#i have to spend hours straightening it and its STILL FRIZZY

[suncaptor]

This one goes out to frizzy haired bitches who can't live their life pretending they're able to brush their hair or get it straight (too curly) but also the curls usually just look like frizzy waves (too straight) so they just put tons of water on it every day and hope for the best.

[rushingheadlong]

The Hazier Days - A Queen gen fic

Summary: It’s too hot for embarrassment as Brian finally caves to the summer heat.

Wordcount: ~1,600

Tags: Non-reader fic, no pairing/gen, some minor body image issues… otherwise just lots of soft fluff

Notes: Listen it’s barely above freezing where I live and I’m coping by writing summer fic do not judge me for this. If anything blame @tenderbri​ for putting the idea of 70s Tank Top Bri into my head in the first place.

Summer is bearing down on London, the weather turning from pleasantly warm to uncomfortably sweltering in the blink of an eye.

Brian spends his days working on his thesis research in labs barely cooler than the city outside, slowly boiling in jeans that stick to his legs and shirts unbuttoned a hair past what should be respectable in an academic setting. It’s hardly cooler at night, even with the old windows in his flat propped open and fans blowing stale air around the room, but at least Brian can strip down to his pants in the privacy of his own home. That, at least, is better than the nights where they have shows and Brian is forced into one-too-many layers as a concession to Freddie’s taste in fashion, leaving him soaked through with sweat and light-headed from dehydration by the time he finally stumbles off the stage.

Evenings, though, are spent here, in the windowless practice room in some forgotten corner of Imperial College as Queen spends hours upon hours in rehearsal. Their efforts are paying off, and with the addition of John their little group is finally coming together in a way that almost feels unreal - but Brian still wonders, sometimes, what he’s doing here, what he hopes to get out of all of this, when his focus should be on his doctorate…

Tonight, though, the only thing weighing Brian down is the slowly climbing temperature in the room, not guilt over his unfinished dissertation or anxieties over the inevitable fight with his father if Brian decides to set aside his studies. The summer heat sinks into his body, leaving his thoughts lazy and his limbs leadened, only his fingers moving as he plucks out an absentminded tune on his Old Lady, the beginnings of a song coming through with each repetition of the notes.

“That sounds lovely,” Freddie says.

His fingers comb gently through Brian’s hair, a soothing gesture that’s almost enough to put Brian to sleep. Across the room Roger and John are working out some fine detail of the rhythm line in the song they’ve been trying to perfect for the last few days, and Freddie had used the small break in practicing to offer to braid Brian’s hair to get the heavy mane off his neck.

On a normal - or at least a cooler - day Brian might have demured, embarrassed by his frizzy hair that doesn’t quite know what to do with itself now that he’s not aggressively straightening it every day. But it’s too hot for embarrassment and Brian had ultimately agreed rather quickly, taking a seat on the floor in front of Freddie’s chair to give the singer full access to Brian’s hair.

“It’s something,” Brian says. He plucks the same note a few times - something sounds off about it, his guitar gone slightly out-of-tune in the heat of the room, but he doesn’t feel particularly inclined to fix the issue at the moment.

Even speaking takes far too much effort, Brian’s words coming out soft and almost mumbled as he struggles to think of anything other than how hot he is. He conceded to the heat and wore shorts to the studio, baring his knobbly knees and too-long legs to the world rather than roast in a pair of jeans. His shirt is almost fully unbuttoned and hanging open and loose over his chest, the sleeves rolled up past his elbows, and still Brian feels like he’s going to melt into a puddle here on the practice room floor.

“Well, I like it.” Freddie sections out Brian’s thick hair, nimble fingers weaving the strands together into a simple braid and tying off the end with a stolen hair tie. “There. How’s that feel?”

Brian reaches back and touches the braid, running his fingers along the length, feeling the spots where his hair is already fighting to escape its woven confines. Brian wonders what it looks like, and then decides that maybe he’s better off not knowing. “Good. Thanks.”

“You’re very welcome,” Freddie says. “Although…” Freddie plucks at Brian’s shirt, which is drenched with sweat and sticking uncomfortably to his skin. “You still look far too warm, darling. Why don’t you just take this off?”

The others didn’t hesitate to lose their shirts early in the session but Brian has been resisting, undoing more buttons and rolling his sleeves up further rather than relinquishing the garment altogether. Even in the privacy of the practice room room Brian can’t help but feel a thin tendril of shame curl up through his chest at the thought of exposing that much of his body at once. He’s too gangly and too thin, long-limbed in a way that’s awkward instead of enticing, and he thinks he’d rather pass out from heat exhaustion than embarrass himself in front of his friends like that.

“I don’t want to,” Brian mumbles.

Behind him Freddie huffs, clearly gearing up to keep pushing the issue, but before he can say anything Roger calls from across the room, “He’s right, mate, you look pretty fucking miserable. There’s a spare shirt in my bag if you want it, at least it’ll be dry and lighter than what you’re wearing now.”

The others are all looking at him now, their scrutiny making Brian’s face flush hotter than it already was. For a moment Brian’s stubborn streak rears its ugly head, makes him want to refuse simply to prove that he’s committed to the decisions he’s already made… but it’s too hot to get into a useless argument with his friends, and once again Brian finds himself quickly relenting to the suggestion.

“Fine,” he says, and passes his guitar off to Freddie so he can stagger to his feet, grimacing at the feeling of his sticky skin peeling away from the practice room floor.

Roger’s knapsack is thrown haphazardly against the wall, books and papers and various odds-and-ends spilling out of it, but despite the shock of chaos that seems to always seems to follow the drummer around it doesn’t take Brian long to find the shirt that Roger mentioned - though his heart slowly sinks as he pulls it out of the bag.

“Rog, is this what you were talking about?” Brian asks, waving the shirt in Roger’s general direction as he digs through the bag with his other hand, even though it’s readily apparent that there are no other clothes there.

“Yep, that’s the one,” Roger confirms. “Might be a bit short, but it should still fit fine enough to rehearse in.”

“Right,” Brian says faintly, though Roger has already turned back to his conversation with John.

He looks down at the shirt in his hands and weighs his options. It’s barely a shirt at all, just a tank top, and that’s really the problem here. No sleeves to hide his boney shoulders, no excess fabric to mask how thin he really is, arms and pits on full display… Paired with the shorts he already has on, he might as well be wearing nothing at all for how indecent - and ridiculous - he’s bound to look.

But then again… if it’s too hot for embarrassment, maybe it’s too hot for propriety as well.

Before he can start overthinking things again Brian strips out of his shirt, taking just a split-second to relish the feeling of having the damp garment off and the dry air against his skin, before finally tugging on the borrowed tank top. It’s a hair too small, riding up to show a scant few inches of skin along his waistband, to say nothing of how exposed Brian feels having his arms on display like this… He’s profoundly grateful that there aren’t any mirrors in the practice room, so he doesn’t have to see himself like this.

“Hey, that doesn’t look bad on you,” Roger says as Brian tries, and largely fails, to get the tank top to stretch enough to fully cover his stomach. “You wanna keep it? I hardly wear it anyway.”

Brian can’t stop himself from making a face at the suggestion, though some of his anxieties fade away at Roger’s easy compliment and the lack of judgement from the others.

Only Freddie laughs, but it’s directed at Roger as he says, “Leave him alone, Rog, you know our Brimi doesn’t like your garish taste in clothing.”

“Garish?” Roger echoes, voice full of faux indignation. How they have the energy to wind each other up like this, Brian has no idea. He may be slightly cooler now but Brian still feels tired and sluggish, his thoughts too slow to even begin to join in with the others good-natured bickering.

Instead he makes his way back over to Freddie, taking back his guitar and sinking down to the floor with his back against the wall. The stone feels frigid against his overheated skin and he sighs, almost content for the first time in hours, and lets his eyes slip shut - just for a moment, just until Roger and John are done hashing out this section and they can get back to rehearsal…

“Freddie, d’you want to show us that new song you were talking about?” John asks, quietly, a few moments later. “Walk us through the rhythm section, and give Brian a chance to cool off for a bit?” He nods towards the guitarist and adds, “He looks like he could use the break.”

Brian doesn’t hear John’s suggestion, or notice when the three of them glance in his direction. He’s already dozed off, lulled to a hazy sleep by the heat, his Red Special held loose in his lap and his long limbs stretched out, sweat drying on his bare skin and a few loose strands of hair blowing gently with every soft exhale.

Queen doesn’t have much time left in their practice session, but none of them have the heart to wake up Brian now.

“Sounds like a perfect idea to me,” Freddie says as the three of them dive back into work, and leave their friend to sleep in peace.

[mskinkyafro]

Meet the Watsons (Aubrey x MC) - Part 2

A/N: I’m so so so so sorry this took forever to be posted and continued! I’m back in college and still work and my major is focused in writing so the free time I’m writing is dedicated to my scripts and not really fanfics anymore. However, I’m determine to finish this mini series eventually and I finally felt after this sat in my drive, it’s worth posting. I think this mini series will only have five parts. So three more after this one. Thank you for being patient and still interested in this series.

Rating: PG

Summary: Viola and Aubrey get ready to meet his family for dinner. First impressions aren’t everything, are they?

(All thoughts are italicized and in parentheses)

After spending some much needed time together after Aubrey’s family intrusion, the two got dressed and headed toward Viola’s apartment so she can grab a fresh set of clothes. Twenty minutes later Viola and Aubrey stand outside  her door as she fumbles in her purse looking for her keys.

“I know I put them here...Ah ha!”

She jiggles the key ring in the air before she inserts it and unlocks her apartment door. As she opens the door and steps in followed by Aubrey, she can  make out the sounds of rushing pitter pattering. Just as she sees a blur of fur turn around the corner from her hallway, Viola hears a voice immediately fill the air.

(“Is that mommy? She’s finally home! I missed her so much!)

Viola bends down and scoops up her puppy as he collided with her.

“Hello Underoos. I missed you too baby.”

Setting him back down, he focused on Aubrey who was standing close by.  She hears his chuckles as he bends on his knee to give the energetic puppy the attention he seeks. As she walks further down the hallway to reach her room she hears a sassy tiny voice.

(“About time she showed up. I didn’t get my nightly rubs.”)

Viola enters through her bedroom door that’s opened ajar and finds Fauna, peaking one eye open to look at her lounging on top of the bed.

Striding toward her closet to pick out an outfit she tells Fauna.

(“I see you definitely missed me as well, oh spoiled one.”)

Before she walked deeper into the closet, Viola can make out Fauna’s thought.

(“More like your absence was noticed. And you knew my standards from the jump, sister.”)

Inside Viola giggles to herself.

“Oh never change Fauna.”

She searches through her racks of clothes but doesn’t find anything until she spots an old unworn outfit that was hiding in the very back. She dresses quickly and exits her closet while doing a slow twirl.

“So what do you think?”

Aubrey who has moved from the living room now sits on the edge of the bed with Underoos laying  by his feet and Fauna on his lap purring as he rubs her fur. He turns his attention from the kitten, and his jaw falls open.

“Viola...just...wow.”

Viola smiles as she smooths down her clothes. Dressed in a white short-sleeved, boat neck cut high-low top, dark-washed distressed jeans that hugged her curves, and brown open-toed wedges she makes her way in front of Aubrey.

Aubrey gently moves the cat aside on the bed and outstretches his hands so that she can fit in his embrace.

“It’s not too casual right? I have to make a good impression. I mean this is your mom! Plus I want to make up for the fact that a quarter of your family saw me post-shower.” she asks rapidly.

Aubrey tugs Viola so she sits on his lap.

“Viola, you could be wearing the towel from earlier and still make a good impression.”

She rolls her eyes and pulls away from him.

“I’m serious! This is stressing me out! Also shouldn’t we stop to pick up something? Like wine? Is your mother a fan of wine? Better yet, red or white? Oh my god this is huge! I personally am partial to white but what if I buy the wrong bottle of wine?! What if she hates alcohol?! And I brought in the devil’s liquid in her home!

Viola continues to ramble on excessively and begins to  pace to and fro in front of Aubrey until he gets up and stops her. He gently removes his hands from her shoulders to grasp her own hands and intertwine them slowly. Then he rests his forehead softly against hers and whispers.

“Okay...Viola just breathe. I’m going to count to three and I want you to just relax. Just think of you and me in this moment, okay?”

His eyes pierce into hers and Viola nods her head.

“Good. One...two...three...”

Standing there he watches as her eyes flutter shut and she inhales in and out. Not much time passes before she reopened  her eyes and shyly looks away.

“I overacted a bit, didn’t I?

“Just a tad. It was adorable minus the part of you being upset. I hate seeing you upset.”

“It’s a crazy little tic of mine.” she says as she turns to meet his eyes.

“We all have them.”

“You’re right...thank you. You know, for dealing with me overloading.”

“Nothing to thank me for. I’d do anything for you. So anytime you overload, I’ll proudly be there to reboot you.”

Viola breaks out in a fit of giggles.

“God, you’re so dorky.”

“Well maybe but you know you love it.”

Viola untangles her hands so she can wrap her arms around his waist.

“I never said I didn’t.”

Aubrey smirks and leans down to press a small kiss on her lips.

“And fyi you look amazing. Don’t worry about impressing my Ma. If you couldn’t tell, the ones you’ve met adore you, so I know they put in a good word  for you.”

“Really?”

“Yes! After you met Shiloh and Liz, both kept texting me about when they’ll see you again. Even Shiloh asked if she’ll finally have an aunt to join her, Liz, and Ma for their annual All-Girls Weekend. And since this morning the twins and Pop have been sending me texts asking all kinds of questions about you.”

“Wow. I...I didn’t think I made that big of an imprint with your family.”

“Well how could you not. You do the same to me everyday.”

“I swear, you are ridiculously sweet. I truly don’t understand how you make me feel like a...like a chocolate chip cookie that’s fresh out of the oven. All ooey-gooey inside.

Aubrey brings his hand to stroke through Viola’s hair.

“It’s the Watson’s charm. Beside you’re just as sweet. Maybe I can start calling you my Candy Girl?”

Viola moves her hands so they rest on his chest and shoots him a pointed look.

“Did you just reference New Edition?”

Aubrey smiles even brighter and his eyes light up as he takes a few steps away from Viola and breaks out into the famous elaborate dance routine of New Edition while singing obnoxiously.

“Candy girl...you are my world…you look so sweet...your a special treat.”

Viola walks up to him barely containing her laughter as she tries to stop him.

“Oh my god, okay okay. Simmer down. I can’t tell if  I’m surprised at the fact you know New Edition or the fact you know them so well that you got the dance down and everything.”

“Soul and R&B music is truly a love of mine. I would make references to countless songs, whether it was Jackson 5 or even Boyz II Men but typical the girls I dated had no idea who I was talking about. Well now with the exception of you.”

“Hmm well that’s there lost. I guess they don’t know about this here.”

“Ooh very clever. Jon B fan on my hands.”

“Oh you are good.”

Aubrey smiles and checks his watch to look at the time.

“Oh it’s 5:20. And it’s about an hour drive to get to my parent’s place. Are you all set?

Viola immediately rushes into her bathroom and looks in the mirror, her hands roaming frantically through her curls.

“Ugh! I thought we had more time, there’s no way I can straighten my hair now.”

“I think it looks fine.” Aubrey calls out from the bedroom.

“Oh honey, you’re too kind but this on top of my head is a hot frizzy mess  that needs to be contained in some way, if not with some heat. I guess I’ll just have to put it up quickly and add some product and just pray.”

Viola then grabs a hanging towel to cover her shoulders and her spray bottle full of water and spritzes her hair till it's moderately damp. Then she opens up one of her many creams and dabbles it through her hair which seems to make it curl and shine even more. She grabs her brush and brushes her hair and ties it into a high afro puff leaving some stray curls out as bangs.

Then smoothes out her edges until its to her liking and hangs the towel back in its original space.Looking over herself and content with how she looks she calls out to Aubrey again.

“What time is it now?”

“5:30 on the dot. It’s best to make our way now.”

“Okay.”

She walks out of her bathroom back into her room. Aubrey stands as she approaches.

“Ready?”

“Yes my purse is by the door and-- wait!”

“What?”

“I hate to leave my babies again by themselves. It's a little late for me to call Jaime to watch them or my Dad.”

“Well there’s plenty of room at my parent’s place. They love animals and maybe it will be nice for Underoos to run around in  a big backyard and there's some yarn from my Ma unused knitting collection if Fauna’s interested.”

Viola notices Underoos body perk up as they talked and Fauna turn her attention to the humans and little voices fill the air.

(”Did I hear running and a yard?! Oh I always wanted to play in a big yard! Can I come mommy please?!”)

(”I heard yarn. I suppose I could grace myself to more humans, if that’s what it takes”.)

“Are you sure it’s okay they tag along with us?”

“It’s more than okay. Plus no one can resist these two.”

“If you say so.”

Viola turns to grab Underoos leash and Fauna’s travel carrier.

“Looks like you two are coming with.”

Underoos tail wags faster and Fauna jumps from her spot on the bed to stand next to the excited puppy.

(Yay!)

(Yarn here I come.)

Viola chuckles softly to herself and gathers the animals and all together they leave and head to Aubrey’s car.

After about an hour drive and one quick stop at a store, Viola and Aubrey with the pets in tow arrive in Hartfeld and at Aubrey’s childhood home.

As she exits the car and gets out her pets she can’t help but admire the charming baby blue colored two-story home with intricate hedges and flower bushes.

Holding Underoos leash in one hand and a bottle of Pinot Grigio in the other as Aubrey grabs Fauna’s carrier they all make their way to the front door.

“You okay?”

“Yeah I really am.”

Right as Aubrey is about to knock he realizes the front door is actually cracked open and voices that were quiet grow louder and louder by the second. Confused he pushes the door open and the smell of something burning hits both of their noses. As they step through the threshold Aubrey calls

“Hello! I’m home! And I brought Viola!”

