades darker than your skin, the contrast can also make your skin look lighter than it actually is.

3. Blonde Hair Color for Dark Skin or Black Women

Blonde comes in many shades and can be carried well by any woman with dark skin. Shades such as platinum, strawberry, golden, champagne, and ashen blonde are just some of the colors you can choose from.

Blonde hair for a dark-skinned woman can be a huge change in your look because of the amazing contrast, but when the right shade is chosen for your skin color, you can achieve the Tyra Banks-Naomi Campbell look.

For light brown skin, lighter shades of blonde such as light ash blonde, light strawberry blonde, and buttery blonde have lots of potential to look amazing. You can also get away with platinum blonde, as your skin won’t have much contrast to the color and look too unnatural.

Buttery Blonde on Light Brown Skin:

Shades that go well with medium brown skin are also light blonde colors (mentioned above) and in-between hues such as beige, summer blonde, creamy blonde, dirty blonde, and honey blonde. Depending on the color, your hair can accentuate your skin to make it look more outstanding, as seen in this example below.

Platinum Blonde on Medium Brown Skin:

For dark brown skin, every shade of blonde from light to dark will look great (ashen blonde, brownish blonde, caramel blonde, chestnut, and sandy blonde especially). With darker skin comes greater contrast to blonde hair, and can result to a more incredible, head-turning look.

Light Blonde Frosted Tips on Dark Brown Skin:

Frosted tips are not just for guys stuck in the 90’s. It’s also a way for women with dark skin tone to showcase blonde hair. A cropped short afro can be colored with any shade of blonde. The short length reins in the color and keeps it from getting out of control. If you’re looking for a contrasting hair color for black women with very short hair, check this out.

Light Ash Blonde on Dark Brown Skin:

However, blonde shades that have overpowering orange and yellow tints are not recommended, since you don’t want to ruin the contrast with a too-bright hue.

4. Reddish and Purple Hues for Women with Dark Skin

Want to be a little bit more playful? Red dye is a strong, vibrant color that adds a lot of character to your look. Scarlet, red wine, light red, dark red, and bright red colors go well with light to medium brown skin tones, while more burgundy hues match with darker skin tone.

We recommend that the darker the skin tone, the more intense the shade—to make your hair color pop.

Red Hair Color on Dark Skin:

Purple hair is another story. If you’re feeling a little bit more playful and bold, go for violet, lilac, or purple hues. It doesn’t contrast excessively with brown skin and being a cool color, purple and violet hair blends well with dark-skinned women.

Purple Hair Color for Dark Skin:

5. Green, Blue, and Other Outrageous Hair Colors  for Dark Skin

If you want to try unusual hair colors like green, blue, indigo, silver, pink and many others, consider getting yourself an ombre. An ombre of any color looks amazing on every shade of skin. It’s a style that would not go out of trend for many years to come, you can rest assured that your hair wills always turn heads and garner those Instagram likes.

Blue Green Shades on Light Brown Skin:

On the other hand, when you feel confident enough, rock the solid color look. Keep in mind to choose a color that you can commit too, and one that matches your style and skin shade well.

However, both ombre and solid color hairstyles can inflict great damage on your hair due to bleaching and extensive styling (plus possible straightening/curling) so make sure to choose the color you want and provide good aftercare for your hair.

Lilac Hair Color on Dark Skin:

Cotton Candy Blue on Medium Brown Skin:

It’s no secret that ladies want to stand out, and what better way to do that by coloring your hair into a beautiful, flattering color that complements your natural dark skin. Your skin tone is an asset, and you should flaunt all of your assets and emphasize them with the right hair color.

In this article, we highlighted the best hair colors for dark skin. If this article helped you find the right hue for you, then leave a comment below. Also, share this with your friends to help them know what color is best for them, as well. Thanks for reading!

Find and save ideas about Hair ideas on Pinterest. | See more ideas about Hair dos, Easy prom hairstyles and Easy winter hairstyles.

