#THEY ARE SO BOUNCY YET FRIZZY | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pastmepettythings · 2 years

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storytime!!

it was probably 3 years ago at this point, definitely before the pandemic hit cause i was still in highschool. i was at the grocery store with my mom. we were in line to check out and she always has trouble picking a line, she porbably gets into two or three different ones before actually waiting and putting our groceries on the belt.

anyway, we're switching around lines and i notice this man staring at me. not in a weird way, well not entirely weird, but just looking at me. but not at my face, and not at my body either. he was looking at my hair.

now at this point my hair was far to long to be flattering and, probably wasn't brushed. i stopped brushing my hair when i realized it was getting wavy. present day i avoid it cause its so curly that it would get so frizzy if i tried.

back to the guy. he walks up to my mom and i and looks at my mom and goes; "is that her natural hair?" and we were like... yes... it is. and he went on and on abouthow beautiful it was and how red hair is so rare nowadays. he also told me to never dye it or change it becuase it wouldn't ever look the same afterwards. which is something my mom always says too. i though the dude was crazy cause my hair wasn't red! sure it had red highlights, but it was definitely brown.

so here we are three years later. and my hair is even redder than it used to be. i can't even call myself a brunette anymore because my hair is straight up auburn. and getting redder everyday. its also the curliest it's ever been and keeps getting curlier.

so yeah, i think as i get older i look more and more like my mom. which is great cause i think my mom is beautiful. i do miss the specialness of being the only one that looked like dad tho, but i'll always have his eyes so i guess it's okay.

i love my hair. it's not even hard to manage and i believe sincerely that it's on of the most unique things about me. like auburn is such a rare hair color and my curls are gorgeous and shiny and bouncy. even when i dont take care of it my waves aare perfect and beachy. i'm so happy with it. it's exactly what i want.

unrelated to the hair story, my skin is also beautiful too. i've got gorgeous, clear, clean skin. i take great care of my skin and it shows in how glowy and clean it looks. it's so smooth and perfect it's actually insane. my freckles are becoming visible all year long not just in the summer. i love my freckles.

i love my little routines, they make me feel so good. getting into bed after my skincare and hair care is the best part of my day. and when i wake up in the morning i get to see my inner self refelcted through my physical person.

i'm so excited to live the rest of my life in my body, it's always taken such good care of me. im in perfect health nearly always. i have clear healthy skin, my dream skin, shiny healthy hair, my dream hair, my dream body, my dream everything. i am currently everything i've ever wanted to be and what everyone else wants to be as well. i've got the looks that make other girls insecure (even though they dont need to be; i wish peace and blssings and LOTS of self-love to all the girls that havent discovered their power yet).

i love being me. im everything. im the best. i am the prize, the ultimate prize. nobody compares to me. no one ever could. i am the only option. everyone whose ever met me fell in love with me, everyone i know is in love with me, everyone i've yet to meet will fall in love with me. it's the way of the world, i get whatever i want becasue i deserve it. i deserve everything i want and more and no one gets to tell me otherwise. this my reality. i control things. i make the rule. everyone conforms to what i want. i am the ultimate power.

i am the best. no one can deny it. i am paramount.

okay story/rant over. love you///(aka me)

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ackermans-freedom-inc · 4 years

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Okay so here's another request I had 🥳 The reader has very bad body insecurities and compares herself a lot to the other girls at the Survey Corps saying she isn't pretty or as fit as them. She retorts to eating less thinking it'll make her feel better and people around her notice her not really eating. Levi who considers her a friend comforts her and lets her know that she's beautiful? Possibly some TLC as well? This hits close to home for me so thank you sm! 💕 [Angst, hurt comfort]

Hi Dearie! @bighopenat165! I took a bit longer with this one, and let me just say, this hits so close to home for me too! I hope Levi can comfort you a little <3

Mirrors - tw: body insecurities, hurt/comfort, fluff!

You looked at yourself in the mirror, bending over as your hands came down to grab at your belly. No matter how you trained, how you worked, how much you ran, you stomach never seemed to be as flat as the other cadets on base. Your thighs seemed to jiggle more than theirs, your thighs chafing as you ran in the summer months. Your skin wasn’t smooth and beautiful like theirs, your stomach, thighs, and backside marked with jagged lines that seemed to have no end.

Living in the dormitories with the other girls only made your insecurities worse. Everyone was so beautiful. So strong. So capable. Everyone except you it seemed. Where everyone else’s hair was silky and smooth, or bouncy and full, or gorgeously wavy, yours was frizzy, unruly, dull, and messy. Their eyes all beautiful shades of light and dark, while yours seemed to be uninteresting. They could train for hours without breaking a sweat, bloody fists still punching after a change of bandages. Their toned legs could run for miles and miles without tiring, yet yours would wobble after the first couple of kilometers.

That was when you decided it would be for the best if you stopped eating. It started off with you telling your friends to go to the mess hall without you, claiming you would join them later. That worked for a little while, before they started getting suspicious. It took you going with them to the mess hall to convince them there was nothing going on, you munching on salad and drinking tea to keep yourself going in front of your friends. Soon, you couldn’t even stomach the thought of eating salad, wanting to just skip all your meals. The less you ate, the worse you felt. It seemed as though the mirrors were taunting you. Every reflective surface caught your curves. Every time you looked in the mirror, all you could see was excess. All you were was excess.

Your eyes got more sunken, your dark circles sank in deeper and deeper, but all you saw was you. You couldn’t see the beauty that you longed to see in others. You couldn’t look past yourself.

Your friends noticed, coming together to try and get you to eat. You would entertain them and take a couple bites, but before long, you simply avoided them, playing a sort of catch and mouse game around the mess hall. That was how Levi got involved.

He had noticed how your beautiful shiny hair had lost its sheen, how your gorgeous skin started to look dull and flat. Your eyes that used to sparkle were now cold and harsh. Most of all, he noticed how your body was looking, no longer filled out and toned, but now looking gaunt and wiry. When he noticed your friends chasing you around the mess hall, almost forcing you to eat, he knew he had to step in.

That night, you were called into his office. You trembled with every step, your footing unsure as stars dappled your vision from the lack of food. Your brain was mush, the only thing keeping you going was the coffee and tea you drank with a small spoonful of honey.

As the door to his office closed behind you, you were shocked when Levi started to strip off his shirt, grey eyes looking into yours the whole time. As his shirt came off, it was hung loosely against his body, and he turned, showing you his back. You gasped as your eyes focused on the bruises, deep and a dark angry purple against his skin. White raised marks were littered across his body, some raised, some barely visible.

“Do you find it ugly?” he spoke, his back still towards you. “Do you wish I didn’t look like this?”

You were quick to reply, a “No sir!” falling from your lips before you could think.

Levi shrugged his shirt back on, fastening a couple buttons for modesty sake as he sat you down by his desk. His eyes were stern now as they looked into yours.

“Y/N, you’re not eating. Tell my why.”

You spluttered, not sure where to start. Your brain rattled off some things. You mentioned your stretch marks, how your body wasn’t as toned as everyone else’s, and how you felt inadequate compared to everyone else on base.

A finger on your chin made you look up at him, and you could see concern and honesty in his eyes as he spoke. He told you how your stretch marks are a sign of your skin growing, like rings on a tree. He said how they were your stripes, making you as dangerous as the deadly animals that roamed beyond the walls. He spoke to you about your body, how it was built perfectly for what you needed it to do. He assured you of your strength, never doubting your ability to contribute to the team. He ran a hand down your back, repeating the same two words after every sentence he whispered. “You’re beautiful.”

Starting that evening, you leaned on Levi for help getting back on track. Helping you keep a schedule helped him keep a schedule. Your tea time, snack time, and meal times planned perfectly in order. You ate dutifully under his watchful eye, never hesitating to tell you how beautiful you are whenever you looked to be hesitant to swallow your bite. In return, you kept him from losing track of time, preventing him from getting lost in training and paperwork.