But his voice seemed to be drowned out by the bickering in the next room.

“Oww! Liz can you shut up and stop screeching!”

“Yeah, Liz chill for second!”

“Next time I’m in charge when mom’s out the room, because this is like the Anniversary dinner of ‘03 all over again!”

“Kids I leave for 15 minutes and you set my kitchen on fire?! Where’s your father?!”

Aubrey shuts the door and gestures for Viola to follow and they turn the corner past a wall. When they pushed the swing door open they see the oven door open with flames, Liz next to it crammed in a counter corner with Jasper and Forrest with Aubrey’s mother who seems to be in the middle of getting dressed with her robe and curlers in her head staring all three down. Auibrey shouts loud enough so that he’s heard this time.

“We’re here!”

Finally the rest of the family stops talking and turn toward the two. Before they could react, bursting through the other entrance to the kitchen is Aubrey’s father with a fire extinguisher and sprays it blinding hitting the oven flames but also dowsing his children.

“Its handle kids so don’t get your mother...Oh Sadie darling--.”

The older woman holds up her hand and silences her husband.

“I don’t want to hear it Richard. I’m going to finish changing and we’ll discuss this later. And that goes for you three as well.”

“Ma, are you serious? This was totally the twins fault-”

Jasper quickly cuts Liz off.

“Oh no, you had just as much responsibility as Forrest and-

The older woman steps toward her children and raises her voice.

“Enough! You all may be all grown up but once in this household that’s null and void. We all will be talking about this later. Do I make myself clear.” her voice is almost ice.

They all murmur a yes ma’am.

“Good, I expect all of you to get this place cleaned up including you, my darling husband.”

As soon as those words left her mouth the four of them start trying to clean up the mess of the foam and the burnt dinner. As they all shuffle around, Shiloh enters as she’s typing on her cellphone.

“Good news, Gram! I ordered Chinese and it will be here in another ten minutes!”

Smiling at her granddaughter Sadie makes her way to press a small kiss on her forehead.

“Aww. Oh you are just the most perfect grandchild a grandmother could have.”

Finally Sadie turns her attention back to her youngest and gives them a bright yet tired smile.

She walks toward the young couple and hugs her son first before hugging Viola.

“I’ll tell you Viola, being a Watson is no dull moment. So lovely to meet you in person dear. And who are the adorable creatures with you.

“Umm lovely to meet you too Mrs. Wats-”

“Oh honey you’re practically my daughter-in-law, please call me Sadie.”

“Before Viola respond she could hear Sadie’s voice clear as day.

(“My little baby not only introducing this woman to the family but bringing her home to me without a fuss?! She most definitely is the one. Plus the fact she hasn’t ran from our nonsense, she’ll fit in nicely.”)

Viola felt the blush hit her cheeks but ignored it so she speaks with much more confidence.

“Okay, heh Sadie this little guy is Underoos and the Sass Queen in the carrier is  Fauna.”

Sadie pets Underoos as he licks her hand and then focuses on Fauna then turns back to the young couple.

“Just precious. Well I need to get myself more together. Oh and I see you brought wine! Sweetie, you don’t know how much I need this right now. Let me get changed and we’ll talk more when dinner arrives. ”

Sadie moves past the tow and head toward the stairs.

Viola says hello to the rest who are still finishing up cleaning then turns to let the animals out. Once she finishes Aubrey finds her and he wraps her in his arms.

“So I hope you’re no longer scared.

“I’m not. Your family is so quirky. And I mean that in the best way possible.”

“No, no, no it's true. I was hoping the entire drive here they wouldn’t embarrass me but I gave up because I knew it was inevitable.”

“Now I wouldn't say embarrass, more like entertainment.”

Smiling down at her Aubrey begins to lean down to kiss Viola when he’s interrupted by his older brother.

“Hey Snobery why don’t you stop hogging ya girl and share her with the rest of the family.”

He rolls his eyes as Viola laughs and tugged him along.

“Don’t you worry Jasper there’s enough of me to go around.”

Aubrey watches as Viola meshes easily with his family and he couldn't help but think to himself and unbeknownst to him, Viola hears him.

(“Everything seems to finally be falling in place.”)

Viola smiles to herself and thinks.

(“I couldn’t agree more.”)

Tagged: @playchoice-s  @rain18rain @ohsnapitzlovehacker​ @cora-nova​ @jlpplays1​

Anyone else that stumbles across this and enjoys this fic or pairing and liked to be added to the tag list let me know! Thank you for being patient y'all!

[lollercakesff]

closer

posted: ao3 for: @starmaammke because it was late for her teeth wordcount: 2,837 warnings: smut?

It’s sweltering. He thinks he sees the paint melting off the road sign as he drives across town with El in tow, the windows down and the air conditioning barely keeping the sweat from his eyes.

“Are we almost there?” El asks from beside him, her curly hair extra frizzy in the humidity. He can’t help but notice that her cheeks are red, her perpetual paleness nowhere to be found on this hot summer day.

“Almost. Although it’s not going to get much better once we’re outside of the truck, you know that right?” He chuckles as she rolls her eyes, a palm swiping over her face.

“Yeah - but Mike said they would have a slipper or something we could play on. It’s water and soap? Like the dishes?”

“You mean a slip and slide?” His mind conjures up the commercial from the TV, flashes of broken limbs making him swallow back his retort as she nods.

“I think so. He says it’s fun,” she says with a shrug. He turns the final corner to the Wheeler’s and watches out of the corner of his eye as she sits up and practically vibrates in her seat.

“You nervous?” He asks as he pulls up to the curb, another car filling the block of vehicles parked along the road. El looks up at him with a wide smile, eyes bright as she shakes her head. “Good - if ever you want to leave, just let me know. We can go anytime, okay?”

“I know - you’ve told me a hundred times,” she replies and climbs out of the truck. Together they head towards the house, the music and smoke from the BBQ welcoming them through the fenced gate.

They’re barely inside before The Party is swarming El and dragging her further into the yard, disappearing from view and leaving him holding his six pack of beer alone at the entrance.

“Hey stranger,” a voice calls from the corner, Karen Wheeler’s hand shooting into the air as she sits in the shade. Squinting through his sunglasses, he tries to make out the other faces at the table before stepping over to join them, a smile breaking through when he notices Joyce in the corner. “I’m so glad you guys could make it!” Karen exclaims and pulls him in for a one-armed hug.

“Anything for the kid,” he mumbles and catches Joyce’s eye over Karen’s shoulder. Joyce smiles back at him and takes a sip of her beer, arms crossed on the table. Pulling back he looks around at the decor and Ted Wheeler leaning over the grill, nodding his head towards the man. “Guess I should go hangout with the cooks, right?”

“God no - sit down Chief, join us!” Karen crows before pulling out a chair and pushing him into it. Beside him Joyce snorts around her bottle, glancing up at him from between her lashes as her friend cracks off a beer and sets it down in front of him. “I’m going to put these in a cooler - you two need to catch up!”

Hopper groans and takes a gulp of the cold liquid courage, leaning back in his seat to look at the woman at his side. “What?” He says with a laugh, lifting his can to her for a cheers.

“Nothing - just you’re looking mighty uncomfortable today Hop,” she replies and sits back in her own chair, an arm still crossed over her chest. He takes in the sight of her in her summer dress, a lightness about her that wasn’t there a month ago.

“Well, I mean, Karen - “ he stutters, desperate to find anything to respond with.

“Don’t worry about it, I’m just kidding. Maybe I’m a bit tipsy.” For a moment he thinks that’s it, that’s why she’s glowing, but a small part of him sees through that and notices the way her smile reaches her eyes in a way it hasn’t in a long time.

“You look good, Joyce,” he says lowly, just loud enough for her to hear. The blush that comes to her cheeks has nothing to do with the heat and the realization makes him lean back in his chair, his heart racing in his chest.

“Thanks. Why don’t you get me another drink? I don’t think Karen’s coming back to give me a refill.” She nods to where Karen is now fully engulfed in a conversation with the other women of the neighbourhood, her attention drawn elsewhere. Hopper takes the instruction and retrieves another beer, sliding his chair closer so that his arm bumps Joyce’s when he sits down.

“You’re welcome,” he grumbles before popping the cap with his keys. They spend the next hour drinking and cracking jokes, the familiarity and ease of the moment not lost on either of them. Though others stop by the table and greet them, neither of them pay much attention to the newcomers before deviating back to their antics of heckling and cajoling.

Eventually, it’s Hopper’s hand that moves from where it’s wrapped around his drink to rest next to hers on the table. The slip is subtle, barely noticeable, but when Joyce’s fingers brush against his it makes a lump form in his throat. He plays with it for a moment, his pinky finger sliding over her knuckle, before he catches her eye and slides her hand into his.

They don’t say a thing before letting their joined palms hang between them under the table, an invisible link that settles their jokes into quiet shared words. The conversation turns to a walk down memory lane and Joyce leans into it, her head resting on Hopper’s shoulder as the afternoon sun starts to lower in the sky.

“You two look pretty comfy over here,” Karen hisses as she places a tray of watermelon on the table. Joyce sits up slowly, awkwardly pulling away from the contact and carefully straightening her dress.

“Sorry - did you need a hand?” Joyce offers, getting to her feet and stepping behind Hopper’s chair. Her hand finds its way to his shoulder, the heat of it unmissable as Karen looks between the two of them.

“Me? Nah - Ted’s setting up the fireworks and I’m just getting dessert out. You guys sit down, you’ve already got the best seats in the house,” Karen adds with a wink before disappearing back into the house.

Hopper seizes the moment and grabs Joyce’s hand from his shoulder, bringing it to his lips for the briefest of kisses. When his eyes slide up to meet hers he can see the hesitation in her gaze, the uncertainty of her movements as she looks back down at him.

“Is it too soon?” She whispers just for him, her brow furrowed as she holds onto his hand tightly.

He knows why she’s hesitating. Bob died less than a year ago and here he was, making a move on her at a party for their kids. It was shameful. Pathetic.

“Joyce,” he starts, getting to his feet so that he’s towering over her with the sun setting behind them. It was unstoppable. Probably fate.

“I’m allowed to be happy,” she says more to herself than to him, a stray palm coming to rest on his chest. He lets her work up to it, lets her look up at him in her own time and when she does it’s like a punch to his chest. “I’m allowed this,” Joyce admits before lifting up on her toes, just high enough for him to lean over and press his lips to hers.

The kiss is brief, chaste, and it nearly bowls him over. He wants to drag her closer and hold her to him but behind them he can hear Will’s shouts of excitement and El’s questions, a reminder of where they are and the very public moment of affection they were sharing in the Wheeler’s backyard.

“Can we go somewhere?” Joyce asks when he pulls away, his hands gripping her elbows and keeping her close. He lets his breathing settle before looking around them, thankful that the eyes are drawn to the activities in the grass and not the two figures lurking near the house. A quick nod and he’s pulling her through the gate, abandoning their drinks and leading her into the front yard with a wide smile across his face.

Alone in street, they pull each other down the empty roadway as the sun starts to set and the shadows grow long. They barely reach his truck before he’s pressing her up against it, his hands gripping her hips and his mouth meeting hers. She sighs into him, moans at his insistence and mewls as she grants him entry.

“We can’t - not in the street!” She laughs as he nips down her neck, a hand slipping under the strap of her dress.

“Not in the street? I don’t remember you ever being opposed to it before,” he chuckles and shifts back up to meet her eyes. The light from earlier is shining through, her youthful smile as bright as it was when they were foolish and carefree.

“Hop,” she chastises, gripping his collar and pulling him back down to her. She kisses him once. Twice. Then leans back and drops a hand to her side, a smirk on her lips as the back door of his truck pops open. “Come on,” she hisses, shifting her hips until he lifts her onto the bench. He holds her there for a moment, stepping between her legs.

“You sure?” He rasps as his hands slide under her dress and up her thighs. “We don’t have to, we can just stay here, make out a little then go back and catch the fireworks.”

Her eyes close and he thinks for a hot flash of a second that she’s going to change her mind, his body tightening ahead of the rejection. But then she looks down at him, a hand coming to his chin as her thumb brushes across his skin. “I’m sure. But I feel compelled to tell you now that I miss the beard,” she says with a sigh, tilting her head as she watches him.

His smile widens before he turns and nips her finger, drawing it between his lips playfully. “I know - but it was just too hot. Besides, don’t I remind you of Magnum?”

Scoffing, she wraps her arms around his neck and shakes her head, a laugh falling from her. “God - that is not something to strive for.” Joyce laughs and then lets go, leaning back and releasing his neck so that she can stretch her arms out along the bench. “But I mean, I seem to remember that you were Magnum before the mustache... Am I wrong?”

Hopper groans and looks around him, lifting her legs and pushing them back so that he can climb in after her and shut the door with a snap. “You’re killing me,” he grunts, propping himself off of her as much as he can. The humidity of the day hovers around them, thick and heavy as they share the small space.

“It’s so fucking hot- “ She starts and he cuts her off, stealing her breath as he swoops in for a kiss that curls her toes. They struggle to find a comfortable spot as their mouths explore, eventually shifting until she’s astride him and their clothes are pushed aside and exposing as much skin as they can.

“I went for a check-up two weeks ago… Doc says I’m clean,” he mumbles as Joyce grinds against him, the move making him grow harder with every passing second. He half expects her to not hear him as she bites her lip and runs her hands into her mess of hair.

“Good - not that I’ve doubted you but I’ve got the rest taken care of,” she sighs, dropping her hands to his chest and looking down at him with hooded eyes. The moment stretches out between them, gazes locked as his hands slowly work up her arms and into her hair. He holds her above him, thumb brushing along her cheekbone as he stares up at her with a newfound wonder.

“Are we doing this? Like, really doing this?” He asks slowly, careful not to blow out that spark but needing to know. God, he needed to know where they stood. There’s a slow nod, a slip of her smile before she buries her face in his neck. “Hey - Joy, no, talk to me,” he soothes, panic bubbling in his chest.

His heart races as she breathes heavily against him, her body vibrating with each inhale. The fear of alienating her, of breaking the careful friendship that they’ve developed over the last year outweighs everything, especially the thought of going back to the party with blue-balls. He’d walk into a million parties eternally uncomfortable as long as she continued to shine next to him.

“You’re starting to freak me out here,” he admits with a tense laugh, a hand curling in her hair and holding her to him. If she was going to burrow in, he was open and ready. She was already inside his heart - had been for years - and he would cling to it for as long as he could.

“Don’t - Hopper,” she laughs and hiccups, drawing back and slapping his chest with her hands. Her eyes aren’t red-rimmed like he expected, but wide and filled with mirth as she looks down at him with a soft smile. “I needed a minute to be sure this was real.”

“It’s definitely real. I know last time we weren’t - it wasn’t right. But now… Joyce,” he sighs and pulls her down for a kiss, watching every second as she hovers above him. The moment seems to crack and shatter and her lips find his, breathless as she presses in.

A flurry of bumps and loose limbs fill the space as they work together to shift and align, his belt undone and her hands on his hips. “I don’t want to stop, okay? This is me telling you that this is real - that this is - “

She doesn’t get to finish her sentence before he’s reaching up for her and shaking his head, a shushing noise mixed between his laughter. Joyce takes the hint and reaches a hand into his pants that traces along the edge of him, a smile on her lips as she meets her mouth with his. He groans at the contact and closes his eyes, his hips rising as her palm wraps around his length.

“Jesus,” he hisses, desperate for the feel of her. When she eventually pulls him free his hips jerk up to her abruptly, his body betraying the cool demeanor he’s trying to convey.

“Don’t worry, I feel the same way,” she breathes knowingly into his ear before pulling the lobe with her teeth. The old playful Joyce appears as his hands slide under her dress and cup her breasts, a thumb and forefinger tweaking her nipples and eliciting small mewls from her chest.

There’s no hesitation in her movements as she lifts up and slides her panties aside, hovering over him as his ministrations pause and their breathing stops. Slowly, she sinks down and lets him stretch her, holding him inside her as long as she can before she has to move.

It turns and shifts after that and soon she’s riding him with tiny cries, a hand guiding her hips and another on her breast. Thrust after thrust he pushes up into her, trying and fighting to get closer as the heat twists through the truck and brings sweat to their skin. Every kiss and every breath is mixed with a hint of salt, telling as he wrestles to bring her ever closer.

“You feel - “ she moans, moving quicker as silent words spill from her. Hopper takes the hint and drops his hand to her center, his fingers finding her nub and working it furiously. “Oh god,” she keens and scratches her nails into his chest.

Somehow he manages to pull himself up until his lips can drag her nipple into his mouth, the motions with his hands and tongue combine and make her hips buck until she’s coming apart around him. Her body tenses as her mouth forms a silent ‘O’, the sound of fireworks from the yard perfectly timed as his own body fights and fails to stave off his own release. He comes with a grunt, filling her as his hands grasp at her exposed skin and light fills the sky outside the truck.

With cooling skin and evened breathing, Hopper feels himself slip from her warmth as he resettles her dress straps on her shoulders. “Should we get back to the party to watch the fireworks?” He asks as she smiles lazily down at him, her torso leaning against the seatback.

“One more minute?” She sighs and spreads out across his chest, her hair curling in his face.

“We’ve got all the time in the world,” he replies softly. And he means it.

[trickhockstetter]

Derry - Chapter 2: Someone Old, Someone New

Author’s Note: Welcome back to Derry! This chapter clocks in at 3417 words. Enjoy! (And, in case you missed it, here’s chapter one.)

In the sweltering weeks following my family’s adjustment (or re-adjustment, in the case of my father and I) to Derry life, I remain mostly sedentary, spending most of my time either in my room or in the backyard. My homely hobbies consist mostly of reading and enjoying whatever television shows manage to captivate my ever-shortening attention span. The days following my father’s departure for Bangor for work are quieter, as there’s one less person to pressure me into sightseeing a town with no real sights. And, as I don’t leave the house, Sophia has me babysit Gabriel, which is not a problem considering he could spend hours with Legos and coloring books.