Celebrity Hairstyles, Curly Hairstyles, Hair Trends, Hairstyles for Black Women, Short Hairstyles Hairstyles for Black Women, Hairstyles, Haircuts and Hair Colors

http://girlsbesthairstyle.com

Tags:2017, best, best hair color, Beyonce with Chocolate Brown Hair, Black, black women, celebreties hair ideas, Color, Dark, Hair, Hair Color for Dark Skin, highlight, Light Blonde Frosted Tips, light brown, medium brown, Purple hair, rihanna hair, skin, Want, women

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39 Best Hair Color for Dark Skin that Black Women Want 2017

New Post has been published on http://girlsbesthairstyle.com/39-best-hair-color-dark-skin-black-women-want-2017/

39 Best Hair Color for Dark Skin that Black Women Want 2017

39 Best Hair Color for Dark Skin that Black Women Want 2017

While there are no wrong hair color answers, the best hair color for dark skin are ones that set off the rest of your features and complement your personality.

For both light and dark skin, there are corresponding hair color shades that work better than others. Whether you are black, African American, Latin American, East Indian or just have a darker skin tone, we are here to help you decide. In this article, we’ll highlight the best hair color ideas for dark skin to help you choose the best hair color for your dark skin tone.

So, what hair colors look best on dark skin? Over the years, the hair color trend for dark-skinned women has rapidly changed. Black, blonde, brown, white, red, yellow, green—the rest of the colors in the rainbow and more. Women have been trying all sorts of hues on their hair to make themselves stand out. Of course, each type of shade has its advantages and disadvantages, so we’ll tackle them all here.

NOTE: since our skin tones are very diverse and vary across every woman in the world, we will categorize skin color to light brown, medium brown, and dark brown skin tones.

39 Best Hair Color for Dark Skin that Black Women Want 2017

1. Best Hair Color for Light Brown Skin Tone

A light brown ombre in dreadlocks makes an elegant presentation for light brown skin tones.

source

source

2. Best Hair Color for Medium Brown Skin Tone

source

source

3. Best Hair Color for Dark Brown Skin Tone

If you’re seeking a sexy yet subtle hair color for a dark brown skin tone, check into purple hair paint. The dark brown to black base keeps your hairstyle grounded so you won’t stick out like a sore thumb. But, by adding a touch of purple color, it accents your look and lets your face shine. Be the rockstar of your office with these purple highlights.

Having dark hair with a dark brown skin tone can make you fade into the background. A silver color ombre brightens the look of women with dark skin while adding needed contrast. If you work in a corporate job, the silver hair color is a good choice if to add style while keeping with a conservative overall appearance.

Another option for women with dark skin is to go with a soft dusty pink hair color. Blending the pink hair color while keeping the tones muted creates a near-natural look. Tight curls further blend the color tones and add shimmering movement. Complete the package with complementary lipstick shade. Pink hair is a popular choice for black women.

Related: Pink Hair on Dark Skin (see number 9)

A subtle dark red, dark purple color looks good on dark brown skin. It has just the right amount of pop to look modern and contemporary.

1. Dark Brown Hair Color for Dark Skin

Nowadays, the most popular hair shade for dark-skinned women is dark brown. It is relatively the “safest” color because it doesn’t stand out too much from the color of your skin, but unlike natural black hair, it can complement the glow of your brown skin in a subtle but flattering way.

For light, medium, and dark brown skin categories, dark brown hair will always go well with your skin color. Hair dye shades such as chocolate brown, deep brown, espresso brown, and coffee brown are simple hues that can make your hair blend with your natural skin color.

Beyonce with Chocolate Brown Hair:

Another advantage of dying your hair dark brown is it requires much lesser treatment compared to other shades, since natural black hair can be dyed the ideal dark brown shade in only 1-2 treatments. Consider this shade if you’re thinking of dying your hair for the first time.

2. Medium to Light Brown Hair Color for Dark Skin

This shade is a notch higher than dark brown, encompassing tones such as honey, caramel brown, milk-chocolate brown, and latte brown, among others. For all dark skin colors, medium to light brown hair is a good recommendation since it suits everyone and is easy to match with almost any fashion.

Caramel Hair Color on Dark Brown Skin Tone:

When you have to stay conservative, but can’t stand to be ordinary, look for a hairstyle that sticks to natural color tones. A two-toned hairstyle with a dark brown base and caramel brown tops is a great example. Keeping the hair colors layered and neat adds a level of sophistication to your look. Feel confident at your next outing with this luxurious statement.