Today was another one of those days. It was time for your midnight snack, and as Levi set down two steaming cups of tea, you popped a bite of the pastry he swiped from the kitchen, licking the stickiness off your fingers with a smack. Anyone else, and Levi would have chewed them out for being disgusting. But with you, he was only proud.

He stood you in front of the mirror he had set up in the room, and you looked into it, a genuine small on your face as you looked at yourself. Where you used to see only excess, now you saw strength and determination. Where you used to see rolls of uselessness, you saw capability and drive. Where you used to see ugliness, you only saw beauty. You smiled at your reflection in the mirror, letting go, for the first time, of the ugly thoughts that swirled in your head as you ran a hand down your body, admiring it for all its done for you, and all that it can do.

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infaethable · 4 years

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(part one here)

riz gukgak has been legally dead for a week when he wakes up in a hospital bed.

it’s not like in movies, he doesn’t come to consciousness all at once. he catches snippets of conversations and traces of sensations, the relief of his mother’s voice for half a second, the comforting smell of adaine’s bergamot shampoo that always lingers even a few days after a wash, a hand in his, rubbing a thumb across riz’s split and scabbed over knuckles before he finally fights the urge to go back into the sweet relief of unconsciousness and opens his eyes.

it's so bright that he immediately has to beat back the impulse to close them again, his pupils narrowing into slits in order to take in less light. he's got a killer headache, and his mouth is dry as he says the only thing he can think of.

which is understandably, "ow."

fabian, who riz had uncharacteristically not noticed sleeping silently in the chair beside the bed, falls out of said chair in surprise. riz lets a smile spread across his face, the first in a number of weeks.

now that he's more in himself, he takes in the room more and sees that clearly, he's been here for at least a little bit. if he had to guess, a couple of days. there are multitudes of cards on his bedside table, a kids one scrawled over in black sharpie clearly from fig, a handmade one that could be from kristen or gorgug, a lovingly colored in color by numbers type thing unmistakably from adaine, and a number of nondescript ones probably from distant classmates or his mom’s coworkers. on the windowsill is a slightly misshapen glass vase riz recognizes from it’s home on fabian’s dresser, holding a tin flower.

riz leans over the side of his bed, ignoring the flash of pain from pulling his stitches (which he apparently has now?) and takes in fabian himself, who’s getting his bearings on the floor. he supposes he’s being hypocritical, as someone in a hospital bed, but fabian looks rough.

he's got dark shadows under his eyes, and his hair, which over the past year had shifted slowly from straightened to loose bouncy curls, is frizzy, and disheveled like he’s run his hands through it too many times for the style to keep. his jacket, usually pressed (which riz made fun of to no end, the idea of pressing a letterman's jacket was so ridiculous-) was crumpled on the chair as if it had been draped over him like a blanket when he fell. and as fabian reaches a hand on the side of the hospital bed to help himself up, riz sees that there are white bandages wrapped around his palms.

riz feels a pang of worry along with the pull of his stitches, so he reluctantly repositions himself, but cocks his head to meet fabian’s gaze and croaks out (he should really ask about some ice chips-), “what happened to your hands?”

fabian finally gets himself to a standing position, blinks the sleep from his eyes, and says, "the ball. you’re- i'm going to get a nurse!" and runs out of the room.

riz gets about ten seconds of confusion before sklonda comes running in, and envelops him in the warmest hug he’s ever had and holds on for dear life.

and then, in a voice laced with more grief than he’s heard in six years, she says,

"you- riz you were gone."

and riz says back, trying not to get his mom’s curls in his mouth,

"i texted adaine?"

and sklonda pulls back, hands still on his shoulders, says,

"and then you went missing for three weeks! they found three and a half pints of your blood on the floor of a laundromat in bastion city, riz you are so!"

and then she makes a noise that riz knows means she is utterly done with his antics and buries him in a hug again.

and a nurse comes and taps sklonda on the shoulder, "mrs. gukgak? we need to check his vitals."

his mom corrects the nurse under her breath, “as i’ve told you, it’s miss gukgak.” before taking a step back.

riz answers benign questions like what country he's in (solace) what week it is (second week in november) how he’s feeling (bad) all the while craning his neck very subtly to see if fabian will come back in the room. his mom only rolls her eyes once.

when the nurse leaves, sklonda sighs and rubs her temples, and starts, "riz, you lost- you lost so much blood."

riz can’t meet his mother’s eyes as shame pools in his gut, says quietly, "i- not all of it was mine."

sklonda tenses, before continuing, "we figured that out when you showed up again, but riz, it was." and her eyes well up as her voice breaks, "if it had been, there was no way- you couldn't have survived it."

riz's brows furrow in confusion, as he prompts, “but it wasn't."

and sklonda retorts with a frustrated hand gesture, "yes, well the idiots in the bastion city precinct didn't know that, riz." and pauses to make sure he's looking her in the eyes as she continues, "you were legally dead riz. for a week."

and riz's eyes widen as he takes in the information, "what- that's stupid. i was alive. didn't anyone do any divination spells? or locator spells? or, actually, fuck-” riz takes a quick breath as some machine next to him starts beeping, “i um. warded myself against divination and locator spells, but i think dead is a little bit of an overreaction! how does this happen?!"

sklonda raises her voice, “calm down-” before taking a glance at the steadily rising heart rate monitor, and says in a low tone, “what's done is done, and the important thing is that you're alive."

riz does not calm down, his voice raising pitch slowly, "everyone thought i was dead? everyone?"

sklonda nods her head slowly, says, "we were about halfway through your will, which, by the way, how the fuck did you, a fifteen-year-old boy, get a will notarized without letting me know about it? do you want to explain that?"

riz's eyes are as wide as saucers as he says, "wait wait wait. my will? halfway- how much of my will?"

sklonda furrows her brows for a millisecond in confusion before a revelation washes over her face and incredulous anger sets in,

"riz gukgak. you were legally dead for a week and that is what you're worried about? YOU LOST THREE PERCENT OF YOUR BODY WEIGHT IN BLOOD!"

and she takes a step back, takes a deep breath, and says, before riz can respond, "i am going to get myself another coffee, and you some ice chips. and you are banned from “deep cover” for- for till college!"

and riz tries to sit up, but his stitches pull too painfully to ignore, so he cranes his neck to see out of the room as he shouts after her, "like in icarly?!"

sklonda shouts back, “stop pulling your stitches!” before disappearing out of sight.

riz waits there for a couple of moments spiraling, maybe he got the old letter, fuck, did i remember to switch them out? habit of forgetting things integral to my wellbeing, please don’t fail me now, i promise i will never say anything bad about you again- maybe they didn’t even get through all of them? or maybe he got it but he didn’t open it? was going to save it for his wedding day or something like in that movie with julianne hough- before hearing tentative footsteps, and looks up to see fabian in the doorway, head down, wringing his hands.

riz is suddenly acutely aware that he hasn’t talked to fabian (besides the brief exchange earlier) in almost a month, which would make it the longest he’s gone without talking to fabian since they met. even in those long and lonely weeks in jail, they found quiet ways to communicate. notes passed daisy chain style, the odd few messages by way of fig or adaine whenever both of their cell doors opened enough to let magic in.

riz opens his mouth to say something, act like a normal fucking person, but-

he can't.

and thankfully, fabian does, clears his throat and says, so quiet that riz might not be able to hear it if he weren't a goblin, "i got your letter."

fuck.

riz winces and looks down at his lap, the green of his hands contrasting with the pale blue hospital gown patterned with tiny dark blue polka dots.

he holds his tongue as he thinks about what to say before finally responding, "you um.” so much for thinking about what to say, he thinks as he levels his gaze at fabian yet again, “i wrote two. i had to rewrite yours, for- reasons. which one?"

fabian takes a step into the room, pauses a moment, then closes the door behind him. fabian’s movements are slow and hesitant like he’s trying not to make any loud or sudden noises. he still won't meet riz's eyes. riz gets the sinking feeling that he knows what letter fabian read.