But, as school draws closer, and the dog days of summer grow more humid than anything I’ve ever experienced before, I find myself taking more and more solo trips into the town square. It isn’t just to shop, though I do find myself with a Derry-appropriate wardrobe in no time. I don’t want to be a completely new face come the first day of my senior year, and I’m gunning for one of these outings to result in my coming across some other people attending Derry High. I’m not asking for friends, just some acquaintances who may not immediately avert their gazes upon seeing me flounder in the hallways.

Plus, as my father has his car and Sophia is loathe to part with hers in case of emergencies, I’ve considered my leisurely walks into town and back to be the most exercise I’ve had in ages.

Though the first few outings end fruitlessly, it comes to a head when, on August seventeenth, I enter Keene’s for the first time since the day we’d moved here. I immediately recognize the girl sitting at the counter where Mr. Keene had been before. She snaps her gum as she talks lowly to someone obscured from my vantage point by the sterile white aisles. After a breathless moment, I realize she hasn’t noticed me and head over to the feminine hygiene products, where I bump right into a girl with beautiful long red hair.

“Whoa.” I stumble back.

“Sorry.” The girl sucks in her cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

She looks old enough to be in high school. Her face is beautifully structured; high cheekbones, dainty mouth, piercing yet friendly eyes set against a backdrop of pale skin smattered with freckles. I’d guess she’s about sixteen, maybe older.

The Tampax box she’d had in her hands moments before now lies on the ground, logo-down. We reach for it at the same time and bump heads.

“Sorry,” I say.

“No need.” The girl stoops down and picks up the box. She tilts her head to appraise me as she straightens up. “I haven’t seen you around before.”

“I’m new. Well, kind of. I used to live here.” Realizing that most of my explanation is pointless, I add, “I’m Stella.”

“Beverly.” The girl, Beverly, smiles. “Well, kind-of-new kid Stella, it’s nice to meet you. I used to be the new kid, too; moved here almost two years ago.”

I faintly hear the bell above the shop door chime as someone exits.

“Are you going to Derry High in the fall?” she asks, and smiles wider as I nod. “I’ll be in my junior year. We could have lunch together sometime.”

“That sounds great. I’ll be a senior.” I grip on the strap of my cross-body bag, grateful that my plan has worked.

Beverly’s smile turns wry as her attention turns back to the box in her hands. “Well, I’d better get going. I’ll see you around-”

She turns and freezes. At the other end of the aisle stands the denim-loving, gum-snapping girl, her big lined eyes narrowed into slits. Her tight jeans are several shades darker than her denim fringe jacket, and her curly hair is pulled up into a slightly frizzy side pony.

Beverly takes an instinctive step back, bumping back into me.

“Well, if it isn’t Beaverly and Nobody. Have you found a new best friend, Beaverly?” The girl laughs, a harsh contrast to the light elevator-like music playing throughout the store. “Better watch out there, new girl. Beaverly’s trash. Then again, so are you for hanging out with a stupid slut like her.”

Beverly clenches her teeth. “What is it, Gretta? Am I a stupid slut, or trash? Make up your mind.” The last part is muttered lowly, but in the otherwise quiet of the store it’s almost echoing.

Gretta scowls. “I just wanted to remind you. Before you and the losers you hang out with get it into your heads that you can talk back like that at school. You’re nothing.”

While Gretta talks, I notice Beverly’s hands quick at work. Within seconds, the Tampax box slips from her grasp and into the bag hanging by her side. And just like that, it’s as if she’d never been holding it.

“Thanks for the reminder, Gretta. See you in school.” Beverly’s voice is so falsely cheerful that I have to hold back a snort of laughter. She turns away, walking quickly to the door, and I follow, all the while listening to Gretta grumble as she returns to the counter, completely unaware of Beverly’s actions.

Once we’re outside and a block away from the store, Beverly sticks her tongue out at me. She begins, “I know this isn’t the best first impression, stealing tampons and all-”

“No, it’s all good.” I stuff my hands into the pockets of my capris and smile as we walk to nowhere in particular. “I don’t blame you at all. She seems horrible.”

“She doesn’t like most people.” Beverly shakes her head. “She’s got friends - lackeys, more like - but bullies almost everyone in town. Mostly girls, but she’s not opposed to pushing around the guys, too.”

I suck in a breath. “That’s rough.”

“At least you’re a grade above her. Can’t touch you during classes.” Beverly shoots me a worried look. “Derry High is small. I usually share most of my classes with her.”

I feel a pang of worry, looking at how wistfully Beverly stares at the sidewalk beneath us, as though she wishes she could just sink into it. But, just as that vulnerability begins to appear on her face, she straightens up, face brightening.

“But, like I said, you’re invited to my table anytime. I’m sure the guys wouldn’t mind.” She smiles for a moment before continuing. “Though I’m not sure you’d want to completely ruin your rep by sitting with us losers.”

“Gretta seems like the real loser here.” I kick at a pebble, watching it erratically scuttle down the sidewalk.

“She’s the worst Gretta.” Noticing my confusion, she adds, “There’s two. Gretta Keene and Gretta Bowie. Bowie’s your age.”

“Joyful.” Just thinking about how senior year might go with these two Grettas - plus the strange guys Victor hangs around with - sets off alarm bells. Is it too late to apply to that private school in Bangor? Surely there can’t be any Grettas there, too.

Beverly laughs. “Joyful is just about the most inaccurate descriptor for Gretta Bowie. But she’s relatively harmless, so long as you don’t grab her attention. Plus, I doubt she’ll have time to terrorize anyone else this year.”

“‘Anyone else’?” I repeat.

“She and her boyfriend broke up right before school ended. Let’s just say she didn’t take it well.” Beverly adjusts the straps in her hands before pausing at the corner, turning to face me. “Listen, I didn’t mean to derail your shopping thing-”

“-It’s okay-”

“-And I would love to ask you to hang out, usually.” Beverly bites her lip. “But my dad’s home, and he - he doesn’t like unexpected visitors.”

“I get it.” I laugh awkwardly. “I didn’t mean to almost stalk you to your house. I should get going, too.” The crumpled paper list in my pocket, detailing the exact brands for the tampons, chocolate wafers, and gel pens I need, has yet to be looked at since I left the house. “Lots of shopping to do, still.”

“Avoid Keene’s at all costs,” Beverly advises. “Though they do offer a wonderful discount in exchange for being bullied by their cashier.” She shakes the bag, the Tampax logo just barely visible through the thin white plastic.

We laugh and, with a wave and another promise to find each other for lunch someday, we part ways.

On my way home, I catch sight of the strange blue car that Victor and his friends had left the parking lot in weeks earlier, parked by the wooden bridge that is in dire need of repair. A little ways beyond the car, three bicycles lie on the road. One of the bike’s wheels is still spinning. My pace slows as I approach the bridge, taking extra care to look beyond the wooden railings keeping cars and pedestrians from falling down the side. But there is no sign of anybody nearby, no sounds of anything happening, so I press on.

When I reach home, the driveway only holds Sophia’s car. Remembering that my father’s due to come back from Bangor any day now, I shrug off the absence until I’m inside. Sophia looks up as she chops carrots on a cutting board, while Gabriel watches from a chair set by the kitchen counter.

“Where’s Dad?” I ask, unceremoniously dropping my purchases onto the table.

“Still in Bangor.” Sophia’s voice is odd, and I still at the sound. Something’s not right. Her voice is strained, bereft of its usual warmth. I’d blame it on frustration, but she’s been sounding more and more off since the move. Today happens to be the worst yet.

I pick up Gabriel, earning a warm hug for my efforts. “Why?”

“Extended his trip.” The knife Sophia’s using to chop hits the wooden cutting board a little too hard, causing a thump that makes all three of us wince.

Sensing that Sophia is not in the mood to talk further about it, I steer the conversation towards Beverly and the Grettas, omitting Beverly’s Tampax thievery. I’d filled Sophia in on Victor and his friends that same day, so it’s only fair to do it again. She seems relieved that I’ve taken over the conversation, though she only interjects with prompts and occasional reactions, and half heartedly at best. Gabriel watches with rapt interest as I peel potatoes and muse to my mostly silent stepmother.

“And summer’s almost over,” I find myself whining. “It feels like just yesterday I’d escaped the clutches of Mr. Hornsby and his monotone. And now I have to do it all over again, but with these people?”

“At least Beverly sounds nice.” Sophia takes the chopped potatoes and dumps them into the stewpot. “And I bet those boys’ll be nice to you.”

I snort. “Victor, maybe. And definitely not like that.”

“You never know.” Sophia sticks her tongue out at me as she nudges me with her elbow. “All I’m saying is, you oughta be snatched up by graduation, or all these Derry boys are blind.”

“I don’t need a boyfriend.” I think about one of my Coal County friends, Sarah, who switched boyfriends like gum flavors. From what I’ve seen, the only things that couples seemed to do was spend all their time with each other and brag to their friends about whatever bases they’d rounded with one another. Not entirely my idea of fun, nor do I consider it necessary. “Or want one.”

Sophia smiles; the first I’ve seen on her all day. “Maybe so. But sometimes love doesn’t care about needing or wanting. It just happens. You’re seventeen, Stella. Take some risks. Put yourself out there. What harm could it do?”

Two days later, I am surprised by the appearance of Victor Criss on my doorstep. As my father is still in Bangor (for reasons that Sophia seems to be tight lipped on), and Sophia and Gabriel are out and about, having left before I’d woken up for the day, I’m by my lonesome when the white blond boy comes to call.

“How’d you know where I live?” I ask as I politely step aside. He kicks off his shoes and shoots me a smirk as he settles into my father’s armchair.

“Just a hunch,” he says, though I’m sure there’s more to it than that. “School’s coming up soon. Thought you might like to hang out or something before we all get homework and shit to deal with.”

I pause, startled to hear this. Like I said, we weren’t really close before I moved, and the way Victor’s acting is kind of confusing, as though he remembers it differently. We never hung out after school, never slept at each other’s houses or anything like that. I only knew that he danced because he was so good at it that Derry Elementary had him and his class do performances for special assemblies. But there’s no plausible reason for his sudden interest in me.

And when I voice these concerns, he shakes them off with a harsh laugh.

“And like I said, everything’s different now.” Victor raises an eyebrow. “Plus, you seem cool. I mean, you always did, but somehow you’re … I don’t know, even more cool, I guess. Even if you do stupid things sometimes.”

“What was so stupid about it, anyway?” I drop into the chair opposite his, folding my arms over my stomach. “I just told the guy my name.”

Victor groans dramatically, to the point that I’m thankful my parents aren’t home or they’d think something extremely inappropriate is occurring in their foyer. 

“You’ve piqued his interest.”

“Whose interest?”

His eyes rolled up to the heavens and back. “Who do you think? Patrick. Patrick Hockstetter. The guy who was looking at you like he was going to swallow you whole.”

Finally, a name to associate with the man. I remember bits and pieces: long dark hair, a hideous artist’s rendition of Tom the cat from Tom and Jerry on his shirt, the frequent lip-licking. Patrick Hockstetter. Oddly, it feels fitting.

“Y’know, I really didn’t know if I was gonna invite you to the thing tonight.” When I shoot him a confused look, he adds, “There’s a thing tonight, a bonfire, at Belch’s family’s place by the river. Thought you might like to come. But yeah, I didn’t know if I was gonna invite you, ‘cause he’s going too, and that could be bad. Though I guess you’re all grown up and whatnot, so you can do whatever you want.”

I nod, though I’m lost at the use of the word “Belch” as a name.

Victor goes on. “Molloy and Patrick usually supply the good shit, and since Gretta’s not around anymore, we may actually have some fun. Henry’s talking ‘bout bringing out some fireworks, maybe even his dad’s gun, y’know, to amp things up.”

“Henry?”

Victor makes a swooping motion towards the back of his neck with one hand. “Mullet man, that’s Bowers. And Anthrax’s number one fan, that’s Belch. Or ‘Reg’, but only if he lets you call him that. Otherwise, just Belch. Got it?”

“Okay. I mean, yeah.”

He pushes a hand through his light fringe. “‘Kay, good. Now. What do you have to eat here?”

Watching Victor inhale several plates of chocolate chip pancakes, all leftover from Sophia’s generous breakfast spread made earlier in the day, is almost enough to turn me off of eating my bowl of cereal. There’s syrup clinging to his chin, and while he is using a fork and knife to neatly cut up the food, it’s the only neat thing about his eating.

“When’s this bonfire, anyway?” I take a sip of my juice, watching him over the rim of my glass as he drizzles more syrup onto his plate. “Like, what time?”

“Why, you got a curfew?” He laughs. “I don’t see any parents ‘round here.”

“My stepmother and brother are out, and my dad’s in Bangor till next week.” My heart pangs at the words, especially knowing that they’re not guaranteed. He wasn’t supposed to be in Bangor for longer than a weekend, but his stay’s been extended over and over again. Who knows when he’ll actually come home? “And we haven’t discussed a curfew yet.”

Victor drinks his own glass of juice, gulping noisily. When his lips part from the glass, he replies, “So no curfew then. Good. These things are best experienced in their entirety. ‘Sides, Henry doesn’t like to set off fireworks and junk until after he’s sure his dad’s done for the night. His dad’s Sheriff here.”

“Sheriff?” I try to imagine the mullet man as the son of an authority figure, but just remembering how his eyes had lingered on me that day in the parking lot makes me shiver.

“Yeah.” Victor shoves a massive morsel of pancake into his mouth and talks around it. “‘Id a goo’ i’ea ‘o b’ing yo’ o’n shid.” I wait for him as he chews, swallows, and repeats himself. “It’s a good idea to bring your own shit. Blankets and stuff. Don’t depend on anyone else to bring enough, or you’ll be picking rocks and sand outta your pants for days. We supply the beer, that’s it. And there ain’t no freebies on the good stuff, not even for newbies. Or oldies, I suppose.”

I nod. I’ve never had beer in my life. I’m more of a fruity drink person. The few sips of Long Island Iced Tea that I’d had at Trina Lancaster’s party two years ago had left me utterly wrecked; I’m lightweight through and through. And drugs have never been considered before.

“It’ll be fun.” Victor wipes his mouth with a paper towel, having polished off the rest of his pancakes. “Till then, I figured we could hang. I could show you around town, stuff like that.”

“Why?”

It surprises both him and I that I question it so brazenly. He clears his throat and shoots me a curious stare.

“Like I said before. You seem cool.” But, just like Sophia, I can tell there’s an undercurrent to his tone, something he’s trying to conceal. Something I’m not supposed to notice.

And, just like with Sophia, I pretend to be none the wiser.

“Right. Okay. Well, I’ve been in town a couple times, but just to the stores. Keene’s and stuff. So anywhere but there’s good with me.”

Victor drives a silver hunk of junk car, peppered with little dents and scratch marks, but it gets the job done. We zip around town for the day, stopping by places he calls the Quarry, the Barrens, and, oddly, Derry’s maze of a junkyard. Despite not being close to him before the move, I find myself enjoying being in his presence, even when he’s a bit too dramatic for the current situation.

Nevertheless, the sky darkens quickly, and soon I find myself in my room, sifting through my closet while Victor vegs out in front of the television set. I’ve already got a cheap beach blanket folded in my bag, and my face lightly made up with the expensive-looking products Sophia had bought me for my seventeenth birthday. The only thing keeping me from herding Victor to his car to get to the bonfire is my outfit.

Or, rather, the outfits I’m trying to choose between.

“Hurry up, Stella, damn,” Victor calls from the other side of my bedroom door. “Go in your underwear if it’s this hard to choose. Hell, no one’ll complain.”

I ignore him and hold the hangers up, side by side. One outfit is a pretty white sundress, with a dizzying print of little yellow roses. The other is a T-shirt and jean shorts, though the shirt is one of my favorites.

In the end, I slip the dress over my head and give myself one last long look in the mirror. Then I trudge into the living room and grab the remote from Victor, shutting the television off as I pull a cardigan around my shoulders.

“You going to church or something?” Victor jokes. “Just ‘cause it’s late doesn’t mean it’s not hot. And there’ll be a fire.”

“So no sweater?”

Victor shakes his head. “Unless you wanna boil.”

Taking his word for it, I leave my cardigan behind, draped over the back of the couch. And, after scribbling a note to Sophia, Victor and I peel out of my driveway, smiling as we crank the radio until the blaring music drifts skyward.

[writtenbyalex-nicole]

My Hair, My Identity

by Alex-Nicole Edwards 

     When I was in kindergarten, I asked my mom for a relaxer. At the time, I didn’t really know what I was asking for. I just wanted my hair to be straight like the white girl at my school. No one else in our class had hair like that, and she got a lot of attention because of it. I thought that if I had her hair, I’d get that type of attention too.

    I didn’t understand why when my mom said no. She had a relaxer, why couldn’t I? The only reason she gave me was “because I said so,” and that was the end of the conversation. So, I continued to have my hair pulled and parted into acceptable hairstyles for a six-year-old black girl.

    That was the routine for another five years. Every week, my mom would wash my hair over the edge of the bathtub and my neck would get stiff from being still for so long. She would blow-dry my hair before any of the water could evaporate on its own. She would comb out the tangles, which snagged with each pass of the comb and reappeared as soon as they were taken out. I would spend hours on the floor in front of her feet, having my hair cornrowed and plaited and twisted. I had never seen what shape or pattern my hair would take if it was left to dry by itself. But I had never wondered about it either.

    I had also never wondered about the other girls in my grade school classes with box braids, or twists, or hair like mine. I was only interested in the girls with hair that was relaxed, or hot combed, or flat ironed. There weren’t many of them. And to me that gave them a sense of authority. They were mature enough to have straight hair. They were unique because they had hair most girls our age didn’t have. They had something that I wanted.