Light Brown Hair on Medium Brown Skin Tone:

source

Medium to light brown hair is still not an outrageous hair color, but it does offer a bit more boost to dark skin tones than dark brown hair. For dye shades that are lighter or brighter than your skin, your hair can make you look brighter and give you an additional glow.

On the other hand, for shades darker than your skin, the contrast can also make your skin look lighter than it actually is.

3. Blonde Hair Color for Dark Skin or Black Women

Blonde comes in many shades and can be carried well by any woman with dark skin. Shades such as platinum, strawberry, golden, champagne, and ashen blonde are just some of the colors you can choose from.

Blonde hair for a dark-skinned woman can be a huge change in your look because of the amazing contrast, but when the right shade is chosen for your skin color, you can achieve the Tyra Banks-Naomi Campbell look.

For light brown skin, lighter shades of blonde such as light ash blonde, light strawberry blonde, and buttery blonde have lots of potential to look amazing. You can also get away with platinum blonde, as your skin won’t have much contrast to the color and look too unnatural.

Buttery Blonde on Light Brown Skin:

Shades that go well with medium brown skin are also light blonde colors (mentioned above) and in-between hues such as beige, summer blonde, creamy blonde, dirty blonde, and honey blonde. Depending on the color, your hair can accentuate your skin to make it look more outstanding, as seen in this example below.

Platinum Blonde on Medium Brown Skin:

For dark brown skin, every shade of blonde from light to dark will look great (ashen blonde, brownish blonde, caramel blonde, chestnut, and sandy blonde especially). With darker skin comes greater contrast to blonde hair, and can result to a more incredible, head-turning look.

Light Blonde Frosted Tips on Dark Brown Skin:

Frosted tips are not just for guys stuck in the 90’s. It’s also a way for women with dark skin tone to showcase blonde hair. A cropped short afro can be colored with any shade of blonde. The short length reins in the color and keeps it from getting out of control. If you’re looking for a contrasting hair color for black women with very short hair, check this out.

Light Ash Blonde on Dark Brown Skin:

However, blonde shades that have overpowering orange and yellow tints are not recommended, since you don’t want to ruin the contrast with a too-bright hue.

4. Reddish and Purple Hues for Women with Dark Skin

Want to be a little bit more playful? Red dye is a strong, vibrant color that adds a lot of character to your look. Scarlet, red wine, light red, dark red, and bright red colors go well with light to medium brown skin tones, while more burgundy hues match with darker skin tone.

We recommend that the darker the skin tone, the more intense the shade—to make your hair color pop.

Red Hair Color on Dark Skin:

Purple hair is another story. If you’re feeling a little bit more playful and bold, go for violet, lilac, or purple hues. It doesn’t contrast excessively with brown skin and being a cool color, purple and violet hair blends well with dark-skinned women.

Purple Hair Color for Dark Skin:

5. Green, Blue, and Other Outrageous Hair Colors  for Dark Skin

If you want to try unusual hair colors like green, blue, indigo, silver, pink and many others, consider getting yourself an ombre. An ombre of any color looks amazing on every shade of skin. It’s a style that would not go out of trend for many years to come, you can rest assured that your hair wills always turn heads and garner those Instagram likes.

Blue Green Shades on Light Brown Skin:

On the other hand, when you feel confident enough, rock the solid color look. Keep in mind to choose a color that you can commit too, and one that matches your style and skin shade well.

However, both ombre and solid color hairstyles can inflict great damage on your hair due to bleaching and extensive styling (plus possible straightening/curling) so make sure to choose the color you want and provide good aftercare for your hair.

Lilac Hair Color on Dark Skin:

Cotton Candy Blue on Medium Brown Skin:

It’s no secret that ladies want to stand out, and what better way to do that by coloring your hair into a beautiful, flattering color that complements your natural dark skin. Your skin tone is an asset, and you should flaunt all of your assets and emphasize them with the right hair color.

In this article, we highlighted the best hair colors for dark skin. If this article helped you find the right hue for you, then leave a comment below. Also, share this with your friends to help them know what color is best for them, as well. Thanks for reading!

Find and save ideas about Hair ideas on Pinterest. | See more ideas about Hair dos, Easy prom hairstyles and Easy winter hairstyles.