fabian confirms it anyway, "the one where you said-"

and that’s all riz needs to interrupt, his voice painfully high pitched at this point, "we don't have to talk about that. it- it was a contingency plan, just in case, you know, and we can just move past it."

riz gives a smile that begs fabian to not notice his face is lime green right now. and then as a further misdirect, he adds, "you never told me what happened to your hands."

fabian finally meets riz's eyes, and his expression is. god, riz is so bad at reading faces, and he’d count fabian’s as his top three most readable faces, on the sheer amount he looks at it alone. he’s. confused? hurt? but that can't be true, why would fabian feel hurt? maybe he's mad riz took advantage of their friendship? but fabian denies that there's a friendship to betray at every turn-

his train of thought gets interrupted by fabian's next words, breathy with a hint of annoyance maybe, "i- my sword. burned my hands. when i made my pact."

and riz's eyes widen even more as horror and panic sets it, what the fuck did fabian do-

"your WHAT?"

fabian winces at riz's gravelly voice, which cracks halfway through so it can't be very intimidating, before saying, "riz, it's not important, if we could just please talk about the letter-"

riz interrupts him again, "i don't think my feelings for you matter as much as you selling your soul, fabian, why would you do that, oh my fucking gods-"

and fabian raises his voice for the first time, a hint of darkness and desperation riz hasn't ever heard before in his voice, "you were dead riz."

and riz quiets down, shakes his head from side to side a minuscule amount, before saying so quietly it could almost be a whisper, "what does that have to do with anything?"

fabian gets a look on his face that riz couldn't parse in a million years, his lips the smallest bit parted and his head shaking in mirror to riz’s. disagreement? confusion? riz can’t figure it out.

fabian’s steps echo on the linoleum as he crosses the distance from the door to the side of riz’s bed. riz looks up at him, so much taller normally and even more imposing now, and he doesn’t know how fabian clocks it, but he does, leans down so he’s on his knees and he and riz are at eye level.

it's dizzying, to have fabian's full attention like this. he almost opens his mouth to question what are you doing? but can’t bring himself to break the magnetism of the moment.

fabian’s gaze bores into his, and he says again, so softly riz thinks for a second that he wasn’t meant to hear it, and so broken that riz never wants to hear it again,

"riz. you were dead."

and for a beat, they just stare at each other.

fabian, slowly, slowly, reaches his hand to envelop riz’s, and it feels familiar. he can’t remember any other time fabian has held his hand, so that has to mean-

riz gets these feelings sometimes, little thorns of hope that dig their way in and whisper, what if- that inevitably disappoint when fabian crushes them underfoot. riz waits for the inevitable.

the inevitable doesn’t happen.

fabian leans in the slightest bit so that their foreheads are touching. so close that riz's breath hitches and fabian must feel it. and fabian has tears running down his face, riz doesn’t know how he missed fabian starting to cry, but he is, and fabian swallows a lump in his throat before saying in a pleading tone,

"riz”

riz realizes that fabian hasn't called him the ball since he came in the room.

so he says back, those thorns crawling their way into his voice, hope, bloody and raw,

"yeah?"

fabian swallows again, and then, small and wavering, asks, "would you tell me again?"

and riz squeezes fabian's hand, involuntary, says, a tiny bit breathless,

"that i'm in love with you?"

and fabian nods imperceptibly, forehead still pressed against riz's.

so riz, with the conviction of a dead man, answers, "i'm in love with you."

and fabian inhales, sharply, before saying, "me too."

and then fabian kisses him.

and this isn't like the movies either, the tile is probably hard on fabian's knees, and riz has to crane his head to the side in his half laying down position, but fabian's mouth is warm and he tastes like coffee with so much sugar that it can't be called coffee anymore, and his hand that's not holding riz's comes to rest on the back of riz's neck, fingers threading into riz's curls.

riz pulls away, takes a deep breath, and says, "you mean that you're in love with me, and not that you're in love with yourself right?"

and fabian's face spreads into a smile and he laughs like sunlight that riz has barely seen in weeks, answers, "i'm in love with you, riz."

riz's voice is breathy and higher pitched than he would like as he says back, "cool cool cool. would you kiss me again?"

but as fabian goes to lean in again, he hears a voice from the doorway, the same nurse that took his vitals previously,

"he most certainly will not. your heart rate is way too fast for the amount of blood you lost young man."

sklonda is behind her, arms crossed and eyebrows raised.

fabian goes to back away with his arms up in a surrender motion, but at the last second presses a kiss to riz's lime green cheek, before he backs away for real.

riz is already missing his presence as he meets sklonda at the doorway, where he finally breaks eye contact with riz to look her in the eyes. she puts a hand on his back to gently push him out of the doorway and into the hallway outside.

she says, annoyed in that way that means she’s not really annoyed but amused, “go get adaine. she’s been waiting for her turn for ten minutes, and if she waits any longer i can’t say in good conscience that she won’t murder you, and then we’d have an actual death on our hands.”

and sklonda turns back to riz, raises her eyebrows. riz raises his back, and she walks across the room to press a kiss to the corner of his head. the nurse rolls her eyes, mutters something about adventurers, and shuts the door on them.

#i actually have a ban on riz dies aus but i wanted the angst #what exactly happened to riz when he was in ''deep cover'' ?#fuck if i know #also shout out to @figaydas on twitter #for the leave it all to me fancam #that put the sleeper agent icarly/fh thought in my brain #inspiring the for till college bit #and also to mac <3 #all of you thank mac if not for mac @pastelmogar you would not be seeing this #bc again #i only ever post things when mac tells me to #fabriz #my writing

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halfincubus · 3 years

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got tagged by @riosgoodgirll for this game like [checks notes] almost two weeks ago, sorry it’s super late but it got long because I ramble about ladies I like

rules: list 10 different female faves from 10 different fandoms, then tag 10 people

under cut, because it really did get long

1. Farscape – Aeryn Sun Where do I start with her? She is everything. She’s one of the earliest examples that I can remember seeing on tv of a strong female character that has trouble connecting to her emotions, while the male counterpart of her pairing is the one who wanted to talk about his feelings. She’s also a tough soldier for a dodgy race of militant space-humans (but not really humans) whose sole purpose in life is to fight and die, and through her relationship with her fellow shipmates, learns that there’s more to life than following orders and killing people. I just love her more than words can say. She definitely broke the mould.

2. True Blood – Jessica God, she’s so sweet. I love her character growth. She goes from this god-fearing teen girl, to spoilt, angry goth baby vamp, to total sweetheart with a serious vicious streak when it comes to protecting those she loves. Also she’s more beautiful than I have words for and I am so gay. Like, I could look at her for hours, wow what a face.

3. Buffy the vampire slayer – Buffy The OG strong female lead, the first of many in my life. Also one half of my first foray into enemies to lovers shipping – you never forget your first, as they say! I love her cheery wisecracks as she kicks vampire ass, the way she mimes staking, and her bouncy shampoo-commercial-hair

4. Harry Potter – Hermione I saw so much of myself in her when I was a young, frizzy-haired bookworm that I immediately identified with her, hard, and she’s left a permanent mark on my heart. I only liked her more as the series went on and more of her ‘flaws’ were layered onto her character, which really brought her to life in my mind. I say ‘flaws’ because I fucking love how vindictive she is and how much of a flaw is being intelligent enough to find dirt on people that you can blackmail them with, really? Especially if they’re sucky people. When she doesn’t like someone she absolutely destroys them, mad respect.

5. Penny Dreadful – Vanessa Ives I have a type, and she is it. Dark, brooding and with otherworldly good looks (I still remember Eva Green as the witch Serafina Pekkala the best) I still can’t recall her character without getting a pang in my chest. The show’s ending DID HER SO DIRTY but we won’t get into that, I’m just gonna talk about why she’s my fave, I promise. She is so mentally strong and yet simultaneously so fragile at the same time, I want to take care of her so bad. The Devil with a capital D has been trying to possess her all her life, and she is in constant mental battle against him, and she just never stopped trying (until the stupid finale but we aren’t talking about that!) and she’s so strong, I adore her. When she does a tarot card spread you can’t look away, her gaze is so piercing and haunting.