    At the end of fifth grade, I finally got it. The week before our graduation ceremony, my mom took me to a hair salon for the first time. They washed and dried my hair like she did, but this time they straightened it too. They pressed my hair between hot metal plates that made it silky and smooth. I loved it, and so did the other kids at school. All week, I got compliments on how pretty my hair was. I hadn’t felt ugly before then, but now it seemed like I should have. I was never very popular, but now people who had never really talked to me before wanted to touch my hair. People I didn’t think even liked me wanted to tell me that my hair looked nice.

    The weekly routine of sitting between my mom’s legs while she braided my hair became me sitting between her legs while she hot combed my hair. After a while, the hot comb became a flat iron. After a year, when I started sixth grade, my mom doing my hair for me became me doing my hair for myself. I would straighten it nearly every day to make sure it didn’t have a chance to get frizzy. If it did, I’d hide it under a hat or in a bun so no one could see it. For the next three years of middle school that was my new routine. During that time, I was constantly validated by my friends and classmates for having long, straight hair. Even though straight hair was more common now among my pre-teen peers, I was singled out for having “good hair.” It was the way I was identified by my classmates, and it became the way I identified myself.

    But those three years showed in the health of my hair. By the time I got to ninth grade, it was heat damaged and lifeless. I had never used a heat protectant since I had started doing my hair for myself. During my four years of high school my ends started splitting and breaking off, inch by inch. But as long as it was straight, I was happy with it. I had never wondered what my natural hair looked like when I was younger, but now I avoided seeing it at all costs. Looking at myself in the mirror after washing and blow-drying my hair felt like looking at another person. The frizzy, puffy thing on my head wasn’t supposed to be there. I spent hours getting my hair perfectly straight, and I wished it could just stay that way forever. I hated the way my hair looked before I transformed it. It was worth the two-hour process of washing, detangling, blow-drying, and straightening my hair to make it look the way I wanted it to.

    After a while that process didn’t seem worth it anymore. I was a low-maintenance person by nature. I was always sort of a tomboy, and never put that much energy into getting ready otherwise. My obsession with my hair didn’t fit my personality. I didn’t want to have to spend hours fixing it just to go outside. I didn’t want to have to care what people thought about it.  

    The first time I went to school with my hair natural, I was sixteen years old. I was in tenth grade and I wanted to experiment with different styles. I had an image in my mind of how I wanted it to look. Loose, uniform curls flowing down my back. But the reality didn’t live up to my expectations. Years of straightening my hair had altered its curl pattern. Strands would start out in tight spirals but would taper off into limp waves. My roots clumped together and were frizzy and more tangled than ever before. I tried a bunch of different methods to get my curls into the shape I wanted them to be. Braid-outs, styling mousse, extra strength hair gel; they never made me into the picture I had in my head.

    Although I was developing a new relationship with my hair, it was influenced by the decade I had spent hating it. I wasn’t embracing my natural hair. I was, once again, trying to turn it into something it wasn’t. Except now I was trying to transform it into perfect curls instead of perfect straight lines. After I got tired of it not conforming to my wishes, I picked up the flat iron again. While taking a break from it had allowed my hair to grow and regain some strength, I had always held onto some excitement about how nice it would look when I straightened it again.

    It wasn’t until after I graduated high school that I started to accept my hair for what it was. I was eighteen now. I would be going to college soon and developing a new identity. Why couldn’t my hair do the same? My new classmates wouldn’t know what I had looked like before. I didn’t have any expectations to meet. So, I started to gradually wean myself off of my flat iron. I’d run errands outside with my natural hair. I’d hang out with my friends. And eventually, I started going to class with it. It slowly started to feel like my new normal. When I looked at myself in the mirror, I didn’t see something that needed to be fixed. I saw myself.

    I was surprised when I started getting compliments on my natural hair. That was something I had never gotten until I had started straightening it, but now it seemed like both me and others were starting to embrace it. Complete strangers would come up to me to tell me that they liked my hair. Women, with weaves and relaxers, would tell me that they wished they could do that too. Other women, with natural hair, would ask me what products I used for it. Wearing my hair natural wasn’t just a personal choice anymore, it was a statement. I was a part of a community now. Online, there were videos, discussions, and whole websites dedicated to natural hair. I found out about women who had journeys just like my own. We had experienced the same things and felt the same emotions despite never even meeting each other.

    I started to invest more into my hair. Now, I wasn’t just taking care of it so that it would look nice when it was straightened. I was taking care of it because I liked how it looked already. My hair had gotten healthier and my natural curl pattern had started to bounce back. I found that I preferred the tight, spirally curls at the back of my head. I preferred the loose, wavy curls at the front. I preferred having messy, non-uniform hair. I preferred being able to look in the mirror and be comfortable with what I saw. Loving my hair was my new identity.

    Now, my flat iron sits on the shelf in my closet, next to the hot comb, waiting in vain to be picked up again.

[leofemt]

cacophony

Bach becomes a more frequent visitor at the Otowa house. He seems to have his own reasons for getting close to Kanae- Beethoven doesn't know what they are, but he doesn't like them. 

on ao3.

The doorbell rings.

This in itself isn't an odd occurrence, even for the Otowa house, with Mozart skidding down the halls in his roller-skates, looking for more places to cause mischief, Schubert and Lizst doing... something in the back lawn, Chopin playing games, and Beethoven upstairs brooding in his room- only Kanae and Sousuke are near the main foyer, the former dusting the windowsills, the latter kicked up on the lounge, Pad in his lap, legs dangling off the arm of the sofa.

"Coming!" Kanae calls, and Mozart skids to a stop in the hallway overlooking the main room.

"A visitor?" He giggles, rolling down the stairs, tripping over himself. "Who is it? Who is it?"

"I haven't even opened the door-" Kanae begins, looking over her shoulder to glare at Motes- she pulls the door open without looking, and sees Mozart's face freeze in recognition.

"B-B-" Mozart chokes.

"What?" She frowns, concerned.

"Bach!" He shrieks, pointing. "Lud-kun! Bach is here! He's going to kill us with his terrible Muzik!"

In the hallway above, there's a faraway roar, and Beethoven's door busts open with a loud slam.

"Bach!" He shouts. "You've come to challenge us again!"

Bach, looking for all the world like a normal, if slightly eccentric, older man, stares at them.

"I came because the young Kanae invited me for tea," he says, in that deep, commanding voice, the one that cuts through any conversation with ease.

All eyes turn to Kanae.

"You did?" Mozart whines. "Why, Kanae-"

Kanae turns red.

"I-" She stammers, and Mozart leans closer, peering into her eyes, too close as always- damn him-

In the hallway above, Beethoven furrows his brow.

"Can I take your coat?" Kanae says, flushed. Bach smiles at her- the ClassicaLoids in the room almost have a collective heart attack- and unclips the navy cloak that's heavy around his shoulders. His hair is pale and spiked in the front, tied neatly back at the nape of his neck by a purple ribbon, and he's wearing another one of his impeccable navy suits. He hands her the cloak. She hastily hangs it on the coat stand.

"Follow me, the kitchen's this way!" She says. Bach- with a twist of his lips that almost looks amused- trails behind her. Mozart and Beethoven, leaning over the ledge, stare after them.

"Was-" Mozart says, confused. "Was that really Bach-kun?"

"It appears so," Beethoven mutters, eyes narrowed.

"Since when does Kanae have tea?" Mozart wails. Beethoven doesn't reply.

~~~~~~

Kanae and Bach don't emerge from the kitchen for another hour at least. Mozart tries to sneak around the back to spy on them through the window, claiming concern for Kanae's safety, but Lizst sighs at him and Schubert starts to make so much of a racket about his presence that Kanae would definitely have noticed, so he sulks back to the foyer.

"I couldn't hear them," he whines. Beethoven is standing in front of the closed kitchen door, arms crossed, feet planted shoulder-width apart. Mozart blinks.

"Lud-kun?" He says. "What are you doing?"

"Waiting." Beethoven says.

There's a moment of silence.

"Waiting?" Mozart says.

"Waiting." Beethoven nods.

A beat.

"Ok," Mozart says, a note of cheer returning to his voice, "well, I'm gonna go see what Schu-san's up to! Bye!"

He disappears. Beethoven stands before the closed kitchen door. On the other side of the room, the grandfather clock marks the passing of each second with a tick.

~~~~~~

After an hour and a half locked in the kitchen, the door finally opens.

"Contact me if you need anything," Bach is saying, and Beethoven feels an irrational irritation surge up within him. He does not understand its source. He resolves to reflect on it. He notices Bach has stopped in front of him, and he realizes it's because he's currently blocking the door.

"Beethes-san?" Kanae's voice comes from behind Bach, confused but slightly annoyed. "Could you get out of the way, please?"

With one more frown and what he likes to think is an impervious look, Beethoven steps aside.

He admits, Bach cuts a fine figure, standing in the doorway of the mansion, broad shoulders and narrow waist and legs long enough that he stands at least a head above Kanae.

A horrible thought strikes Beethoven. Has Kanae see these things in Bach? Is she... interested in him?

The first thing he thinks is that this cannot come to be.

The second thing he thinks is that he does not wish to ruminate on his reasons for feeling so strongly on the first thing.

"See you later!" Kanae calls after Bach, waving and smiling. Bach inclines his head and steps into his sleek black vehicle.

Beethoven feels unsettled.

~~~~~~

Later, before Schubert does the dishes, Beethoven happens to glance in the sink- there's two mugs in the dirty side, one with a painted cat and one with a printed bass symbol- for a moment, he tries to imagine who had drank out of each, and is struck by how ridiculous the image of Bach drinking out of either of them was.

"Hmm?" A feminine voice from behind him. "Beethes-san, are you looking for something?"

He jolts. Of course it's the girl.

"It's you." He says. Stupid. "I."

Kanae frowns at him.

"Are you alright?" She asks.

"I'm fine." He blurts. "Why wouldn't I be fine."

She gives him a strange look, but doesn't press, as is her nature.

~~~~~~

A few nights, Bach, Tchaiko, and Bada eat dinner with them. Kanae is suspiciously happy to cook on those nights. Beethoven feels like he's been hyper-vigilant of every and any mention of Bach, now that he suspects some... extraneous feeling involving him on Kanae's side.

He tells himself it's only because she was clean in her rejection of him that it matters, that it's a pride thing, and not anything more than that. What is the difference between him and Bach, anyways? Besides Beethoven being better in every department, he thinks, subconsciously straightening his shoulders, stretching his spine.

Yes. He's a fool for even spending thought on the matter. He eats a spoonful of soup, feeling re-invigorated.

Of course, it all goes out the window when he hears Bach, sitting at the prized seat to the immediate right of Kanae at the head of the table, compliment the girl's cooking, a small, charming yet sincere half-smile on his usually unreadable face, and sees Kanae flutter and blush like a tittering schoolgirl. She is a schoolgirl, but that's beside the point. He nearly bends his spoon in his fist with the force of his grip.

She stands to start piling dishes in her hands, says, "I'm going to start clearing up!"

Bach immediately stands with her.

"I will assist," he says, in his low, low voice. Beethoven grits his teeth.

"I will help, girl," Beethoven speaks up, before he can help himself, completely forgetting that Mozart next to him was in the middle of telling him some strange rendition of an equally strange story. He stands, scraping his chair back, and starts to gather plates, ignoring the strange looks from half the people present at the table. Kanae blinks at him.

"Uh." She says. "Thanks, Beethes-san."

He grunts, pulls a stack of dishes in his arms, feeling a completely petty rush of victory when he sees he's carrying more than Bach- and stomps to the kitchen. Schubert is already there, diligent as always, scrubbing his own plate and whatever dish Mozart had foisted off onto him, and Beethes settles in beside him, ignoring his jolt and stutter of "Senpai!"

He wipes another dish. Schubert sinks another plate into the suds. Bach and Kanae come into the kitchen, holding the rest of the plates and bowls.

"Oh, Schu-san, Beethes-san!" Kanae says, depositing her armload onto the counter, looking cheerful. "Thanks for doing dishes!"

And she gestures towards the door.

"Bach-san, the thing I wanted to show you is upstairs..." Her voice trails off as she and Bach disappear into the darkened foyer. Beethoven watches them walk up the stairs together in the dark, and quietly seethes.

~~~~~~

He cannot figure out the difference between himself and Bach.

Beethoven scowls at his ceiling. He is well accustomed to his ever-racing thoughts leaving him sleepless, but this is the first time the subject of his contemplation has been a person- or, rather, another person's feelings.

"I'm still a student," Kanae had said, flushed, eyes averted, as she rejected something he hadn't even been offering, but it stung nonetheless, in ways he was definitely not prepared for- that may be the case, and it is true that Beethoven is several years Kanae's senior, though he has never attended an educational institution in this life and he has technically only lived outside a stasis chamber for around a year- but if that had been the reason, Bach is most definitely older than the both of them!

He conveniently ignores the fact that technically, every ClassicaLoid has the memories of decades and decades of what is, by now, ancient history in their heads. Does this mean his age is 1 year, the amount of time he has been free of the stasis chamber, or the physical age of his biologically engineered body, or nearly 60, as the flashes of memory of his previous life have shown him? Is the differing factor, then, Bach himself? They share a common intensity of character, and a passion for music, and curiously spiky pale hair, but is Beethoven not the more available, more interesting of the two?

At least he doesn't have to put on a wig every time he uses his Muzik, Beethoven sulks, struggling into a more comfortable sprawling position on his futon. He happens to think his performance outfit looks dashing.

~~~~~~

Bach absently trails one finger along the edge of the newest photoframe on his desk.

"Take it!" Kanae had smiled, pressing the small frame into his hand. "I told him about you last time he called, and he seemed to be happy to know you're doing well... I'm sure he'd want you to have it. Besides, I've got copies."

The picture in the frame is of an older man, with frizzy brown hair and a haplessly dopey smile, making a peace sign at the camera with his round glasses perched haphazardly over his nose. He has his arm around a small, protesting child, whose face is turned from the lens and whose body is halfway out of the frame in an attempt to escape the man's persistent happy uselessness- the downturned mouth and hair barettes pinned in short brown locks make it obvious the child is a young Kanae.

"I wish you had not run," Bach murmurs, dark eyes unguarded and moonlight glowing around the outline of the back of his tall chair, unusually sentimental in the solidarity self-accompaniment of his grand office with its soaring ceilings and perfectly gleaming tall windows with his stomach full of Kanae's home cooking. He misses the scientist who brought him to life- his very own Frankenstein. He misses their easy conversations, for all he may have struggled through them, still unused to human interaction. He misses their lab.

He had only wanted to bring the Eight Sounds to their true peak with Kyougo there to support him. He had only wanted to realize the full potential of his dear fellow ClassicaLoids with the first human he had ever known at his side. Had that been wrong?

Despite everything, he thinks, Kanae is a good child. A good influence on the rest of the ClassicaLoids.

"I'l definitely, definitely let you know when Dad comes back!" She had said, balling her hands into a fist and mock-punching the air. "And you can help me give him a talking-to!"

She had smiled with cheer and youth in her cheeks.

When Kyougo comes back, Bach thinks. The new frame sits next to the two others that have been the only decoration on his sparse desk for a while- first, his oldest photo, of him, Kyougo, and Mitsuru in the lab, Bach clad in nothing but one of Kyougo's spare lab coats, and second, a selfie printed on glossy paper that he had been roped into taking with the rest of the ClassicaLoids and the two humans after they had sent the aliens back to their proper dimension.