Celebrity Hairstyles, Curly Hairstyles, Hair Trends, Hairstyles for Black Women, Short Hairstyles Hairstyles for Black Women, Hairstyles, Haircuts and Hair Colors

http://girlsbesthairstyle.com

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39 Best Hair Color for Dark Skin that Black Women Want 2017

New Post has been published on http://girlsbesthairstyle.com/39-best-hair-color-dark-skin-black-women-want-2017/

39 Best Hair Color for Dark Skin that Black Women Want 2017

39 Best Hair Color for Dark Skin that Black Women Want 2017

While there are no wrong hair color answers, the best hair color for dark skin are ones that set off the rest of your features and complement your personality.

For both light and dark skin, there are corresponding hair color shades that work better than others. Whether you are black, African American, Latin American, East Indian or just have a darker skin tone, we are here to help you decide. In this article, we’ll highlight the best hair color ideas for dark skin to help you choose the best hair color for your dark skin tone.

So, what hair colors look best on dark skin? Over the years, the hair color trend for dark-skinned women has rapidly changed. Black, blonde, brown, white, red, yellow, green—the rest of the colors in the rainbow and more. Women have been trying all sorts of hues on their hair to make themselves stand out. Of course, each type of shade has its advantages and disadvantages, so we’ll tackle them all here.

NOTE: since our skin tones are very diverse and vary across every woman in the world, we will categorize skin color to light brown, medium brown, and dark brown skin tones.

39 Best Hair Color for Dark Skin that Black Women Want 2017

1. Best Hair Color for Light Brown Skin Tone

A light brown ombre in dreadlocks makes an elegant presentation for light brown skin tones.

source

source

2. Best Hair Color for Medium Brown Skin Tone

source

source

3. Best Hair Color for Dark Brown Skin Tone

If you’re seeking a sexy yet subtle hair color for a dark brown skin tone, check into purple hair paint. The dark brown to black base keeps your hairstyle grounded so you won’t stick out like a sore thumb. But, by adding a touch of purple color, it accents your look and lets your face shine. Be the rockstar of your office with these purple highlights.

Having dark hair with a dark brown skin tone can make you fade into the background. A silver color ombre brightens the look of women with dark skin while adding needed contrast. If you work in a corporate job, the silver hair color is a good choice if to add style while keeping with a conservative overall appearance.

Another option for women with dark skin is to go with a soft dusty pink hair color. Blending the pink hair color while keeping the tones muted creates a near-natural look. Tight curls further blend the color tones and add shimmering movement. Complete the package with complementary lipstick shade. Pink hair is a popular choice for black women.

Related: Pink Hair on Dark Skin (see number 9)

A subtle dark red, dark purple color looks good on dark brown skin. It has just the right amount of pop to look modern and contemporary.

1. Dark Brown Hair Color for Dark Skin

Nowadays, the most popular hair shade for dark-skinned women is dark brown. It is relatively the “safest” color because it doesn’t stand out too much from the color of your skin, but unlike natural black hair, it can complement the glow of your brown skin in a subtle but flattering way.

For light, medium, and dark brown skin categories, dark brown hair will always go well with your skin color. Hair dye shades such as chocolate brown, deep brown, espresso brown, and coffee brown are simple hues that can make your hair blend with your natural skin color.

Beyonce with Chocolate Brown Hair:

Another advantage of dying your hair dark brown is it requires much lesser treatment compared to other shades, since natural black hair can be dyed the ideal dark brown shade in only 1-2 treatments. Consider this shade if you’re thinking of dying your hair for the first time.

2. Medium to Light Brown Hair Color for Dark Skin

This shade is a notch higher than dark brown, encompassing tones such as honey, caramel brown, milk-chocolate brown, and latte brown, among others. For all dark skin colors, medium to light brown hair is a good recommendation since it suits everyone and is easy to match with almost any fashion.

Caramel Hair Color on Dark Brown Skin Tone:

When you have to stay conservative, but can’t stand to be ordinary, look for a hairstyle that sticks to natural color tones. A two-toned hairstyle with a dark brown base and caramel brown tops is a great example. Keeping the hair colors layered and neat adds a level of sophistication to your look. Feel confident at your next outing with this luxurious statement.

Light Brown Hair on Medium Brown Skin Tone:

source

Medium to light brown hair is still not an outrageous hair color, but it does offer a bit more boost to dark skin tones than dark brown hair. For dye shades that are lighter or brighter than your skin, your hair can make you look brighter and give you an additional glow.