6. LOTR – Éowyn This is another one that got a strong hold of me in my formative years and shook me to my core. From the moment I read the ICONIC ‘what do you fear my lady?’ speech I was a fan for life. I strongly identified with her attitude to life (I, too, fear growing old and useless) and her totally boss moment against the Witch-King (more like BITCH king) made her my hero. Whenever I rewatch LOTR I have a stupid sappy expression on my face when she’s on screen.

7. The Walking Dead – Michonne Back when I watched this show, and when she graced our screens for the first time I was shaking with excitement. She had such an iconic look – the dreads, the bandana, the katana slung over her back. Her strong & silent archetype was something I was very into, and enjoyed watching. She just oozes cool. The only one on the show with the skills to use something other than a gun on a daily basis, so her kills were not only skillful but super stylish too! Oh and I really liked the vibe she had with Andrea – they should totally have been gfs but network tv are cowards

8. Killing Eve – Villanelle the inherent eroticism of a woman who is trying to kill you. I find assassins sexy, always have, don’t judge me. I really enjoy the fine line Jodie Comer straddles playing her as a sociopath with feelings that can get hurt. Also the chemissssstry with Eve is *chefs kiss*

9. Lirael – Lirael She spends her entire life up until early young adulthood feeling out of place and wondering why she doesn’t belong, and I just want to hug her. She is so lonely that she teaches herself a spell to MAKE HER OWN DOG (which is 100% relatable tbh) and then she and the dog strike out on their own adventure, which is super cute and heart warming to me. She’s so shy and withdrawn at first but then she really grows into herself with time, and teaches herself to be more confident in her own abilities, despite the fact that these don’t necessarily match up with the powers she has dreamed of her whole life.

10. GLOW – the whole cast Ok so it’s cheating a bit but how can you choose one favourite woman from that whole cast? Everyone is amazing and has their own strengths and character flaws, their own little quirks… it’s such good writing, real shame the show was cancelled (another ‘rona casualty)

and I’ll tag anyone who sees this and wants to do this because I can’t think of 10 whole people lol

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kirishwima · 4 years

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Can I have all with then helping you take care of curly hair ?

yes!!! im a fellow curly-haired person and my dude......it’s a StruggleTM

I didn’t add Saeran, but if you’d like me to write for him too let me know! :)

YOOSUNG:

* Honestly, as a kid he loved to try and braid his sister’s hair, even if he always ended up tugging at her locks until she got mad at him lol

* So when he heard MC’s groan of furstration from the half-open bedroom door, he gingerly peeked his head into the room, smiling at the sight; his beloved, sitting on the bed cross legged in their bath robe, a hairbrush stuck in their slowly-drying wet curls.

* MC looked at him, exasperated as they pointed to the brush still stuck in their hair, defying gravity at all costs.

* “Do you see what I have to deal with? I swear, I should just shave my head and get this whole mess over with” they groaned, and Yoosung laughed as he walked to sit besides them, leaning to kiss them on the corner of their lips.

* “Can I try brushing it for you? I don’t know if I’ll be any good but-I want to help!”

* Hesitantly, MC nodded; they knew that it was probably a bad idea, that even if Yoosung meant well he might end up tangling their thick curls more than they already were, but his hopeful look, the small shy smile he gave them-how could anyone say no to that face?!

* So Yoosung sat on his knees on the bed behind MC, gently pulling curls away from the hairbrush to try and tug it off of MC’s head. Surprisingly...it didnt’ hurt all that much. Sure, when he finally tried to pull the brush off of the remaining strands of hair MC could feel the pull, but Yoosung’s movements were so slow and light, MC sighed a sigh of relief.

* As he seperated their hair into small sections, brushing through their hair so slow the ministrations felt almost like a massage, MC felt their eyes flutter shut. Was there such a thing as being a pro in hair brushing? If so, Yoosung should win all awards for that-MC would see to that, no matter what.

* Once Yoosung was done with the back and moved to the final strands framing MC’s face, he noticed how slump their body became, how as he shifter they lolled onto him, their head on his chest as they slowly fell asleep. He smiled, setting down the brush to tug MC closer to him, letting them rest on his chest. He’d be sure to ask them to brush their hair every day from now on.

ZEN:

* You’d think he’s a pro at hair brushing considering his long rat tail-ehm, ponytail.

* (I have a personal vendetta against that ridiculous ‘pony tail’ im sORRY-)

* Whilst he always has hair ties and hair beauty products laying around, he’s actually the WORST person MC could ask to help them style their thick curly hair-his was so silky soft and straight, he literally barely had a used for hairbrushes. Instead, MC was left to suffer, lathering product after product on their hair to keep their curls prim and proper, preforming a whole ritual when it came to brushing their hair after a shower.

* Zen, bless his sweet loving soul, he tried to be helpful-he’d bring MC shampoos specific for curly hair, would look online for hairstyles they could do, but when it came to actually helping MC tame their curly head-that’s where he became a clumsy mess.

* He was so afraid of accidentantly tugging on MC’s hair, that he nearly refused to touch their head at all. If he saw MC struggling to tie their hair in a pony tail, loose strands falling out of their grip, he’d simply point it out to them, refusing to actually touch their girls-what if he pulled on it and MC squealed in pain? He’d never forgive himself for that.

* However, late at night, when MC would be asleep-he’d gingerly run his fingers along their soft curls, smile to himself as they shuffled closer to his hand at the sensation; it’s something he didnt’ allow himself in the morning light, but here, with MC asleep, and with his hands moving ever so gently, he knew it’d be impossible to hurt them-not if the way they nuzzled into his hand was any indication.

* Seriously though, Zen, PLEASE just help poor MC next time you see them struggling to braid their hair. It’s just hair for God’s sake just-help them out! They won’t bite!!

JAEHEE:

* As a girl with very short hair, she actually has a hair-care routine that rivals any lazy man’s; she uses an all-in-one shampoo-conditioner, much to MC’s horror, and just simply dries her hair with a towel then lets them be. No hair care oils, no special shampoos, nothing. She just....lets them be.

* Well, not under MC’s watch she won’t-MC is actually the reason why Jaehee eventually let her hair grow out into the gorgeous wavy locks she now has-she saw the special care MC took with their curls, how they even used specific satin pillow cases so their hair wouldn’t frizz up, and Jaehee looked to her own hair, tugging at a strand with a soft frown.

* Eventually, she shyly asked MC for advice-her cheeks went bright red as MC smiled and took a hold of Jaehee’s hand, taking her to their favorite beauty store to look at products that could match Jaehee’s hair.

* Once Jaehee’s hair started growing longer, they actually set up a small daily ritual together-they’d help each other brush their hair after a shower (”Never brush dry hair!” MC would chastise Jaehee, and she’d simply nod, never really asking why-not until one day, she saw MC purposly combing through their dry curls for a 70s’ themed party, lol), they had their favorite hair oils and dry conditioners on the bathroom coutner, ready at all times-Jaehee considered these times an intimate quiet moment between the two, happy to have someone she loves to build a routine with.

* At some point the two decided to dye their hair together-they worked at their own coffee shop, they were their own boss, so there was no one around to tell them not to go crazy with their hair, right?

* So Jaehee chose a gorgeous ombre for her hair, starting as her natural colour on the roots, ending into a deep purple on the ends; and MC chose a vibrant blue, ‘to match their bright personality’ as Jaehee put it.

* Seeing kids stop and look at their hair in awe always brought a smile to Jaehee’s lips; and seeing MC smile as bright as they did, their blue curls framing their face, she felt her heart swell with love.

JUMIN:

* Honestly...he has every good intention, but MC should never, EVER let him near their hair.