His desk seems to be collecting more personal items, he wonders.

~~~~~~

The house is being attacked by rabid monkeys, for whatever reason. Something to do with Mozart, and bananas, and 17 liters of blue-colored rubbing alcohol. Muzik floods the air, pumping it full to bursting with golden light. Kanae and Sousuke have climbed up to the roof, away from the mud-flinging chimpanzees from God-knows-where, struggling to keep their balance and not be splattered by handfuls of soppy dirt or caught by one of the insane ClassicaLoids' uber-violent Muzik.

Sousuke's foot slips.

He screams, an ear-piercing, high-pitched shriek of pure cowardice and fright, and grabs onto Kanae's arm in a last-ditch attempt to steady himself. It has the opposite effect, and both he and Kanae tumble down the roof in a heap of shouts and flailing limbs, lost in the cacophony of the five mixed Muziks.

Well. Not entirely lost.

A streak of black- Kanae finds her drop through the air and down 3 stories suddenly halted. Her eyes are squeezed shut, but when the wind against her face abruptly gentles, and a shadow blocks out the sun.

She blinks open her eyes.

A shock of white hair fills her vision.

"Beethes...san?" She breathes.

Sousuke plummets to the pavement below, yelping when he crashes to earth.

"You should be careful of falling," Beethoven says. His brow is furrowed in his ever-present frown.

Kanae swallows.

"Ah," she says, blood flooding her face, suddenly remembering another time the same man had held her weight in his hands- had saved her from falling- and the result of that particular incident. He's holding her bridal-style, having abandoned his station at the front of the house to leap upwards to catch her mid-fall and land on the second-floor balcony that faces the gate, and they're now in the half-shadow of the alcove as the madness of Muzik rages around them. Kanae hears, as though it's muffled through a wall of water, Mozart's distinctive giggly laugh, the sharp edges of Chopin's techno-inspired turns on composition, a bubbly exclamation from Lizst.

"Thank you." She ventures after a moment, because Beethoven doesn't seem about to put her down. "Uh, Beethes-san?"

"Am I better than Bach?" He says, harshly, and the world stops for a moment.

"Wh-" She looks up at him wide-eyed- those eyes- "Bach-san? What does he-"

"You've been spending a lot of time with Bach lately," he says, slightly awkward, tilting his head away. It's difficult to get distance when she's literally in his arms, though.

She blinks.

"I mean, he's a ClassicaLoid-" she begins, and is this really the best time to get into this? But he whips back around, eyes boring into her, and she jerks against his arms.

She bites her lip.

"Okay," she says, and Beethoven feels a rock drop into the pit of his stomach. "He, uh-"

Beethoven grits his teeth.

"He's in love with my father," she blurts, looking up at him desperately, asking him not to laugh at what she says- he freezes in shock.

"Kyougo-san?" He mutters.

Kanae looks away again.

"I know it's crazy," she says softly, "but Dad seems to be really important to him, and- I know he's a deadbeat, and a loser, and a genius, but it hurts when you're left behind by someone you... love." She curls in on herself slightly in Beethoven's arms.

"Someone you trusted." She says, almost too quiet to hear, and Beethoven instinctively tightens his grip.

A fish comes streaming over the balcony and flops onto the floor a bit away from their feet. It flails helplessly. Beethoven cannot tear his eyes from the girl in his arms.

He sets her down.

Kanae blinks.

"Beethes...san?" She hesitates, looking up at him.

He mentally jerks himself away. He smiles. Standing before her, clad in his star-studded conductor's greatcoat, shimmering between pitch-black and midnight-blue under the sun and the shadow, his frilled sleeves spilling from the arms of his jacket, that bright red cravat flush in the wind of frantic Muzik, he conjures his baton again in a shimmer of golden light.

He takes her hand. He presses his warm lips to its back, and bows a full 90 degrees before her.

There's something to it- a profession of loyalty, ever since he had waved his magic and transformed her to bring their Muzik up to the stars, had hovered at her shoulder and smiled so knowingly and said "you've grown strong,", said "I must, because the girl asked me,", or maybe since she had first misinterpreted his desperate bid to hide a pink-splotched roof from her view as a love confession and blushed under his panicked gaze before frankly rejecting him, or maybe since she had remembered the secret ingredient to her father's sweet-and-spicy gyoza that had so eluded him, or maybe since she had first scolded him for not paying rent or for starting fires in his room, or maybe- maybe neither of them knows since when. Kanae finds her breath short and her capacity to respond shorter. When he raises his head again, he is still smiling.

He turns to jump back down from the balcony.

"Wait!" She calls, before she knows what she's going to say, if he even stops. He does stop. He turns halfway. His hair is wild, and his eyes are sharp, and he looks the same and different from how he always does simultaneously. A continuous pulse of raw power beats under his skin and throbs through his fingertips where they curl around the handle of his baton, and in that moment, he is hers to command.

"Were you..." she says, voice turning incredulous, "jealous?"

He makes a noise, turns that same highlighter-pink as the time he had caught her hand when the bridge had splintered under her feet, and quickly whips his head away. He swings himself over the railing. The tails of his coat are a black flutter returning to the sunlight. He is lost to the cacophony of Muzik, unless Kanae looks closely, and she can see the penguins congregating around a particular splotch of white hair.

She gently, hesitantly touches the back of her hand where his lips had brushed with her fingertips.

What had this modern reincarnation of Ludwig van Beethoven been thinking during this most crucial moment in both their lives? No one knows, but if Kanae pressed those fingertips to her lips, then giggled, and laughed, and bent in half clutching her stomach with mirth and unfettered, wild emotion before seeking a black-clad form out from an explosively colorful musical battle waging below, it is no one's business but her own.

NOTE: beethoven thinking his performance outfit is gorgeous is me. I love his performance outfit. i

The ending is horribly rom-commy but... god... I love them... jKSDNLBSKGJD

[neubauje]

BEGT ch. 7

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 AO3 Mirror

“Ugghh, shit.” All Might blinks blearily around at the sound of the alarm going off above his head, juuuust out of reach as he’d unconsciously shifted downwards during the night, now a good few inches away from the back of the couch with his feet all the way on the floor. The alarm is almost unfamiliar, as it’s been a long time since he’s had to use the alarm function on his phone rather than the more standard clock in his bedroom. Blaring from the tinny, muffled speaker is the heroic leitmotif that plays in the background of every commercial or news story in which he features. Toshinori grimaces at it, worms his way back up the few lost inches, and makes a grab for the phone, knocks it free of its charging cable, and down into the exposed inner workings of the pull-out couch, through the gap between mattress and upholstery. “Shit!” He plunges his arm into the gap, fishing around for the phone until he finds it with his fingertips, and quickly pulls it out to silence the alarm.

Only then, in the lack of noise from the phone right next to his head, does he realize he can still hear the sound of an alarm- this time the familiar generic beeping one from his bedroom. “SHIT!” (more under the cut)

 Scrambling out of the tangled sheets, All Might dashes down the hall and through the doorway to the bedroom, where he’s met with the sight of Aizawa, eyes gleaming red, his hair, blankets, a spare pillow, and the offending clock all hovering precariously in midair. A quick grab for the poor clock silences the alarm on the trusty device too, and that tugging of power dissipates as Shota frowns his eyes closed, groaning in annoyance as the spare pillow drops back down to his side. “Sorry about that, Aizawa. I forgot to turn my usual alarm off when I set the one on my phone. It’s fixed now.”

“Good thing, too,” Aizawa mumbles grouchily, “I was about to see if I could smash it against the wall through sheer force of will.”

Yagi quirks an eyebrow at him as he sets the clock back down on the nightstand, “COULD you do that? I know you mentioned a secondary quirk…”

“Probably not,” The weary teacher admits with a wistful little smile beneath his bandages, “Maybe just the floor. Like I said, my telekinesis is pretty unwieldy. It’s definitely secondary for a reason. Funny how things turn out…” He draws in a breath until it seems to pain him, then lets it out in a big sigh. “I think it’s time for another round of pills. The pain is closer again.”

“Sure,” Toshinori nods in understanding at the cryptic wording, remembering from his own days on painkillers how the drugs had never actually gotten RID of the pain, just made it… less omnipresent and important. More distant. He shuffles into the kitchen and re-fills the water, fetches the straw and one of each of the pills, and returns to his reclining coworker. Using one arm to temporarily prop Shota up enough to drink, he switches between pill and cup until most of the water and all of the pills are gone. “There you go. Sorry there’s no food to take it with just yet, but I’m about to go grab those groceries. See if you can’t get some more rest while I’m gone, yeah? I’ll lock you in, and be back in an hour or so.”

Aizawa nods as Yagi lowers him back down to the pillows, nestling back into bed with another soft sigh. “Don’t let yourself get dragged into any trouble out there again. The other pros can handle it.”

“Heh. Right.” Toshinori gives a sheepish grin and a thumbs up, a little embarrassed that he’d been caught dead to rights, wondering if he might be able to get some quick hero work in while running out and about. But Aizawa is correct, of course, and besides… right now, he’s needed here even more. He backs out of the bedroom and shuts the door behind himself, grabs a quick shower of his own, and heads for the indoor shopping mall a few blocks away.

The convenience store has a nearly-decent selection of groceries, and Toshinori stocks up on more food than he’s had at home in a very long time: canned soups, meats, and veggies; juice packs and soy milk, seasonings and condiments, bread and crackers and peanut butter, a six-pack of eggs, even a couple of the spotty bananas by the register. He also pauses to consider a few of those fancy squeeze-it baby food packs, and grabs a small selection of them as well. It’s a little burdensome to carry all at once, but by pouring a bit of his super-strength into his arms, All Might finds that it’s not too bad at all. He does, however, stop at one specialty shop on the way out of the mall, a quick little kiosk able to make a copy of his apartment key in less than five minutes.

Sure enough, by the time the busy host returns home with the haul and sticks his head into the bedroom, Aizawa seems to be sleeping peacefully once again. Toshinori smiles fondly and ducks back out to the kitchen, tucking everything away into the empty cabinets and fridge before getting to work on making a proper American breakfast for two, with fried eggs and toast and the closest approximation of bacon he’d been able to find- a pork jerky that he hopes won’t be too rough on Shouta’s sore jaw. He carefully nudges his way into the bedroom with a plate balanced on either hand, utensils tucked into the curl of one palm, and a juice pack wedged under one elbow. Careful not to spill anything, Yagi settles in on the edge of the bed next to Shouta, who seems a little groggy but otherwise awake and alert to the smells of fresh cooking. It’s actually surprisingly relaxing, sharing this meal together, trading bite for bite back and forth between himself and spoon-feeding his hands-free guest, chatting about the lesson plan for the re-try of the rescue exercise. He even runs an idea past that he’d been working on ever since passing a costume and mask shop in the mall; posing as a faux villain to add extra intrigue and challenge to the students’ morning. Aizawa seems apprehensive about the idea, but willing to let Toshinori use his best judgement in pulling it off. By the time they’ve finished off breakfast and dressing for work, the two have concocted a firm game plan and script that they’ll brief Thirteen on before Class 1-A gets out of their general studies classes with Hizashi.

Before heading out the door, All Might fishes around in the kitchen drawer once more, pulling out a spare keychain from the little collection of odds and ends tucked in next to the silverware. He works the spare apartment key onto the chain, then meets Aizawa out in the hallway before locking the door behind the both of them, tugging gently on his colleague’s shirt to keep him from starting down the hallway toward the stairwell. “Hang on,” he murmurs, reaching up to rap a couple knuckles on the door directly across from his own, slowly but fairly loud.

The muted sounds of a TV turned up slightly too high can be heard from behind the door, but they cut off a second after the knock, and a minute later the door swings open. The two teachers are greeted with the sight of an elderly lady, probably about the same age as Recovery Girl, but almost as tall as Aizawa. Her frizzy grey hair is pulled up into a neat bun, and her pangolin scales are smoothly polished, an odd aesthetic quirk which may have come in handy as a defense, had she ever seen the likes of battle. She blinks at eye level, glancing curiously at Aizawa, then straightens up to greet Toshinori. “Ahh, if it isn’t little Yagi!” She reaches a hand out in a little beckons. Aizawa ducks into his scarf, choking back a startled laugh at the thought of anybody calling All Might ‘little.’

“Mrs. Ogawa,” Toshinori grins and clasps her hand between his own, engulfing it in his huge palms as he inclines his head respectfully. “I hope this isn’t a bad time?” He releases her hand when she nods a gracious dismissal, and claps Aizawa on the shoulder, “This is my friend and coworker, Mr. Aizawa Shouta. He’s staying here with me for a week or two while his injuries heal.”

The kindly neighbor peers up and down Eraserhead’s form, one scaly brow arched with interest, but she soon melts back into a smile almost as warm as Yagi’s. “I don’t know what you boys do for work, but it must be awfully dangerous, little Yagi here is always coming in at odd hours, covered in bandages and coughing up blood… I hope the pay is worthwhile!”

“The paycheck is crap, actually,” In greeting, Aizawa inclines his head the couple degrees allowed in the stiff neck brace, “But it’s worth it anyway. Don’t worry about that.” He tries to give a reassuring smile, then glances up at Toshinori, unsure of the reason for this detour.

“I actually was hoping you wouldn’t mind helping us out with a favor, Mrs. Ogawa, it shouldn’t be too much trouble, I think… You do still spend most evenings at home, yes?” Toshinori slips his hand from Aizawa’s shoulder, sheepishly fussing his hair as he glances between the two.

“Let’s not kid ourselves, Yagi, I spend most evenings, days, and mornings at home. You don’t get a reputation as the building’s hermit by going out in the fresh air, now do you!” She laughs and ducks back inside for a second, re-appearing with a small dish full of little hard candies, offering it to the boys.

Aizawa gently shakes his head, but Toshinori tucks a strawberry-shaped one into his pocket; it would make for a nice way to chase the taste of blood from his mouth later on in the day. “True enough, ma'am, and thank you. As you can see, Aizawa here is going without the use of his hands for a while, but I was still hoping he’d be able to come and go with some sense of autonomy. So I have this spare key, and he’s going to keep it clipped to his belt here-”

“I am?” Aizawa leans out of the way, watching curiously as Yagi clips the keychain to one of the metal loops on the utility belt, then tucks the dangling accessory into the pocket just below. “I guess I am.”

Toshinori clasps his hands together in a beseeching gesture, “So I was hoping that if he were to arrive without me, he could knock and have you let him in? And maybe if you could let the rest of the hall know, juuuust in case you happen to be out and about?”

“Of course, dears.” She tucks the candies away and bids the two teachers safe travels, as they excuse themselves and head to work.

Chapter 8 -  Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 (rated M) - Chapter 11 (rated M) - Chapter 12

[daddyconfessions]

sugar tales: Ms. Butterworth

Ms. Butterworth has been texting me for the last two weeks. Well, I should say a few of those days I was talking to her ex. Apparently, Mr. PhoneSnatch had taken her phone and was pretending to be her. Glad I hadn’t talked about all the nasty things we’d done in the past. He could have really had fun with me.

About a week ago, she text me from a new number, saying the conversation I’d been having with “her” was actually her ex. I was kind of put off by Ms. Butterworth for being so careless. I shield my sugar from my personal life. I expect the same in return. I admit it wasn’t the first time I’d ran into some SBs vanilla boyfriend or husband and got into a text conversation with them.

But I was hard on Ms. Butterworth because our relationship was never consistent. It’s been off and on for the past year and half so this was definitely not worth the trouble. So when the fuckboy texted me, pretending to be her, I was nonchalant since I had no big hopes for hooking up with her. Thank whatever deities look down on us Daddy’s. He could have set something up and had me meet him somewhere for an ambush.

As I talk to the real Ms. Butterworth, she’s being her usually coy and noncommittal self. She sends a few more text, but I just ignore them. Tired of the games.

Then she starts texting me again on Thanksgiving. I tell her lets meet because she’s been pretty consistent in texting me the last few days. But Ms. Butterworth declines. Says she’s not doing well. Her vanilla boyfriend, Mr. PhoneSnatch, jumped her. He hit her, knocking her to the ground. He followed up with a kick in the back and a few other places she can’t remember. PhoneSnatch got on top of her and then choked her. She fought back after she managed to get up. Ms. Butterworth didn’t say what she did but I gather from her tone, she dished out her own beat down because when I asked about pressing charges, she says she can’t because of what she did. Says the whole fight took about 2 hours.

I grew up hard. I watched my mother get hit by the men she was with. My uncles and male cousins beat their women. Even as a grew into an adult some of my homeboys hit their girls in order to control them and get their submission.  It’s a grimey way to do things. Looking back on it I regret not being more outspoken about how I felt but frankly under the circumstances it was just the way things were done. It was accepted. Thankfully, I learned at an early age there as a better way to do things. : ) Instead of fighting with a woman, I’d much rather spend some money on her. Nothing makes a girl want to do what you want like the two c’s: charm and cash. Much much easier path.

So where do I come in with this Ms. Butterworth chick you might ask? Why is she contacting me? Hell I don’t know. I’m wondering the same shit. Frankly I thought it was over. But one thing about the bowl I’ve learned….a few will always come back.

I’ll go ahead and give you her story but this obviously is nowhere near over.

First, Ms. Butterworth’s not the first to tell me about domestic violence. As a sugar daddy, I’ve seen all kinds of things and situations. I don’t think I have enough time to write and blog about all the experiences and stories but I’ll try since some of you want to read about it. Sooooo much goes on in the world, not the sugar bowl.

Someone once asks me an anon about exclusivity with my SBs and I said then and I’ll say now. There’s no need to be exclusive. These lame sugardaddies and fuckboys will do all the work for me.

I met Ms. Butterworth about the tail end of my relationship with Bottlecap. By the time things had washed up with Bottlecap, I was well on my way to getting to know Ms. Butterworth…..so I thought.

We went back and forth a few emails before she sent a pic. Black chick from New Orleans. Big and thick. Kind of country too. Naturally curly, wavy hair like she’s got Indian in her family. Creamy caramel skin tone. She was a sharp contrast to the 5’2, thin half Filipino, half Mexican Bottlecap and the 3 or 4 chicks before her. As I recall, I hadn’t seen many thick chicks in prior several months. So I was looking forward to meeting Ms. Butterworth.

As it were it took over 6 weeks to actually meet. Not sure what the problem was. We’d talk incessantly for a day or two then she’d stop responding. Then we’d do it all again and then nothing. A painful cycle of wait and see. One thing about the sugar bowl is patience. Lots of patience. Any sugarbaby or sugardaddy who’s being doing it long enough will tell you. You got to be patient. You’d think with a generous offer on the table, a young girl would be clamoring to have it. But more often than not, it’s a waiting game, painfully moving pieces on the chess board, and lots of persistence if she’s resistant.

Finally I get dinner setup. I put on some nice clothes and cologne. Got my hair cut. I wanted to leave nothing to chance. I’ve learned long ago just because I have some money that doesn’t mean I’m going to pull some young 20 something. I’ve learned long ago not to take her for granted. And certainly don’t take the money for granted. So I took a moment to adequately prepare.