On the other hand, for shades darker than your skin, the contrast can also make your skin look lighter than it actually is.

3. Blonde Hair Color for Dark Skin or Black Women

Blonde comes in many shades and can be carried well by any woman with dark skin. Shades such as platinum, strawberry, golden, champagne, and ashen blonde are just some of the colors you can choose from.

Blonde hair for a dark-skinned woman can be a huge change in your look because of the amazing contrast, but when the right shade is chosen for your skin color, you can achieve the Tyra Banks-Naomi Campbell look.

For light brown skin, lighter shades of blonde such as light ash blonde, light strawberry blonde, and buttery blonde have lots of potential to look amazing. You can also get away with platinum blonde, as your skin won’t have much contrast to the color and look too unnatural.

Buttery Blonde on Light Brown Skin:

Shades that go well with medium brown skin are also light blonde colors (mentioned above) and in-between hues such as beige, summer blonde, creamy blonde, dirty blonde, and honey blonde. Depending on the color, your hair can accentuate your skin to make it look more outstanding, as seen in this example below.

Platinum Blonde on Medium Brown Skin:

For dark brown skin, every shade of blonde from light to dark will look great (ashen blonde, brownish blonde, caramel blonde, chestnut, and sandy blonde especially). With darker skin comes greater contrast to blonde hair, and can result to a more incredible, head-turning look.

Light Blonde Frosted Tips on Dark Brown Skin:

Frosted tips are not just for guys stuck in the 90’s. It’s also a way for women with dark skin tone to showcase blonde hair. A cropped short afro can be colored with any shade of blonde. The short length reins in the color and keeps it from getting out of control. If you’re looking for a contrasting hair color for black women with very short hair, check this out.

Light Ash Blonde on Dark Brown Skin:

However, blonde shades that have overpowering orange and yellow tints are not recommended, since you don’t want to ruin the contrast with a too-bright hue.

4. Reddish and Purple Hues for Women with Dark Skin

Want to be a little bit more playful? Red dye is a strong, vibrant color that adds a lot of character to your look. Scarlet, red wine, light red, dark red, and bright red colors go well with light to medium brown skin tones, while more burgundy hues match with darker skin tone.

We recommend that the darker the skin tone, the more intense the shade—to make your hair color pop.

Red Hair Color on Dark Skin:

Purple hair is another story. If you’re feeling a little bit more playful and bold, go for violet, lilac, or purple hues. It doesn’t contrast excessively with brown skin and being a cool color, purple and violet hair blends well with dark-skinned women.

Purple Hair Color for Dark Skin:

5. Green, Blue, and Other Outrageous Hair Colors  for Dark Skin

If you want to try unusual hair colors like green, blue, indigo, silver, pink and many others, consider getting yourself an ombre. An ombre of any color looks amazing on every shade of skin. It’s a style that would not go out of trend for many years to come, you can rest assured that your hair wills always turn heads and garner those Instagram likes.

Blue Green Shades on Light Brown Skin:

On the other hand, when you feel confident enough, rock the solid color look. Keep in mind to choose a color that you can commit too, and one that matches your style and skin shade well.

However, both ombre and solid color hairstyles can inflict great damage on your hair due to bleaching and extensive styling (plus possible straightening/curling) so make sure to choose the color you want and provide good aftercare for your hair.

Lilac Hair Color on Dark Skin:

Cotton Candy Blue on Medium Brown Skin:

It’s no secret that ladies want to stand out, and what better way to do that by coloring your hair into a beautiful, flattering color that complements your natural dark skin. Your skin tone is an asset, and you should flaunt all of your assets and emphasize them with the right hair color.

In this article, we highlighted the best hair colors for dark skin. If this article helped you find the right hue for you, then leave a comment below. Also, share this with your friends to help them know what color is best for them, as well. Thanks for reading!

Find and save ideas about Hair ideas on Pinterest. | See more ideas about Hair dos, Easy prom hairstyles and Easy winter hairstyles.

Celebrity Hairstyles, Curly Hairstyles, Hair Trends, Hairstyles for Black Women, Short Hairstyles Hairstyles for Black Women, Hairstyles, Haircuts and Hair Colors

http://girlsbesthairstyle.com