* He’d love to run his hands through MC’s curls, yet everytime he tries to, his fingers end up stuck inbetween locks, eliciting a soft hiss of pain from MC-he always apologizes, and MC never chastisies him for it, but damn did it hurt!

* Sometimes he’d see the strenuous process MC went through to comb their hair after a shower, how they’d yell curses at the brush when it got stuck in their hair-he frowned at that, wondering what he could do to help MC with their struggle.

* “Darling”, he decided, “I’ll hire a personal hair stylist for you. You’ll never have to yell insults at a brush ever again.”

* Jumin...no. MC explained there was no need for that, their hair was just naturally the way it was and there’s little to be done about it.

* “Then I can find the best hair stylist to make your hair permanently straight. Would that help?”

* “No!” MC looked to him; they explained how they appreciated the sentiment, but even if it was a pain in the butt sometime, they loved their natural hair-there’s so many people paying to have curls like they do, and they have the privilege of having them naturally-it’s something they got from their parents, something that links them to their family, and they’d never want to alter it permanently in such a way.

* Jumin hummed, but nodded, and instead decided to be the best um, hair...hair-supporter he could be. He’d buy the best products for curly hair he could find, not-so-discreetly putting them in MC’s stuff, buying anti-frizz hair brushes, and even changing all their pillows into specific, satin ones so that MC would never have to wake up with a frizzy head ever again.

* Honestly, 10/10, this man just wants his beloved to be happy and he’ll do his best to do that, give him some credit

SEVEN:

* He’s the type of person that CONSTANTLY gets bored with his look, and the easiest thing to change is your hair, so...

* ...So he’ll have a different hair colour every other month. From neon pink to darker than the night sky, this boy has tried every hair style and colour under the sun.

* He has never, ever dealt with curls as pretty as MC’s before. He’ll compliment their hair constantly, and will often try and tug at their curls to see them recoil like a bouncy spring-MC would simply look at him with distaste, but soon smile as they see the fascination in his big bright eyes.

* He wants to match MC’s pretty hair too!!

* Of course he’ll let his hair grow out a little longer so he can curl them, burnign his hand on the curl iron more than once-eventually he’d ask for MC’s help with a defeated tone as yet another faield curl frizzes and goes limp on his head, unable to stay as thick and curly as he’d like it to be.

* So rather than him helping MC take care of their hair....MC would be the one to style his hair and curl it, dousing it with hairspray to keep the curls in place-and boy, the excited look on Saeyoung’s face is so, so worth it.

* “Baby look! We match now!” he screams, hugging MC as he hides his face in their curls and yeah-he’s a big idiot alright, but he’s their idiot.

V/JIHYUN:

* He’ll constantly compliment MC’s curls, smilign whenever he sees how they bounce as they turn their head this way and that-it’d frequently become a muse for his drawings, which let’s face it, would feature MC 90% of the time.

* He’d never personally suggest he help MC brush or style their hair-he doesn’t know anythign about curls, and would hate to do anything to hurt or ruin MC’s hair.

* If MC asks though, he’ll be there in an instant-he’s so gentle and if MC asks him to help brush their hair, he’ll hold them form high up near the roor and brush them with his wrist behind the locks for support, instinctually knowing how to brush them without hurting MC.

* Don’t ever ask him to braid hair though-while he’d love nothing more than to do beautiful intricate braids on MC’s head, he finds it impossible to seperate their curls enough to form sections to braid-MC would instead probably end up with a sad excuse of a pigtail...but well, A for effort, right?

* This poor bean is trying his best though, so cut him some slack. He’ll even go online and look at tutorials so he’ll be prepared for the next time MC asks for help!

* Might jokingly ask if MC would like to dye their hair to match his-if they do, he’ll be so shocked but also happy because hey-they match!!!

-send me a mystic messenger headcanon/scenario for characters reactions!-

#curly hair gang uniteee #although mine's been tamer now that ive bleached and cut them lol #mystic messenger #mysme #mystic messenger prompts #mysme prompts. mystic messenger headcanons #mysme headcanons #write-for-your-life2

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lorenzosal · 4 years

Text

baby steps || self-para

What the fuck is he doing?

He's in way over his head. He bit off more than he can chew. Sure, Lorenzo is no stranger to that feeling, but a fucking baby?! He did it, he managed to make the dumbest decision of his life.

As he looks at her, tiny chubby fist closed tightly around a rag doll, guilt spreads over his chest and wraps a ghostly hand around his throat; he loves her, he does. He loves her more than he ever loved anything in his entire existence, but he can't give her the life she deserves. No one can, he tries to tell himself, in hopes that's enough to soothe him. Her stupid parents surely couldn't give her any better than what she has now. She has a roof over his head, she has other people looking after her. She has a doctor, proper baby food, clean water, toys.

He still can't shake the feeling that he completely obliterated any chance they both had at a good life.

He's not cut out to be a dad. Technically, no one expects this from him, of course, he's only an older brother, but that doesn't mean the expectation isn't there anyway. He's the one taking her to doctor appointments, he's the one who's been protecting her for the past four months, he's the one who's been hearing her screaming non-fucking-stop for hours every night for no apparent reason. He's the one she makes grabby hands at, when she's crying.

His back hurts, but he's not sure whether it's from the bed railing digging into it, or the past couple months of holding a baby. The floor isn't comfortable, but it's where she wants to be, so it's where he is. The doctor here said it's best if she spends time on the ground, anyway, so she can feel more secure to try to stand. She's supposed to be toddling already, and she's not.

She's not walking. And she cries all the time, and she can't speak sentences longer than five words and she's not happy.

She's not happy.

He'll never be able to make her any happier than this. Concrete floors, thin mattresses, old rag dolls made from scrap fabric. He'll never be able to go for a car ride with her, he'll never be able to introduce her to her first fast food meal, he'll never be able to scoop her into a shopping cart and walk too fast in the aisles of a grocery store just to make her laugh. That's the older brother things he should be doing, instead of doctor visits, and sleepless nights, and trying to protect her from the end of the world.

And it's ridiculous because the apocalypse isn't his fault, and yet, he mourns the loss of a normal life with a sister he would never have otherwise. It's the first time, since the beginning of the end, that he curses the world for turning to shit. The same world that brought him a sister in the first place. It's this paradox that's killing him nowadays, drilling into his head and pulling him this way and that, melding into a pulsing headache that never leaves his temples.

She looks at him, with those big doe eyes, and cracks a toothy smile. He only knows he's smiling back because the headache goes away for a split second.

She's five feet away, playing with her doll. She's reaching an age where she doesn't like to be cuddled all the time -- the mothers in Colony 17 told him this was normal toddler behavior --, and he didn't expect to be so upset about it. She'll cry if he picks her up, she'll cry if he fusses, she'll cry if he leaves her alone. Five feet of distance is their safe middle ground. He sits on the floor with his back against the bed, his legs spread out on the concrete, Sofia just out of reach in front of him.

She chucks the doll down and away from her with a quiet thump, before struggling over and up. Up, up, up, until she's standing.

He's seen her do this a few times now. It's a familiar dance, she stands, she giggles, she wobbles, she topples over and cries when her butt hits the ground too hard. He can't get her to go anywhere past the standing, she seems determined to drive him insane.

"Careful, Sofia, you're gonna hurt yourself again," he sighs, his voice sounding alien to his ears. His tone is exhausted, weighed down by the billionth sleepless night in a row, tainted with anger and guilt and grief.

And then, she walks.

It's not so much a walk as it is a wobble. Lorenzo almost misses the first step, a clumsy lift of one leg that almost knocks her off balance. Almost.

The next step comes, her little arms raising up to help balance herself. Lorenzo wasn't drunk before, but he suddenly feels stone cold sober. He sits up, his arms ready to catch, though she's still barely out of reach. She looks up at him, leans too far to one side, compensates by leaning to the other, and smiles.