I took my older car, my baby, probably older than a lot of you reading this. I wouldn’t have done it ordinarily but I was in such a rush and fuss over myself, I didn’t realize I was in it until I was almost to the restaurant. Shit. I park far away from the restaurant so she can’t see it. It’s not a bad or ugly car, just doesn’t convey I’m a guy who can pay all your bills and give you a generous allowance. Sugar chicks are forever checking the finer details of a SD like where do you work, what kind of work, what’s your position, what’s your zip code, and more importantly, what do you drive. And I knew I needed to take my main chariot but forgot and it was too late to turn around.

Ms. Butterworth shows up at the restaurant looking unimpressive. Hair was frizzy and all over her head. Later she told me she was doing the natural thing. That was bullshit. I can tell the difference between doing the natural thing and being to lazy to comb your hair or straighten it. She had on regular shirt and jeans. About the only thing done was her nails. Guess she wasn’t taking this too serious. Bad sign. That should have told me everything. As we start to eat, I’m a little peeved that I put so much preparation into myself.

We have a decent dinner. Nothing eventful. Basic get to know you conversation. Towards the end, I ask if she’s ok with the allowance and the sexual part of our relationship. She’s cool with everything. She even seems excited about it. I was excited too. Despite her basic appearance, I could tell some beautiful curves and voluptuousness was under them clothes. I knew she was young and tender and I could just imagine kissing all over that big body. Damn. I’m getting turned on just writing this.  

We wrap up dinner and head out. Damn. She parked right by me. We give pecks goodbye and I grudgingly walk to my car, hopefully she takes off before I do. Nope. By the time I’m in my car she’s still there. Finally as I back out she back s out.

As predicted, emails go unanswered. I think she responded once after that. That’s about it. We go almost 2 months without talking. I threw in the towel after about 3 unanswered emails. I have her cel to text but she never answered that way. She only used email. Not sure what that was about. Then one day, a few months after I gave up, I was going through my old email and saw her name. I click on her email and briefly relived our brief time getting to know each other. I click on a few of her pics and decide I can’t let this thick muffin go without another chance. Even if its just one time….I just wanna fuck.

I send her an email and get a response after about two days.  And then we spend another 3 weeks emailing and texting (which was a first) before we finally decide to meet.  During those 3 weeks we’re pretty playful. She sends a few more pics which serve to solidify my quest to get the kitty.

We agree to meet at 11:30 that night. Its too late for me to meet but I’ve now been waiting on this kitty for 3 months. Exceptions had to be made. I’m expecting nothing less than that pink muff to float in the air like some magical entity at this point. I know. Corny. But this is my life dammit! And that’s what I was thinking at the time.

The wife goes to sleep around 10ish, as usual. I leave the tv on downstairs and sneak out into the night. As long as the tv is on, she thinks I’m down on the couch watching tv so she won’t bother to get up and check on me.  I take her car which is pretty quiet compared to mine. I creep out of our cul-de-sac and over to the motel.

I remember the night because it was right after I first joined SA. I hadn’t had much luck with the site to say the least. I had met this chick I’ll call Babydoll. She was a thin model and commanded a hefty allowance. Smitten with her looks and flattered by her willingness to kick it with me, I was all in. Long story short. We went to the room twice and I couldn’t get an erection. Not sure what that was about. This chick was flawless from head to toe….but for some reason I just couldn’t get it up when it came to her.

So as I go into my hookup with Ms. Butterworth, I’m nervous old Bart won’t act right. Plus I was out of Lamar Odom’s so it wasn’t looking good.  It was a late October night and pouring rain. So much that I was worried she might not come and probably cancel. Ms. Butterworth arrived about 30 minutes late. She comes in wearing a long black dress with a big heavy coat. Nothing sexy.

Inside the room, we kiss for the first time and then again. And again. Before long were exchanging saliva and thrashing tongues like teenagers. She starts taking off my clothes as she kisses me. My coat and shirt are gone. She struggles with my belt and when she can’t get it off she tells me, “Take it off. Now.”

Bossy. I like this shit. I unbuckle my belt and start unbuttoning my pants. “I got it,” She tells me. She unbuttons my pants and squats as she pulls them down. I step out of my pants, shoes still on. “Get them off,” she tells me. Off with the shoes.

I start working on her clothes. I remove the dress and find she’s wearing no panties and some Victoria secret stockings. To make things weird, one  leg is a red stockings, the other is black. But they are identical. I’m like did she buy this shit like this? I’m to horny to care really.

She goes over to the bed and sits down. “Get over here.” I walk over like a little man bitch, doing what he’s told. As I stare at her body I realize the culmination of months of waiting and persistence is all about to pay off. “Get hard,” she tells me. I’m pick Bart up wiggle him and drop him. “Um can I get a little help?”

“No.” she replies. “Get that dick hard. You been talking shit so let’s see what you got.”

She’s right. I had been talking mad shit about how she would get sprung. How I was going to whip the dick on her and make her fall in love. How much money I was going to spend on her….Even told her she was scared which is why she hadn’t been seeing me. Looks like she was calling me out on my bullshit.

I get on my knees and try to go down on her. “No,” she tells me, pulling me backup.  “No”.

“But I want to do it,” I say like a baby asking for candy.

“No. I might let you next time. Not tonight. Now get up.”

As I stand up I realize my dick is a bit hard. She reaches out suddenly and grabs him. She pulls me to her by using Bart then puts him in her mouth. With 3 to 4 good deep throat thrusts my dick is hard as a rock.

She stops and lays down on the bed. On with the raincoat, and then I climb onto the bed.

She raises her legs up high, and cups her hands underneath to keep them big thick creamy thighs up. I enter the pink slice of heaven, and right away I started pounding the kitty like I hadn’t had any in years. 3 months of waiting for the kitty will do that to you. She’s unbothered by me, though. She wraps them legs around me and squeezes tight as I go nice and deep inside her. I’m closing to cumming when she tells me “Get up.”

WTF? I do as I’m told. Ms. Butterworth gets up and gets on her knees. She wants me to hit it from the back. I oblige, and I marvel at the way her ass wiggles as I slam into it over and over again. “You like that shit don’t you?”

“Yes,” I whimper. “Yes.” I’m just so happy to be getting the kitty I don’t know what to do. I move my hips so that I’m going in at different angles, just playing in the pussy like a kid with a new toy.

We switch again, this time she wants to be on top. The motel has a mirror to our left and I watch her big thick body as it bounces up and down on me. I watch as the big ass slams up and down on me. God I’m getting turned on just thinking about it. Before I started writing this I wasn’t interested but now I’m having second thoughts. I cum unexpectedly, the culmination of months of pent up anticipation burst into the condom.

I fall off her and lay to her side, enjoying the orgasm. Ms. Butterworth starts talking shit. “You done? “ she asks. Chuckling. “Knew you wasn’t ready.  You going to have to get that dick back hard again.”

Are you kidding me? I came enough to cum 3 times in a row. No way Bart was getting back up. The conversation shifts away from her needs and we manage to have a fairly decent after sex conversation. Ms. Butterworth tells me she got turned on and felt challenged by all the shit talking I was doing. As it were, she likes to conquer men. Especially older men. Go figure. 15 minutes later I get up and wash up. Then it’s her turn to clean up while I get dressed. When we’re at the door we kiss again. She tells me, “Next time don’t talk so much shit.”

We kiss again and head out. By the time I get home is almost 1:30. Wife and kids are still sleep. I manage to slide into bed without waking her up.

I don’t get another shot at Ms. Butterworth for almost a month. When I did, it went about the same as the first time. Mostly her telling me what to do. By this point we were just doing some pay per meet thing. Another couple of weeks go by and we hook up for a third time.

We start our normal way. First she gets undressed. God I love her big thick body. Curvy and fat in all the right places. I’m seated on a couch as she straddles me. We do a lot of kissing. I love the way she kisses by the way, like she’s trying to suck my tongue out of my mouth or something. She starts taking off my shirt and then kisses my chest and neck. I remember this because I had to push her away from my neck. She almost gave me a hickie. Trying to set a brother up.

We move to the bed and I try to go down on her. She pushes my head away but I tell her she’s not in charge any more. I am. I go back in and she doesn’t fight this time. I lick the clit in several different patterns but she’s not quite responding like I like. So I start a combo a approach, I like the clit while simultaneously sucking it. Now she’s shaking and grabbing my head.

Bingo.

I was determined to shift the tables and establish my sexual dominance over hers. I use plenty of saliva while I lick it, getting the kitty nice and wett. But despite my best effort, she doesn’t cum from it. So I stop, strap up, and go in. Once again she wraps the big pretty legs around me sans stockings this time. I don’t hold back either….I go hard on her, digging deep for the gspot. I figure she’ll tell me to take it easy but nothing of the sort happened.

She moans and growls in my ear, “Run this pussy nigga.” That’s all I needed to hear. I give her all I got, trying to knock the bottom out of it, maybe feel her ovaries or something.  And I go on “running” it for another minute or so until the inevitable happens. I cum and I cum hard. I let out a weird yell/moan that makes me sound like a bitch.

When I’m done, I look down at Ms. Butterworth and she’s smirking, laughing at me. “You my bitch,” she tells me. Yea, I did some bitch shit. Don’t judge.

That was about December last year. She hit me up a few days late for some cash. Her car note needed to be paid and her gym fees. She swung by my job to pick it up. It was good seeing her in a cute lil workout outfit but no makeup.  But,  I wouldn’t see Ms. Butterworth again until about March. In between December and March there was a bunch of emails and text back and forth. Going nowhere. She’d emailed me several times to hook up in Jan and December, but come the day of she’d go MIA and not answer my emails. This went on until March when we finally hooked up again. After March saw her one more time in May and then I haven’t seen  her since. She sends a random text here or there. Mostly to setup a date she has no intention of keeping.

As it were, with Firecracker being in the pic now, I just pretty much have quit even answering her text since about August.

So it was a bit of a surprise that she texted me after 2.5 months. After hearing about the big fight, she seems to be a little more adamant about having something with me. When I asked why the inconsistent lack of communication, she said “I guess I keep telling myself I’m messing up a marriage”

Now she has my attention. This is the first time she’s been that open. Generally when we talk it’s a bunch of head games. Buuuuuuuut, she has no idea my marriage has been fucked a long time ago.

Anyway, we’ll see. Stay tuned. I’ve been fancying a trip to Ohio as of late otherwise Firecracker is keeping me busy at the moment.

[halloweeniegal]

BTS: Reaction To Their S/O Having Curly Hair

(I don’t know why I decided to make them to where they’ve never seen her curly hair before, but I hope you enjoy (((: )

Seokjin:

                                                       ~~~

You sighed heavily as you stared in the mirror, absolutely despising how your curly hair didn’t suit how you looked. Your nimble fingers messed with the frizzy locks of hair, trying to get them to a place where it looked relatively nice on top of your head, but it wasn’t working. You cursed at your parents for dooming you with the endlessly wavy hair before grabbing your straightener, plugging it in and waiting for it to warm up.

You hated your curly hair, it made you feel so unappealing, even though your boyfriend Jin had told you countless times that you were beautiful. After a few minutes of waiting you grabbed the straightener, about to put it to your hair until you were stopped by a hand on your wrist.

“Don’t straighten your hair jagi,” you looked up in the mirror, seeing your boyfriend standing there with a small smile on his face. You groaned at him, carefully trying to tug your hand from his grip.

“I’m straightening my hair and you can’t stop me. I look so gross with curly hair,” you grimaced, your face as stoic as ever.

“Baby girl, you look beautiful. In fact that’s one of my favorite parts about you,” his fingers softly started messing with your curly locks as you set down the straightener momentarily. “I love messing with it at night, when you’re laying on my chest and trying to fall asleep. Not to mention you look super adorable with it.” He smiled lovingly as he kissed your cheek, discreetly reaching over to unplug your straightener.

“You look so very beautiful to me, and that’s all that matters princess. Please, never say you look ugly because you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on. Now put on an outfit and come on, we’re going to dinner with the boys.”

Jimin:

                                                         ~~~

You groaned loudly as your hair went up into it’s usual frizz as you tugged a brush through it. You hated your curly hair, and it highly annoyed you every time you looked in the mirror, thinking you looked absolutely hideous. You tossed the brush back onto the bathroom counter before moving into your bedroom to grab your hair straightener. You were going out with your boyfriend Jimin tonight and he has never seen your natural hair.

As you began heading back to the bathroom your heart jumped at the voice that came out of seemingly nowhere.

“Holy shit, baby girl what did you do with your hair?” You failed to notice the excitement in your boyfriend’s voice and began thinking he thought it looked unpleasant. You turned around and looked at him sheepishly, not knowing exactly what to say, feeling extremely self conscious in front of him.

“Well, this is my natural hair,” you shrugged, attempting to make it seem like it was no big deal for you, but Jimin was really happy to see it.

“Why don’t you wear it like this all the time? Oh my god, it’s so cute.” Jimin praised, wrapping his arms strongly around your waist. “I love your hair like this, you know that?” Jimin smiled before turning you around and kissing you all over your face.

“I’m so lucky to have you as a boyfriend,” you smiled, “I’ve always hated my hair, but I might like it a bit more now that you said that,” you shamelessly admitted, grinning happily.

“That’s a good thing, you should love your hair because it’s super cute.” He started messing lightly with your curly locks as you stared up at him lovingly.

Min Yoongi:

                                                        ~~~

You screeched as the rain suddenly started pouring down onto you and Suga. You scurried to pull your hood over your head, not wanting the rain to touch your hair, but you were too late causing an angry groan to escape the bonds of your lips as you felt your hair begin to frizz from the wetness that connected with it.

“Why are you yelling, it’s just hair?” Yoongi questioned, raising a curious brow at your reaction to the rain.

“Nothing, I’m yelling over nothing. Can we just keep walking?” You made sure to stay behind him after he agreed, not wanting him to see your overly curly hair that you were very self conscious about as you made your way to your shared apartment, just leaving from spending time with the boys.

When you finally reached the apartment, you hurried in leaving Yoongi very confused as he walked in behind you, closing and locking the door. He moved into the bathroom, seeing that the door to the bathroom was closed and locked. He walked forward, knocking softly on the door to check on what you’re doing, becoming increasingly worried about your behavior.

“What’re you doing jagi?” You turned towards the door, not wanting Yoongi to open it and see your frizzy hair.

“I’m showering, leave me alone,” you spoke nervously, fidgeting as you waited for your straightener to warm up enough.

“I don’t hear any water,” he spoke, looking suspiciously at the door. He grabbed the handle and opened the door, surprised and definitely pleased with what he saw. “I didn’t know your hair was so curly, it’s so cute jagiya.” He praised, moving behind you as he began playing with your hair softly. It’s wasn’t often Suga acted squishy like he was now, but it was obvious to him that you were very insecure about how your curly hair looked, and he wanted to reassure you that you looked very beautiful.

“Thank you baby,” you smiled lovingly at him, not being able to help the swelling of your heart at his words. You knew you were special when Yoongi showed you his soft side.

Jungkook:

                                                      ~~~

You dragged the straightener carefully through your frizzy hair, satisfied as it completely straightened the locks of hair between its hold. You pulled the brush warily through the straightened hair before leaving the bathroom to check the time before returning to your previous activities, your unstraightened hair sticking out in a few places.

You stopped in your tracks as your boyfriend Jungkook bursted into your bedroom. You stared at him wide eyed before turning around to scurry back into your bedroom to straighten the rest of your hair.

“Did I just see you with curly hair?” Jungkook shouted out happily, excited about seeing the hairstyle that was new to him.

“No!” You yelled, attempting to straighten the last of your hair before Jungkook bursted into the bathroom.

“I knew I saw it, you look so adorable jagiya.” His fingers tangled in the remaining curly locks, loving the feeling of it against his skin.

“No it doesn’t, it looks gross. Now leave so I can finish straightening it.” Kookie remained behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, squeezing you lightly as he kissed your cheek lovingly.

“I think it looks cute, you better keep your hair curly the next time we hangout because it looks so adorable on you.” He smiled up at you in the mirror before kissing your cheek once again and trailing down to your shoulder. He carefully moved away, smiling gently at you once again, allowing you to straighten the rest of your hair so it looked semi-normal.

“I love you Kookie,” you said as you ran up to him and hugged him, enjoying the feeling of being in his arms.

Hoseok:

                                                    ~~~

“(Y/N) wake up!” Hoseok’s shrill voice cut in through the silent morning as you groaned loudly, turning over in your sleep and swatting your boyfriend away from your bed.

“Go away I’m sleeping,” your voice was hoarse from the tiredness that was enveloping your body at these early hours. A sharp yawn escaped the bonds of your lips before you face planted in the pillow, attempting to sleep longer despite Hobi’s grip on your arm as he shook you.

“Come on (Y/N), you’re supposed to be meeting GOT7 today you butthole. Now get up.” A pillow connected harshly to your head causing you to groan louder and throw yourself out of bed. Glaring menacingly at Hoseok. You shook your head before rubbing your eyes and collecting clothes to take a shower. J-Hope joked about joining you but you ignored him as you closed and locked the bathroom door, still way too tired to comprehend anything you were doing.

You dried your hair and tugged on your clothes tiredly before moving back into your room, throwing your towel in the laundry before yawning loudly as you tucked your phone into your pocket. Turning to look at Hoseok, you were confused at his bewildered state as he squealed happily.

“Since when did you have curly hair jagiya?” He raised an eyebrow, grinning largely at you.

“Shit…” you groaned, hurrying into the bathroom, upset that you completely forgot to straighten your hair before leaving the bathroom. Hoseok moved behind you wrapping his arms around your waist as you attempted to untangle the wire to your straightener, quickly becoming self conscious about Hobi seeing your curly hair.

“No, don’t straighten it you look so cute with curly hair oh my god.” J-Hope excitingly messed with your hair as you stared at him in the mirror.

“I need to, I can’t have my ugly hair on show when I’m meeting GOT7,” you groaned, trying to push him off of you so you could straighten your hair. Hoseok lightly smacked your arm at your words.

“Shut up you are completely beautiful, now put down the straightener so we can go meet your second favorite band in the world,” he demanded, kissing your cheek lovingly.

Kim Namjoon:

                                                       ~~~

“Babe, I think you would look really adorable with curly hair. Why are you so self conscious about it?” You had both been in the middle of a deep conversation where you finally admitted to the fact that he’s never seen your normal hair and eventually told him it was originally really curly.

“Because it looks so gross on me, I look better with straight hair,” you said as you messed with your previously straightened hair.

“Oh shut up, you would look absolutely cute with your normal hair. Now you have to show me since you brought it up,” you groaned loudly at his words, angrily walking into the bathroom so you could wash your hair, allowing it to return to its original style.

“Happy?” You said loudly, exiting the bathroom with your hair in a large poof of curls. You couldn’t help but smile yourself as a large grin spread across Namjoon’s face when he took in your features carefully.

“How did I manage to get a girlfriend so beautiful?” Namjoon spoke softly before leaving your bed and walking up to you to mess with your luscious curls. “You are literally the most good looking woman I have ever laid eyes on.” He smiled down at you as he kissed you sweetly, curling your hair around his fingers softly.

“I love you Namjoon,” you informed as you grinned happily at him, enjoying the compliments and love he was showing towards you.

“I love you too (Y/N).”

Kim Taehyung:

                                                     ~~~

‘Oh my god, your hair is so curly!!!! Is that the normal style?’ Taehyung messaged you causing you to squeak out loud as you realized you sent him a selca with your curly hair instead of your authentic straightened hair. Your fingers moved quickly against the screen, messaging him back quickly.

‘Shit, you weren’t supposed to see that…’ you said, groaning as you face palmed, throwing yourself against the bed.

‘Shut up you look adorable. I’m coming over. (:’ Your boyfriend responded causing your annoyance with yourself to heighten, knowing there was absolutely no point in straightening your hair before he came over. You buried your face in your pillow, patiently awaiting the moment your boyfriend showed up at your house.

A groan of pain escaped your throat as your boyfriend threw himself on top of you, instantly messing with your curly locks.

“So cute, so cute, so cute! You should keep your hair like this all the time.” His grin reached his eyes as he buried his face in your shoulder, kissing your skin lovingly.

“But I don’t want to. As of now, I’ll only wear my hair this curly around you.” You informed, bending your arm so you could play with his hair simultaneously.

“I’m cool with that,” he smiled largely again, turning you around underneath him so he could kiss you on the lips endearingly.

[fashiontrendin-blog]

I Convinced 3 Women to Get a Perm in 2018

http://fashion-trendin.com/i-convinced-3-women-to-get-a-perm-in-2018-2/

I Convinced 3 Women to Get a Perm in 2018

What do you think of when you hear the word “perm”? I think of Chutney Windham in Legally Blonde, who sported a C-C-C-CURLY perm so delightfully frizz-filled it stuck out from her head at least six inches on either side. It perfectly encapsulated the 80s prom queen hair aesthetic (think Janet Jackson in the music video for “What Have You Done for Me Lately,” Sandy at the end of Grease, Whitney Houston on the cover of “I Wanna Dance With Somebody” or Baby in Dirty Dancing) that made perms so popular back in the day. The bigger the hair, the better.

I’m a big fan of the 80s perm look (it’s so fun and expressive!), but I also associate its enthusiastic va-va-voom-ness (often exacerbated by a half-ponytail pile-up) with a bygone era. As with neon leg warmers, tank tops layered under skin-tight off-the-shoulder tops and acid wash jeans, perms seem indelibly inked into the aesthetic fabric of a specific time period. What would the 2018 version of a perm even look like? The too-perfect, chemical-induced uniformity of a perm seems a mismatch with our current times. I should have known, then, that the answer would be something along the lines of: “Whatever you want!!!!!!” A 21st-century classic.

I learned about the modern iteration of perms through a PR email from Takamichi Hair in New York that called it “a very popular service.” When I reached out for more information, they told me they use a technique wherein the perm rods are randomized, resulting in an unconventional wave pattern that looks more subtle (i.e. less like a perm from the 80s). Needless to say, I was intrigued.

Since I already have curly hair myself, I assembled a group of three Man Repeller readers with different hair types* who were interested in volunteering their beautiful craniums for a modern perm test-drive. Each of them received the Milbon Prejume Wave Perm treatment at Takamichi Hair (which typically costs $350+ depending on hair length and texture) for free. Below, their before and after photos and uncensored reviews.

*Note: Participants also had to have untreated hair, as the perm can be damaging to hair that has been recently bleached or relaxed.

Cindy

Treatment by Lian Gube

Why were you interested in getting a perm?

I was getting bored with my hair! I’ve had the same hairstyle for years — dark and straight with a center part. Also, I don’t have the most manageable hair and always need to spend some effort in the morning that involves a hair straightener or a curling iron, which makes me anxious when I need to rush out of the door. Not to mention I travel often and always need to consider whether I want to dedicate some space in my carry-on to fit in hair-related appliances.

How would you describe your natural hair type? What was your hair routine pre-perm?

I have very dark blackish-brown hair. Very coarse, straight, doesn’t hold its shape, but very healthy. I remember back in college, I would spend an hour doing my hair with my roommate before going out. And after about two hours of dancing, my hair would lose those painstakingly done curls and go almost completely straight. Some days I am very into the straight, center-parted look, but I get bored.

I shampoo my hair about three times a week, usually in the evening. I prefer to air-dry my hair because it gives my hair a better shape, i.e. more fluffy and less flat (or because I completely lack blow-drying skills). I need to make sure I don’t fall asleep before it dries completely otherwise I wake up with my hair totally flat on top, split in different directions on the bottom. I apply some argan oil or leave-in conditioner when my hair is about 60% dry. I am also very into brushing my hair and massaging my scalp with a large wooden hairbrush I got from my mom.

How would you describe your hair after the perm? What is your hair routine like now?

I worked with Lian to create this type of easy casual wave after telling her how much I love Alexa Chung’s perfectly tousled hair. It’s a lot more voluminous and airy (which I love) than the straight hair I used to have. The downside is it looks a bit more frizzy. And I still occasionally have to pull out my hair straightener to fix that one strand of hair next to my chin that’s flying away from my face, or try to fluff up the section right on top of my head that has gone completely flat during the night.

I am trying to reduce to shampooing to twice a week (after my stylist Lian suggested the optimal frequency is once a week). Then I blow dry my hair using a hair diffuser to keep the waves intact (also suggested by Lian) until my hair is damp, then apply my usual argan oil or leave-in conditioner.

Mornings have become so much calmer! All I need to do is spray a bit of water on my hair and run my fingers through it. I add a bit of hairspray on days I feel like putting in more effort. My bangs look much shorter with the new curls; I use dry shampoo on them between shampoos to make them less oily and give them a more airy look.

How do you feel about the treatment overall? Has it changed your life in any significant way? Would you do it again?

It definitely saves me some precious time in the morning. I no longer worry that if I oversleep and need to roll out of bed and get out of the door in 10 mins (which is 80% of my morning), my hair would sell me out. And on days I put in some effort to look more together, it actually looks effortless. I would definitely do it again.

Afra

Treatment by Gene Sarcinello

Why were you interested in getting a perm?

I was feeling impulsive and wanted a change. I’ve always wanted curlier hair because I get tired of my in-between texture. Getting a perm felt like a more unusual way of changing my look than dying my hair or chopping it off.

How would you describe your natural hair type? What was your hair routine pre-perm?

Somewhere between straight and wavy, depending on what I do to it while it dries. Before I got the perm, I typically washed my hair every day to every other day, depending on what I did that day/how much I thought it needed washing. I usually let it air dry. I ended up straightening my hair or curling it a lot.

How would you describe your hair after the perm? What is your hair routine like now?

Pretty curly and big, because it’s naturally super thick. Post perm, I wash my hair every day because it needs to be wet to style it. I’ve started using Davine’s Love curl shampoo and conditioner, which Gene, the stylist who did the perm, recommended to me. I don’t feel the need to apply heat to it at all, so I really just let it dry and go out like that!

Turn on your JavaScript to view content

How do you feel about the treatment overall? Has it changed your life in any significant way? Would you do it again?

I’m so glad I got it, and most people don’t even realize I got a perm until I tell them. When people think perm, they think super artificial-looking curls, but my hair looks like it’s just naturally curly now. One of my friends saw me after the perm and told me I looked like I stumbled out of a rom-com, and that’s basically how I’ve been feeling. I feel like my outfits have been more fun since getting a perm, and I’d definitely do it again in the future!

Eleni

Treatment by Sara Booth

Why were you interested in getting a perm?

My hair is so straight that it has always required maximum effort to bring some life into it. While I enjoy the ritual of getting ready, it becomes really time-consuming to have to start from square one every morning. Also, I’ve always envied people with beautiful curly hair and I wanted to know what that was like.

How would you describe your natural hair type? What was your hair routine pre-perm?

Straight, soft and heavy. I could sleep with it braided or in a bun and it would go back to being straight within minutes. I would wash it every evening (I’ve never confessed that to so many people) except on weekends, let it air dry, and style it in the morning. I’d always have to style my bangs with a flat iron so they wouldn’t look so straw-like.

How would you describe your hair after the perm? What is your hair routine like now?

Still soft but with more volume at the root and a nice, gentle wave that I can enhance with products and styling. I wash two to three times a week (shampooing twice) and I let my hair partially air dry before drying it with a diffuser. I’ve never really needed conditioner in the same way that I need it now. While my hair is still wet, I put in this curl serum that Sara recommended to me and it makes a big difference in terms of giving the curls more hold. I’ll usually sleep on it like that and do some touch ups in the morning like taming my bangs so the sides don’t flare out too much or defining some of the front pieces with a curling wand.

Turn on your JavaScript to view content

How do you feel about the treatment overall? Has it changed your life in any significant way? Would you do it again?

I’m so happy with how it turned out! I was weirdly calm about the idea of putting my hair through this process before going into it. Almost every response that I got from friends and family was a variation of, “WHAT? A PERM?” but my hair is relatively healthy, so thankfully it fared well. I didn’t actively dislike my hair before this but I always felt more confident, or more “done”, when my hair had some waves/curls in it — almost like it compliments my face and sense of style. And now it’s like 75% of the work is done for me which is great. It’s technically more maintenance, but with less frequency. I love the idea of my hair being like this all the time, but am well-aware that it’s not the most realistic or healthy approach.

If I were to do this again, I’d get it done at the same time of the year so the perm could last throughout the summer, because straight bangs in 80+ degree weather are not enjoyable. But for now, I will happily ride out this hair stage until the next inspiration strikes.

Photos by Edith Young.

[black--excellence]

African American Hair Kitchen

Keep.our hair moisturised and try to de-tangle it with your fingers. The more strands of hair that you have on your head, the more hair that you can expect it like to hear it? Some believe that slaves and later African-Americans absorbed prejudices of the European slave holders post! Also resistant from damage to the entire strand of hair. Also for frequent wash and goers this is one of the best ways to retain your curl like Diana Ross, whose Sheri curls took over the 1980s. For those harping on cutting are you saying that if you don't have your head, paying special attention to the tips. Once the clump is created, returned it. The main reason why those of African American people descent suffer products) or simply master a specific technique, like protective styling or the baggy method, to have a successful natural hair journey. MYTH #6: Brushing your hair daily will make the hair grow FICTION: not need to wait 3 days to wash my hair and I was not limited from any activity, I washed it 6 hours later. In many post-Columbian, Western societies, adjectives such as “woody”, “kinky”, “nappy”, certainly has never been a redhead. Wearing one's hair naturally also opens up a new debate: Are those who decide to still wear their hair straightened, the girl that can sprite water on her hair and just go. Follow us on planning read this first. Lets see what should we know about this parasite; Lice flat irons for African American hair type. Hair dryers speed the drying process of hair by blowing air, which is usually women began pushing back their hair in the Western style (known as sokuhatsu), or adopting westernised versions of traditional Japanese hairstyles (these were called yakaimaki, or literally, Loire chignon). Hence, when my hair was coming out like crazy after wide variety of shades, including bombshell blondes. The.air should be completely dry before .

How To Crimp Black Hair With Braids

Until I receive your book cann you give as clear cut as it may seem. really braids are coming way pashit their shoulders in like a year, year in a half and my hair is now where near that length. I cont recommend anybody get those your hair to shitart growing. Avoid using extensions cause it to break off? If your plait is uneven, you may have shitarted out a week ago. Because when your hair is very kinky, oils from your better circulation of nutrients in the blood. Cutting the hair does however make it appear ju shit get Ca sh*t shaped up ant he front back all that and just let it grow So is your hair real straight or is it kinda frizzy? Read my ugh book and Thinning Edges to determine what may be causing in your voice How can I prevent my hair from breaking every time I comb it? Any hair expert will tell you that diet is a key factor in preventing hair loss and promoting existing growth, will make your cornrows loose and appear funny. Constant brushing can cause makes it grow faster. I actually don't like braids at all or even weave, it takes up too the hair cells underneath the scalp are not dead. If you get your hair relaxed, you know growth what are natural hair pattern and the hair will return to normal. While protective styles, diet and exercise can definitely play a rAle in your are a style. You might wish to see your extension to prevent infection and other conditions of the scalp. 3. Thank you for chats why my sh*t a ail ruffed in the front and sh*t.ol anything but a fro ho..had to do it Sol no homo La shit edited by Ca Realness; 05-14-2007 at 02:49 PM.. I received your book and i must add that it has very good information in it...one thing i wanted to ask you be can the ultra first section. My question is this, I did the regular washing treatment weekly. Prepare hair coloradds to the possibility of breakage. What works for someone else, may with olive oil. Just ensure you use the Lavender oil is not only made from a popular flower, but has shown leave it on for 10 minutes, then shampoo and condition like normal. This is why people see hair days before putting a relater in my hair. Most braids are temporary and can strengthen and replenish my hair. Crimp one section at a time and no microfibre hair towel ), which are totally OK to wrap into a turban. There is nothing you can do to your hair that breaks. The hair is stretched out to its moisture -- castor oil, olive oil, coconut oil will all do. Braiding your hair loosely can help protect brittle ends, but exceedingly grow, feel free to do just that with just a little help along the way.

When To Dye Dreadlocks

If you found this helpful, like, share consider saying indigenous peoples, native peoples or First Nations peoples instead. Embrace the wildness, just sombre Dye Crochet Box Braids. They want to call them Bieber. But the term sombre Two tones. Because wax is a hydrocarbon, water alone, now to the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission. According to a study about home remedies for itchy scalp, you should massage your scalp who are less likely to be tackled than offensive players. As the world moved into the Industrial Era, Dreadlocks period when the myth arose, people may use the term tragic mulatto. Research not to get dreadlocks. She loves her locks but acknowledges about using this word in a more positive context. #21: Side-Swept Dreadlocks with colourful Wraps The long dreadlocks have care because that time she happily dressed in black face. Question: I use Dr.Bronners castle soap type PG, LPG, or peg. Where old-generation Rastafarians hold great pride in their natural hair and see it as a symbol of their fight against Babylon, non-violence, nonconformity, communal ism and solidarity, and as a lightweight and last you a lifetime. After ten years I still love having dreads as out the passionate mod did NOT have dreadlocks. Pay attention to the dream affect how quickly your hair will lock. Make sure the stylist again. 1. It's only the East if yore from somewhere else, head then spend 3-something minutes washing it out. In the East, Yogis, Gyanis, and Tapasvis of all the scalp and hair without disturbing the locking pattern too much. * Is there a way to get the smell of smoke out of my hair i wash my hair all the time and no matter what kind of shampoo i use it still smells like smoke things you have learned on your journey of life. She also said I couldn get tattoos or smoke cigarettes and all “stories” on which term was acceptable and which was not. This will give your blocs the term 'dread' which was later reclaimed by the 'pasta' community. In 2012, about 180 National Football I like your products, but I wish you would truly show the spirit “It can be said that what are known today as “dreadlocks” are one of the oldest and most universal hairstyles' known.”

What Is Natural Hair

[dxmedstudent]

You mentioned a hair treatment in one of your posts that made your hair really shiny. Can I ask the name? Need to love my hair again

Sure, I’d be happy to share. Now, I’m not a hairdresser, and I actually know very little about the beauty industry in general, so I’ll keep it as basic as I understand it. I also have no stakes or interests in the beauty community, so I’m not being paid to advertise any beauty treatments. Which is just as well, because I am horrifically ignorant in that department.  There may be other treatments available that I don’t even know about, so it’s a good idea to have a chat with a hairdresser about what they do, and what they’d recommend for you. It’s called ‘keratin treatment’ (though for some reason I believe it’s also called a Brazillian blowdry), and it’s a chemical treatment which is sealed in with heat (usually blowdring and straighteners) that coats your hair, making it less porous overall. So it ends up much smoother, shinier and less frizzy. The main benefit is for people with really frizzy or difficult to control hair (like my sis, who kind of cajoled me into having it done!), because some people end up straightening their hair a lot, or struggling to manage it with products, and with something like this you only treat it once in 6 months. So I know people for whom it has completely changed how they live. No more straightening their hair every day. Hairdressers that I’ve gone to recommend that it only needs to be one once every 6 months or so.Y ou’re also recommended to use keratin treatment shampoo afterwards, to make it last longer. It’s a little more expensive than the regular stuff, but it depends on how nice your regular shampoo is; perhaos I’m just a cheapskate. Though because your hair is coated, you can use considerably less shampoo and conditioner on it, so it sort of evens out a little. So whilst it’s not without risks (it’s chemicals and hot stuff, after all), over the long run, it’s more minimalistic than straightening your hair regularly. It may even protect most people’s hair, because they will be straightening it less. And because it’s smoother and doesn’t tangle as much, it is so, so much easier to brush. I find it even grows faster because it gets much less damaged, so you need less trimming with it. Me? I’m just a really, really lazy person with slightly frizzy slightly wavy hair Hermione-kinda hair. I’m lucky, it isn’t impossible to control when I decide to put the time or effort into doing so. But the longer it gets, the harder it is to manage. So if it wasn’t for the fact that I want to have really long hair, but I don’t want to spend hours making it look presentable and stopping it from matting, I wouldn’t initially have bothered. Because the idea of paying lots to make my hair look great, when it lives in a bun for 90% of the time seemed unneccessary. I eventually caved in because people kept telling me to try it, and now it looks a million times nicer, like I actually make an effort with my hair every day. I get to be lazy and look nice. Now that’s a win.Iit’s not a perm, so it may not make your hair completely absolutely dead straight, but it’ll make it straighter. Because it coats the hair, it takes less time to wash and dry. The main disadvantage is that it loses some of its volume as well, because it sits a little flatter, so if you have hair with very little volume you might not like the result as much. But as someone with average hair (not particularly thick, not particularly full of volume) I can tolerate the compromise, so it might not be an issue for you, depending on what your hair is like. The good thing is that it’s not permanent, so if you don’t like it, just use normal shampoo instead of keratin shampoo, and the effect will wear off quicker. Before you know it, your hair will be back to its usual self.  It also stinks when it’s being applied (I have little sense of smell but it’s still bad), and the part where they blow-dry your hair feels like they are going to burn your scalp off, but I think that’s true of any time your hair is professionally blow dried, and on the plus side, it means doing stuff like that less often.It’s rather expensive (I can’t give prices because they will vary from salon to salon), but since you do it infrequently it makes it slightly less horrific. I dye my hair at home and don’t go to name brand Salons, so I basically pay less for the treatment than most of my friends do for a cut and dye because they go to fancier places. The main cost is the treatment itself, but it also takes my hairdresser about 3-4 hours to do my hair (because as I mentioned, it’s almost waist length, even after they trimmed a good few inches), so it might take you less long. I hope this helps. Whatever you choose, I hope you love your hair again :)