A toothy smile, takes over her whole face, makes her eyes squint, the brightest thing he's seen all year. One strand of frizzy hair falls over her forehead and she takes the time to push it away messily -- like it's a casual occurrence for her recently one-year-old self, to just stand around, pushing her hair away, mildly annoyed. She does it like it's easy, like they haven't been practicing this for months, like her brother hasn't been stressing over this moment for weeks now.

"If you fall now, you little shit--," he trails off, his hands sprawled mid-air, ready to catch her if one wobble is too far.

"Little shit," she babbles back to him, toothy grin back on her face. Because she's his sister, of course she can curse before she knows how to walk.

Oh, he loves her.

Another leg lifted, another step forward. Sofia's eyes simply sparkle with all the determination of someone who got the hang of it, and this is it. She's walking.

And for a split second, he can see a glimpse of their future and he doesn't care how ridiculously corny that sounds. He can see her running around these dumb gray hallways, he can see scraped knees and bouncy curls, he can see laughter and chaos and happiness. She doesn't know anything else. She doesn't know long drives, or late night trips to McDonald's, or the joy of sitting inside a shopping cart piloted by an unhinged older brother, but she doesn't have to. He'll tell her all about it, some day, about how he misses the idea of all of these things. But they'll have other things. They'll have inside jokes, and shitty almost-not-quite-chocolate milk, and giggles past curfew time.

She toddles over one, two, three more steps until she's crashing into his arms. Her giggle is a squeal too close to his left ear but he doesn't flinch away. He squeezes her close with all of his might, arms easily looping around her tiny frame, and when she tries to wriggle away in protest, he only squeezes her closer. He doesn't care if she picks a fight, he needs this. Because she's here. She's safe. She's happy.

And she's fucking walking, now.

"Good walk, little bunny," he laughs, and it comes out shaky. He squeezes his eyes shut tight when he feels the unfamiliar burning of tears, and he knows it's too late to blink them away. Because of course he'd be crying over Sofia's first steps, after not shedding a single tear for the past few years or lord knows how long

She sighs and seems to settle for the hug, slumping into his arms with a content sound. He knows it's probably weird, to be crying over this, and to be crying in front of her. He remembers how confusing it was, to see his own parents cry. He doesn't want to dump his emotions into her tiny undeveloped brain like this, he doesn't want her to feel like she needs to be taking care of him, so he sucks it up and he rubs the wetness from his cheeks and he clears his throat.

He loosens his grip on her, and she pulls back almost immediately. Her chubby fists grip onto his shoulders for balance as she keeps herself upright, doe eyes blinking up at him curiously. That's the only way she's ever looked at him -- curious. Like she doesn't hate him. Like she doesn't care what he's done, or what he will do. From the very first time he picked her up, she's just this, curious.

One of her hands raise and gives him a hearty, much-too-hard thump on his cheek, presumably an attempt at an act of tenderness, and he laughs again.

Oh, he loves her.

And he's not letting this kid live a life that's anything short of extraordinary.

#selfpara #basically i've been watching This Is Us for the past week nonstop #so i'm in my feelings and i wanted to write my boy being angsty and happy #this is just about sofia's first steps back in colony 17 lmao #(also they're talking in spanish but i wrote in english for convenience)

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tommyplum · 4 years

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mine i’ll leave to chance | inception, yusuf/eames

- Of all the senses, this one might be the hardest to pin down. [ AO3 link ]

Yusuf associates people with smells, has done ever since he was a boy. This was tricky before he learned that some scents made people less pleased than others; his mother was happy to learn that she smelled of rosewater (all the endless baking she did to take to jamatkhana), not as much to hear that she also smelled of onions (all the endless cooking for same). For months following what he'd thought was an innocuous observation the woman had gone straight to the shower once she finished cooking a meal and washed her hair so much it forever stood up in a fine, frizzy cloud over her head. After that, Yusuf learned to keep the less ... socially flattering aspects of his synesthesia to himself.

So when he meets Eames for one of their regular chai-and-Hobnobs chats, Yusuf asks Eames about the job he just came back from in Curaçao, pastel buildings and stewed goat and extraction from a jet-setting auction house heir, and doesn't mention the distinct laurel astringency of bay rum in the man's slicked-down hair.

When the two of them lounge in one of Yusuf's back rooms passing a pipe back and forth, tiger-eye marijuana that Yusuf's cousin Bina smuggled in on her last visit from Vancouver that gets them feeling looped in the head but with no prickly necks or aching stomachs, Yusuf whiffs in the tarry, sludgy black that lingers in a line under Eames' fingernails with each pass.

When they're kicking the swirls of Yusuf's chenille coverlet into heaps at the foot of his bed and Yusuf is pushing the colourful Kenyan short-sleeve from Eames' heavy shoulders, there's, yes, that cologne of his that smells of clean burnt-wood cypriot, but after all Yusuf's nose can tell between regular and deuterated benzaldehyde and it's something deeper he's after, so he sprawls one hand against Eames' face and pushes him down to the pillows, holds him there as Yusuf presses his nose behind Eames' damp pink ear --

-- and ah yes, there's the smell Yusuf's been chasing down all evening, overripe soft melting innards of papaya (the fresh snap of the flesh itself, too, but he doesn't want that bit of it right now), lush and dense like between a woman's legs when she's wet, and oh yes, the slippery-bumpy-black pepper of the seeds, tiny depth charges of scorched spice and burn.

Eames makes a bumblebee noise of desire and his mouth pants open under Yusuf's palm, tongue pressing out to trace life line, head line, in a way that makes Yusuf shudder. He presses his fingertips into Eames' skin, holding him steady; he hasn't breathed in enough of this fat dark rot-scent yet, wants the opportunity to run his mouth along the curve of Eames' ear and feel the wet sharp edges of Eames' hair prickle his nose.

"god," Eames groans when Yusuf bites down, and he shifts them both (easily, so easily with all those muscles! like fucking a bouncer and a bouncy castle in one go) so that more interesting parts of them are aligned together. Eames pushes his hand into Yusuf's pants while skimming out of his own and there, that's another scent added to all this, salt-sweat-skin-dick, and Eames doesn't seem to want to remove his ear from Yusuf's teeth so Yusuf lets go of Eames' face and touches his chin, his throat, his chest, his hip, his belly before getting down to the thick hard strain of cock. "Finally," Eames rasps, then adds, "you bastard," when Yusuf rubs his thumb over the sticky cockhead rather more roughly than necessary.

Yusuf likes to be prepared for this sort of thing, so there's plenty of lube and condoms in his nightstand drawer and he can depend on Eames to be self-sufficient, which is grand when Eames takes the initiative to slick himself up as Yusuf attends to the rubber. Yusuf imagines the synthetic greasy smell of lube with the briny tar of Eames' fingers within the unmistakable musk inside his clutching, overheated, heavy-muscled body, and his own cock bobs against his belly.

"Thank you," he says with reflexive politeness when Eames pulls out his glistening, reddened fingers, which slap against Yusuf's hip as he lines up and pushes in hard, making them both gasp and blink. "You," Eames manages after what seems like the longest moment ever, "are absofuckingbloodylutely welcome," and somehow contrives to open the bracket of his hips wider for Yusuf to snuggle flush against him, all the way in. Eames is already blooming sweat all over, which Yusuf likes for both the warm intimate smell and the way it facilitates movement against each other, hair and moisture tangling up.

The heat makes it impossible to keep up any sort of impassioned fucking, so once they get the initial rush and hunger fed it's all slow liquid pushes and pulls, Eames' hands big and thick on Yusuf's back and thighs, Yusuf luxuriating in the tight slick of Eames' ass, the tilt of his body to accommodate. Yusuf takes his time and lets his orgasm collect and pool in his groin, waiting, waiting until he can't hold back any more and the act of coming itself is almost anti-climactic, nowhere near as much pleasure as the moments leading up to it. He's got an ornery streak in him, and so likes it best that way sometimes, the destination not being as satisfactory as the journey.

But the journey's not quite over yet, because Eames is still grasping and groaning, and Yusuf cheerfully settles himself over Eames' red cock and takes it into his mouth, lets Eames buck and thrust and push out his cheek, prod his back teeth, flatten his tongue. At this point, Yusuf knows, Eames is so far on the edge that it takes the tiniest bit of effort on Yusuf's part -- a flick of tongue, tightening his lips -- and there, success, Eames is coming with a ringing shout in thick pulsing spurts that smear and drip back down his cock.

"Fantastic," Eames declares with his scrubby voice, and throws one arm over his eyes. Yusuf, less content to lie around in sweat and semen, presses his knuckles along the crest of Eames' hip in agreement and heads off to the bathroom to wash up. This, too, he enjoys; the mingled scents on his body, Eames' bleachy come in his mouth, the high smell of sweat and endorphins and spit, the unctuousness of lube and sex -- all of it washing off him layer by layer, committed to memory, replaced with metallic cool water and phenol-pinky Lifebuoy and cinnamon-harsh Close-Up.

Eames is dressed when Yusuf finally emerges. The water bucket and enamel cup on the tiny porch, Yusuf notes with mingled amusement and resignation, have obviously been employed judging from the wetness of Eames' hair and the rapidly-drying splashes on the concrete. Water drips down the back of Yusuf's kurta where it stretches across Eames' shoulders, and Yusuf sighs; another of Eames' shirts to add to his collection. He'd inherited one tidy number when Eames had come back from Kasane, all paisley in cream and pink and purple, and had worn it to dinner with his sister Zunita to great approval, but apart from that, there's nothing in the accumulated wardrobe that Yusuf would wear.

"With all the clothes you've abandoned here," Yusuf can't help pointing out as Eames puts his wristwatch back on, "you'd think you could keep from thieving mine."

Eames looks over, completely unabashed as he is with most things, and Yusuf wonders as he's done a thousand times before if this is what it's like to be an imposing white man in this black-and-brown land. "This'll do," he shrugs, muscles shifting the light cloth in all sorts of interesting ways. "More in keeping for what I've got lined up today, in any case." He pauses, narrows one eye, and for an uncomfortable minute Yusuf thinks Eames might be about to say something rather more considerate than he wants to hear, so he quickly waves a hand -- "Fine, then, I've got things to do myself," -- and is relieved when Eames nods and grins.

"I'll bring you back one with glitter and gems on it next time I'm in town," he promises, and Yusuf laughs as he shoos him out into the bright bustling day. To whatever maniacal adventures of waking and dreaming and fists and forgery await him. The back yoke of the kurta shirt looks strained as Eames walks away, losing himself in the crowd so fast it's between one blink and the next as Yusuf watches.

The scent of leather from Eames' shoes lingers by the doorway, and under that, something like enamel and sun-warmed water, like wet hair almost in need of washing. And buried far beneath, a sharp tobacco spike of a moment, quiet and subtle and one that's been missed.

Yusuf inhales deeply until that smell settles high up behind his eyes and down low behind his heart, and shuts the door, until.

- maggie

#inception #eames #yusuf #yusuf/eames #inception fic #i realized #i finally have a blog where this is relevant lol

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ponyguru · 6 years

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Here’s Salty, in all of his curly glory! I washed him on the livestream I did a few days ago, and I am beyond pleased with how his curls turned out! All I did was wash and condition his rough hair, and gently gathered his hair together in the hopes the original curl would recover as he dried. And he did! It’s so common to find Salty with snarly, frizzy hair, because factory curls meant kids often brushed them into frizz! But he’s soft and bouncy, possibly my softest Salty yet! 💖💖💖 #mylittlepony #mlp #mylittleponyg1 #g1mylittlepony #bigbrotherpony https://www.instagram.com/p/BoSME1qHss-/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=2v933ba9510k

#mylittlepony #mlp #mylittleponyg1 #g1mylittlepony #bigbrotherpony

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makistar2018 · 5 years

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10 Years Later, Taylor Swift’s ‘Fearless’ Still Slaps

When it was released in 2008, Swift’s sophomore album launched a thousand takes. Today, it’s best remembered as a simple time capsule

By LAUREN M. JACKSON November 12, 2018

Taylor Swift during the "Fearless" tour at Madison Square Garden on August 27, 2009 in New York City.

Theo Wargo/WireImage for New York Post

Like Propel water, The Scarlet Letter and mechanical pencils, Taylor Swift’s Fearless pairs well with the sporadic squeak of team-issued sneakers, overpriced hot lunches and the kind of angst that defines comfortably suburb-bound teenage years. Sliding open the album on Spotify with my iPhone 8, I can still feel my limbs stretched in all directions, hear the snap-crackle-pop of a dozen adolescent girls’ joints going through the motions of yet another warm-up to what would become the soundtrack of my high school varsity dance team’s inner and outer lives, as well as leave poptimism forever changed.

I am 27 now, still anxious but inflexible, no longer clinging (as) tightly to singular albums to tell the emotional landscape of my life — but back then, Fearless was god. Swift was barely into legal teenagedom when compiling her sophomore album’s original 13 tracks, but more than the happenstance near-synonymy of our ages (I’m younger by 1 year, 6 months, 27 days), the four-walled, high school claustrophobia induced by the album is a matter of skilled musical mood setting. From the first downbeat of the inaugural title track to the last flippantly rebellious “hallelujah” on “Change,” Swift traps us in the mind of an ungainly teen as she was once trapped, as I was, as so many others wading the ambiguity between comportment and desire that doesn’t quite end when gowns come on and caps fly up.

Like so many notebook pages on the golden screen, Fearless is filled with boys. Stans and haters have their theories, but I like to think of each song as an archetype, less true stories of relationships gone sour than a young woman’s true to life hetero-ethnography. There are the boys who do good — the “Fearless,” “Love Story,” “Hey Stephen,” “The Best Day” boys (the last a tribute to Dad) — the boys who nurture and love intensely. They do all the usual country boy things, all the usual cinematic things: driving slow, kissing in the rain, flouting archaic inter-familial squabbles. They honor their promises and, most of all, leave the narrator better changed for her affection.

These boys who do good are short-lived. By Track 2, “Fifteen,” we’re already checking in to Heartbreak Hotel for the upteenth time with an account of that age generic enough to warrant a fan-made montage of clips from Degrassi: The Next Generation. The song tells an allegedly universal story of freshman year woes, complete with riding in cars with senior boys who also play football (because of course). It’s saccharine, sung in the vernacular of normative coupling that would become Swift’s enemy in the gossip pages. But the limited lexicon is not necessarily untruthful. “Fifteen” has aged about as well as anyone would expect, but some of those refrains make me yearn for arms long enough to slap all the powers that be responsible for belittling the whims of young girls. And according to the greater duration of Fearless — tracks like “White Horse,” “Breathe,” “Tell Me Why,” “You’re Not Sorry,” “The Way I Loved You,” and “Forever & Always” — the greatest threat to the happiness of teen girls are boys.

November 2008 looks rosy from here. America had just elected its first black president, the man who promised too much hope and change to possibly be true, but faith felt good back then. Men had committed just five mass shootings over the past year with one more on the way in December (2018 has 307 mass shootings to its name so far). The nation boasted just under 150 recognized active white supremacist groups (that number would climb to over 1,000 during Obama’s presidency). Global finance was in crisis but cable networks were still winning Emmys. Amy Winehouse was alive. Kanye still made sense and a bright-eyed, hair-tousled new country darling was exclusively concerned with dating, rather than local politics.

Like any celebrity who is also a woman, but also in a lane quite her own, Swift’s relation to mainstream feminism wanes and waxes with the season. A female artist beloved by the girls for whom her songs are written, Swift and her music are therefore more scrutinized, more rigorously excavated for signs of harmful messaging than her male singer-songwriter peers. Fearless frayed Swift’s reputation in a way that wouldn’t let up for years, if ever, largely because of its critical success. Swift took home four Grammys at the 2010 awards, including Album of the Year, beating the Dave Matthews Band’s Big Whiskey and the GrooGrux King, The Black Eyed Peas’ The E.N.D., Beyoncé’s I Am… Sasha Fierceand, most egregiously, Lady Gaga’s debut studio album, The Fame. The perceived slight invited robust inquiry into this supposed album of the year, and the aesthetic discrepancy between the two quickly turned to politics.

Autostraddle’s Riese called Swift “a feminist’s nightmare,” the enemy of “brave, creative, inventive, envelope-pushing little monsters” everywhere. An accompanying infographic, “a symbolic analysis” of Swift’s works to date, cataloged her most damning motifs, including “virginal” imagery, “the stars,” “crying,” and the 2AM hour. At Jezebel, Dodai Stewart agreed that Gaga was the rightful winner, speculating that in a race between “Gaga the liberal versus Taylor the conservative,” the latter “makes the Academy feel more comfortable.” One joy of pop culture is the revelation of how melodramatically things can change. Last month, Swift announced her endorsement of Tennessee Democrats Phil Bredesen and Jim Cooper for the midterm elections; meanwhile, Lady Gaga hews the path of glamorous respectability on her lengthy A Star Is Born Oscar campaign.

Feminist readings of Fearless weren’t wrong, exactly. Allies on the album come in strictly male form, while other girls are competition for Swift’s persecuted first person. Even the red-headed bestie Abigail becomes a lesson in chastity, losing her virginity — “everything”! —to the boy who broke her heart (the foil to Swift’s main character, whose dreams of living in a big ole city protect her from such a fate). The charting single “You Belong With Me” is a bouncy jaunt through the valley of me versus those other girls. The video that won Best Female Video at the MTV Video Music Awards over Beyoncé’s “Single Ladies” — to seismic effect — stars Swift as both the frizzy blonde, bespectacled weirdo in band and the sleek brunette cheerleader with the man (Lucas Till who now plays MacGyver on CBS). In true romantic comedy fashion, Good Swift, clothed in white, ends up with the guy in the end, defeating Bad Swift, whose only crimes it seems are great taste in footwear and not appreciating her high school boyfriend’s likely moronic sense of humor. Both the song and video became emblematic of a kind of Swiftian all-for-one girl power. Her 2017 video for “Look What You Made Me Do” resurrects and buries all sorts of Swiftisms, including the iconography of the uncool girl who features so heavily in the Fearless-era of her oeuvre.

Pop music exists not to elevate our souls or our politics, but to safely wade in the muck of our pettiest appetites, whether they come with trap drums or in serenades. Pop music deserves interrogation, but it will never exceed us. Fearless was a diary, sounding like the selfishness that bubbles up regardless of one’s intellectual or political guards against it. The debate it ignited wouldn’t happen were it released today, amidst all this. It’s a relic of a time when determining exactly what an album meant, culturally and aesthetically, was a crucial discussion to have in public, when nuance had stakes. Compared to the basic moral tenets we now expend so much of our energy defending, such communal acts of criticism feel small and regretfully scarce. Fearless was a moment, now relegated to a time capsule, no longer a prompt.

Rolling Stone

#taylor swift #fearless #rolling stone #2018.11.12

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medhashah05 · 3 years

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Hair Care 101: 7 Tips to Manage Curly Hair

Curly hair often looks like such a beautiful sight, managing to garner attention and envy onto itself. More often than not, they seem effortless and easy. However, maintaining that bouncy shine that epitomizes healthy curls can be daunting sometimes. It takes a little more attention and effort to maintain, than it would for someone with straight or wavy hair. But with a few easy steps given below, your curls will not only become manageable but also look effortlessly stunning.

Sulphate free for the better

The first step in any good hair care routine is choosing the right shampoo. Picking a shampoo that is free from sulphates is the first and most important rule for curly hair beauties. Sulphates are responsible for the lathering effect in shampoos, which can irritate the scalp, while stripping off the natural oils that cause the hair to become dry and brittle. Opt for a sulphate-free shampoo which is not only gentle on the hair but also keeps your hair healthy and frizz-free.

Minimise the shampoo

While using a sulphate-free shampoo is the safest bet for your hair, ensuring that you use just the right amount of shampoo is just as important. Excessive shampooing can suck out the moisture off the scalp which in turn leads to dry, unhealthy hair. Always follow with a conditioner containing moisturizing ingredients that will soften your curls whilst keeping them silky and bouncy.

Cool the hot water

While using warm water to wash your hair is essential as it opens up your hair cuticles and helps in maintaining a clean scalp, washing your hair with hot steaming water is a mean deed as it can wash away the natural oils that keep your hair looking healthy. Be kind to your scalp and use warm or lukewarm water instead, and follow with a cold rinse which leaves your hair looking shiny.

Deep conditioning is the way

Using a conditioner in the shower can ensure softer hair, however it isn’t enough. Curly hair often requires nourishment that can come from a good deep conditioning session. Once a week, pamper yourself with a good deep conditioning mask. Opt for one with ingredients that will best suit your hair’s needs like Keratin that will restore damaged hair, or glycerine that can moisturize dry, frizzy hair.

Brush it off

The golden rule for caring for those luscious curls is to never use a hairbrush. Brushing your curls can only damage them further. Instead, opt for a wide-toothed comb or better yet, use your fingers to gently detangle your curls whilst in the shower.

Curl cream to the rescue

Even after the relaxing hair wash routine, your curls can still end up looking bleak and messy. Using a curl cream one in a while can help your curls look more defined and prevent them from detangling and frizziness. It can also help the curls appear bouncy and refreshed.

Heat-less curls

Hair styling for curly hair may seem like a myth for some. However, the oh-so perfect hair too, might need a little help once in a while to retain its shape and structure or to simply try out something new. Using a heat protectant can minimise the heat reflected by a hair curler or a hair straightening iron thus minimising the damage. For a more hair-friendly experience opt for Ikonic Professional’s curling wands or hair straightener machines with their overheat protection features which help style your hair without worrying about excess damage.

To conclude, curly hair can now not only be manageable, but also healthy and lustrous with the right amount of products and lots of care. You can now enjoy your beautiful tresses as effortlessly as they seem to be!

#haircurler #hairstraighteningiron #hairstylingtool #hairroller #hairblower #hairstraightener

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cnexportbusiness · 4 years

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Peruvian curly weave make you attractive this summer

It is very necessary for fashion-oriented women to be able to improve or change their hairstyle in respect to seasons or programs. A woman’s hair is a presentation of her beauty and a reflection of her personality. Curly hair is the most popular hairstyle in summertime, what is the perfect hairstyles for summer, If you want bouncy hair that works well for most hairstyles and blends well, Peruvian natural curly hair maybe your best option, it is a good choice for you! Now, we will list some best Peruvian curly extensions for you. The bundle deals virgin hair hold curls extremely well and blends very well.

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How do you look after Peruvian curly hair,

1. Find a good stylist first. … 2. Realize that you don’t need to shampoo everyday, but do condition every time you are in the shower. … 3. Wash with cold water. … 4. Dry-brushing is a common cause of frizziness. … 5. Don’t use too much product. … 6. Use a product straight out of the shower, when your hair is still wet. 7. Choose to air dry or blow dry. 8. Detoxify your hair about once a month. 9. Don’t fight the curl! With the increasing awareness of enjoying life while we are still alive, people would like to invest more on themselves. Every detail of a person is paid fully attention to, especially the hairstyle.And Peruvian curly hair is A good choice for you! UNice curly hair is soft, durable and thick with a medium luster that blends well with nearly all hair types. Our 100% human extensions Peruvian Curly Hair is silky, wavy and luxurious. It has an elegant natural wave pattern and comes in a natural dark color. You can style it any way you like. Get free UNice discount code : unicelqseo ，you can get $4 Off for all products.Expires: Dec 31, 2017.By the way, register a new account can get 200 reward points and unice hair coupon code REGISTER for 5 dollars off during 6.23th-6.30th. Source: Peruvian curly weave make you attractive this summer

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