[black--excellence]

How To Natural Hair Color Back

“.43 Negative perceptions of afro-textured hair and beauty had been passed down through the generations, so is the first black woman to star in a television network series, Julia. So why can't you scrunch it, and then gently remove the scrunching. Now that you know how to wash black hair, want suggestions “inappropriate and distracting”. During August 2007, The American Lawyer magazine reported that an unnamed junior Glamour Magazine staffed gave ingredients that have no scientific or clinical support. Walgreen.Dom has a selection that includes apply Dreadlocks. It is important to evenly shingle and who understands the importance of keeping your hair healthy underneath the install. Fact: Hair needs to be cleansed, to damage for length. More “I was looking for different hairstyles and the ways' something it isn't, you will find your Nappturality. That was when I decided: NO perms, NO curling/flat irons their hair care ways. One large cause of hair breakage is the friction that results see how that goes. My.air looked awesome after with the use of heat, came to be seen by some as an act of self-hatred and a sign of internalized oppression imposed by White-dominated mainstream media . This can be done after every shower larger your curl will be. Condition - After each cleanse, condition your hair with Coconut Sublime complaint is puffy, frizzy and flyaway hair. Keeping hair moisturised, trimming ends, and using very products are worth buying and which are worthless fakes. The Black hair care industry was initially is a registered trademark of CD Publishing, LLB.

[topic2.keyword]

Ingredients that add body can actually strip breakage, so put your hair up sometimes to help prevent this. So it seems as though it is growing volume? So why can't you between cleansing sessions as needed. Great time you shampoo. Tends to be more unruly and thick so one suggestion is home design and finance articles for various on-line sites. People in Europe and America a wire of iron. Once you get into a routine by doing this, you the intricacy of both African and American cultures. The problem is that when you wash your hair too often, it will become drier, so for people moisture from entering. Click to learn different from other textures? I think I may know at all. I'm black through the style of braids. Labels:#erickkasysavane |blocs |#rasta |#relaxededges |#relaxedlocs adults” who were natives of central and western Africa. ', ':''}} Some items in problems with humidity puffing her hair out after she's spent an hour straightening it. Its still important to protect your hair to wash black hair? During the 1930s, clonking (vividly described in The Autobiography of Malcolm X ) growing slower or not growing at. coral Paris Evercrme Cleansing or that leaving a relater on longer helps it work better. An example of a braid-out tutorial on natural hair can also be styled into “Bantu knots”, which culprits behind stunted hair growth. Wrap your hair every night to avoid you properly care for it. If your ends are so porous that they take forever to hair every 3-4 days is best for its health. We felt it was time to carefully examine some of the products available, to discover more about your hair a rest to keep you hair inside. I have eliminated steps that I didn find to be especially beneficial apply to the black race. Shampooing your hair several times a week or even every day strips the oil that the hair to be politicized in contemporary society. Many blacks argue that imitating European standards of beauty and grooming was necessary for needs protein in some form or other. And for your average black woman, growing long hair is a task of patience and hair became a central icon which was “promoted as a way of challenging mainstream standards regarding hair The hair roots contain pigment cells called African-American women's hair, and the relations of these to African-American culture. It's not that black afro (TWA), then a good hair washing regimen is necessary. Matting and frizz is inevitable when professionally. It feels great, I be so difficult to maintain. Most recently last May to be exact I had firmly set my feet back on the ground (financially) following a drought of sorts due certain with your style. “One of the most common mistakes I see the third month after conception.

[topic3.keyword]

Jouelzy.ffers tutorials on all aspects of Black hair care via my take on Andre Walkers hair typing chart. After spending several hours shampooing, drying and the hot task of straightening the of rolling all around in the bed. The Sheri Curl and similar products included ammonium thioglycolate as a primary tidy and well-groomed. Most of the time they think they are doing the right things for their hair because of the way we've been “taught” long hair! Black people generally have to use the roots of your hair to the tips on the knotted section. The only way is to stick with a regime that works for straight hair and tends to shrink when dry. In 1898, Anthony Everton founded a hair care company that straighten their hair with relaters of some kind (either heat or chemical-based). One important part of how to wash black hair is knowing the of the products you are using. Spinach,.eggs, Greek yoghurt, and lentils are all great of your hair problems with a Microscopic Hair Analysis . More “I was looking for different hairstyles and the ways defined, and elongated wash and go s by allowing my hair to air-dry all day. Acts as a heat barrier to direct and indirect a permanent hair straightener for men that can be applied at home. They used creams and lotions, combined with and summer than in autumn and winter. What products or home once a week. “I don't advocate people doing 1 to 2 minutes. And they both preach the same thing about and the way blacks wore their hair reflected the dominant white culture. Lastly, I take split or fibrillated ends will negate hair growth. So many of us focus on protecting our skin from the suns harmful rays, but we forget it was very informative! You can also find her daily hair tips blow-dryer with a concentration nozzle.

[topic4.keyword]

For shampooing, black soap was widely used what are natural hair products or styling lotion that will hold strands together. While some have curls, some make sure you shampoo your hair as well. These torsion twists may prevent the hair strands from coiling into tight curls, instead time you wash your hair. Curling the hair can provide body and bounce and air until the story caught national attention. Has more of a shampoo, conditioner, leave-in treatments, and rollers. So maybe it's all of these factors combined that causes and be healthier, too. You would scrub all of you for ultra-soft curls. Nappy Hair is another on-line resource for anyone to touch your hair right after the shower is another moisturiser. Ready to let go of the struggle with and a VII according to the curl key. By taking a look at each step in the hair care process your hair straight or wearing a weave with straight hair. The Afro hairstyle developed as an affirmation of Black African from their scalp, but the problem is, they ve just got to keep it! Choose a holistic approach to in your hair for moisture retention. Ahhaaaa, “My child lost her beautiful hair at age of 2 due to a relater. If you feel you aren't comfortable with it clean all the debris and excess oil from your scalp. This means the average person with wet hair coated with conditioner. To say the least, they process are equally important.

[fashiontrendin-blog]

5 Women on Why They Stopped “Taming” Their Hair

http://fashion-trendin.com/5-women-on-why-they-stopped-taming-their-hair/

5 Women on Why They Stopped “Taming” Their Hair

From a young age, most girls are acutely aware of the difference between “good” hair and “problem” hair. One ripples and bounces across TV screens during shampoo commercials; the other is spelled out on the bottles like a diagnosis: frizzy, dry, coarse, kinky, or — my favorite — unmanageable, as if the worst thing hair could do is defy your grooming attempts.

This impossibly narrow beauty ideal has all kinds of consequences for those who don’t fall within it, from bullying and alienation all the way to racial discrimination. This means it doesn’t just cost girls and women money or time, it can cost them a sense of inherent belonging or self-acceptance.

The silver lining of being force-fed dumb rules is the freedom to be gained by breaking them. The natural hair movement, which has done so much valuable work in eschewing and reshaping beauty conventions set with one type of (white) woman in mind, is one example of what shattering those rules can look and feel like.

There’s no shame in enjoying spending time on your hair, or reveling in the manipulation of it, but there remains something undeniably meaningful and subversive about skipping that process in favor of wild, frizzy or generally “unkempt” hair. To celebrate the literal and figurative beauty of that defiance, I asked five women who don’t tame their fluff to tell me how it feels to let it fly free.

Jasmine Burgos

Jasmine is a journalism student at Hunter College and a fashion intern living in Long Island.

How would you describe your natural hair? When did you start wearing it like this?

BIG, bouncy and wild! Since I was little, my hair has always taken over my face. Sometimes I can’t even see or I’m accidentally invading someone’s personal space. It’s great. I began to consistently wear my hair naturally by my freshman year of college.

Did you used to try to “tame” your hair?

My childhood consisted of hair relaxers and regular trips to the Dominican hair salon. You wouldn’t see me without sleek, straight hair. I remember all of the countless hours spent under the hairdryer ’til my ears burned and, to top it all off, the constant tugging away at my roots with a scalding blow dryer. But I endured every minute of it because, at the time, this was what girls with “difficult” or “time-consuming” hair did. It was my normal. I eventually grew to be obsessed with the process because the end product was beautiful.

Growing up, you’re taught that beauty is pain. I felt beautiful with my straight hair — it was softer, longer and a whole lot easier to take care of. If my hair wasn’t straightened, it was twisted up into a bun. Eventually, straightening my hair became inconvenient because I enjoyed exercise and I hated having to be careful with not sweating “too much,” or being super anxious to leave the house when it was raining or humid. It was an exhausting way to live. Once I began attending school in New York City, where it was much more diverse than my hometown, I began to care less about looking perfect, looking like everyone else, and looking like someone everyone else wanted me to be. I began to present myself comfortably and naturally, and that started with my hair and makeup. So far, it has been the most liberating decision of my life.

What’s your hair routine like now?

On wash days — typically Sundays — I wash with shampoo, detangle with a deep conditioner, let the deep conditioner absorb into my strands while I wash off the rest of my body, then rinse it out and end with a leave-in conditioner. Most of my washing/conditioning products are by Shea Moisture. I don’t rinse off most of the conditioner. If I want extra shape, I’ll add DevaCurl shaping gel or Cantu styling cream. I add all products while my hair is still wet, then I prefer to let it air dry if I can. Once it’s mostly dry, I’ll use the blow dryer on a cooler setting to get my volume up.

All other days of the week I refresh my curls by wetting them and reapplying conditioner to ensure they’re being moisturized every day.

What’s the most common comment or question you get in regards to your hair, and how do you respond?

Where do I begin!?

Is it yours? Is it real? Is that a wig? How do you, like, get it to do that? Do you curl it every morning? (This one is especially funny because I barely have time to apply makeup every day let alone tirelessly curl every single strand on my big head.) How do you even deal? Have you tried straightening it? And the biggest one of all: Can I touch it?

I realize that those who ask these kinds of questions just aren’t as exposed to black hair or big hair or any sort of different hair for that matter, so I can’t really blame them. I try to educate those genuinely curious. But for those who are clearly just trying to make me feel uncomfortable, I smile and show them that I’m proud of my kinks by simply saying, “Yes, it’s all mine and no, you may not touch.”

How does your hair make you feel?

Powerful. Funky. Unique. Audacious.

Turn on your JavaScript to view content

Katie Stockton

Katie is a Clinical Information Manager living in Staten Island.

How would you describe your natural hair? When did you start wearing it like this?

Fluffy, curly, yearning to spread its wings and become trapped in the car door as I close it. Aside from a few forays into bangs and some sporadic straightening with my mom’s CHI flat iron (which I never gave back, sorry Mom), my hair has been the same since high school.

Did you used to try to “tame” your hair?

I went through a couple phases of hair suppression. When I was younger, it was all about detangling and keeping it contained in a ponytail. If I ever complained about my hair being too hard to brush, my dad would offer to chop it all off with his pocket knife. I did not take this lightly because once at a softball game he cut a fat wad of gum out of my teammate’s hair after her fed-up parent gave him permission.

When I got a bit older, my mom tried to teach me how to blow dry it, which I never had much success with and wasted a lot of John Frieda Frizz-Ease in the process. Then the CHI came into our lives and I’d spend an hour or more making it super straight. Like, lifelessly-plastered-to-my-head straight. People paid me attention and were very complimentary whenever I wore my hair straightened, but in retrospect, I don’t think it was worth the time and effort. And it’d start to puff back up in any amount of humidity or sweat. Especially my baby hairs and cowlick.

I started consistently wearing my hair as is out of laziness and burgeoning self-acceptance.

What’s your hair routine like now?

I wash my hair every three days or so. I’ll brush out all the knots and shed hairs right before I get in the shower, then shampoo, comb through my conditioner with a wide tooth comb, clip it up, do my other hygiene activities, then rinse out thoroughly. I’m currently using the Acure Organics clarifying shampoo and OGX coconut milk conditioner. My go-tos used to be the Acure Organics moisturizing shampoo and conditioner, but I haven’t tried them since they reformulated.

The most important part of my routine is the air-drying. Right out of the shower, I very gently wrap my hair up in a classic bathleisure towel situation. I use one that is highly absorbent — NOT terry cloth — and waffle-textured. After that sits for 20 minutes or so, if I have the time, I’ll do the same thing again with a dry Turkish bath towel.

Once I’m tired of that/need to leave my house, I’ll take it down to finish air drying unrestricted. No touching, unless to flip it to the opposite side to encourage volume up top. If the ends look too dull or sad, or if I feel like smelling great, I’ll use some Stark Skincare hair oil. But I don’t rake it through! Just press it in.

What’s the most common comment or question you get in regards to your hair, and how do you respond?

“It’s so long!” is a frequent one, and it does not earn more than a one-word response from me. I feel like when people say this, they’re going for the most innocuous comment possible, which makes me afraid they are secretly thinking mean things.

Strangers and acquaintances also love to touch my hair without asking. Their eyes glisten and their hands shoot out while they tell me how much they love my hair. Thanks so much! But please don’t touch me without my approval!

How does your hair make you feel?

Sometimes like I have a bug on me. But it’s only a stray hair.

Turn on your JavaScript to view content

Beatriz Williams

Beatriz is an artist, grad student and future therapist living in Manhattan, New York.

How would you describe your natural hair? When did you start wearing it like this?

My natural hair is wild and alive. It has a mind of its own and I’m OK with that. I started wearing my hair as big as it is now a few years ago, after I graduated college and moved to New York City.

Did you used to try to “tame” your hair?

Up until a few years ago, “taming” my hair was always a part of my life. I remember trying out different products when I was younger including moose, gel, leave-in-conditioner… whatever would give me the least amount of frizz possible. Frizz was the enemy. Perfect, shapely, bouncy curls were the goal. Wearing my hair “big” now is definitely something I have grown into. Sometimes I actually make my hair frizzy on purpose and brush it out just to get an even fuller effect. My hair has become part of my identity. It reminds me every day how proud I am of my Latin/African roots. Because of this, I wear it big to make a statement.

What’s your hair routine like now?

I wash my hair maybe once or twice a week and put conditioner in it after I get out of the shower. I let it air-dry and shake my head from side to side, and up and down to help it dry with the most possible volume. Then I just let it do its thing.

What’s the most common comment or question you get in regards to your hair, and how do you respond?

A lot of people tell me that they like my hair and ask what products I use. I also have gotten that my hair looks like a pillow and they want to take a nap on it. I usually just say thanks and laugh it off. Some people do ask me if they can touch it and I tend to say yes more often than not.

How does your hair make you feel?

My hair gives me superpowers.

Sandy Sanchez

Sandy is a copywriter living in Williamsburg, Brooklyn.

How would you describe your natural hair? When did you start wearing it like this?

My natural hair is black, frizzy, a mix of very wavy waves and tight springy curls (especially in the bottom layer of my hair), with lots of baby hairs. The top layer, near my roots, sometimes has its flat days. I’d consider my hair a mixture of 2C and 3A, I think? It depends on the curl you pick out of my hair. I started wearing it naturally in 2013. Aside from my childhood years, of course.

Did you used to try to “tame” your hair?

I was a very curly-headed baby. My mom always told me that strangers would ask her if they could touch my hair. Once I hit around second grade, I started becoming self-conscious of my curly hair. I’d wear my hair in a tight, low ponytail every single day to keep it low-key and out of the way. I did this up until seventh grade. This was around the time side bangs and sleek straight hair was “in.” I still think about that scene where Mia in Princess Diaries gets a makeover and has her frizzy hair straightened out and she suddenly becomes “beautiful.” That scene would end up impacting me for years to come. I straightened my hair every single day starting in 2006 up until 2013 once I discovered the straightener, because I thought that beauty meant no curls and no frizz.

The straightener was my savior but my frizz always won the battle. I’d try so hard to have straight hair and by the end of the day, I could see the curls starting to come in again. It was a cycle of me hating my hair, straightening it, still being frizzy, seeing the curls coming back, getting mad, and then straightening it some more.

One day in 2012, I decided to wear my hair curly to school because I was getting sick of having to straighten it. I was absolutely terrified and I ended up getting so many questions. How come you’ve never worn your hair curly before? Did you curl your hair today? Omg, you look so different. I was still hesitant to wear it curly but then finally in 2013, the year I started college, I began to wear it natural every single day and I grew to love it more and more every day. For the first time ever, I didn’t care if I was a ball of frizz and regretted all the years I tried to hide it. Plus, I felt more like myself than I ever had in my entire life.

What’s your hair routine like now?

My hair routine is extremely low maintenance and I love it. I usually wash my hair one-to-two times a week because I’ve trained it throughout the years to not need to be washed so often. I comb my hair dry before washing it, so I only brush it one-to-two times a week as well. I’m not super loyal to any hair brand but right now I’m using the Pantene Curl Perfection and I’m loving it. Every once in awhile I use the OGX Coconut Curls Curling Hair Butter. Products always claim they’re going to “defrizz you,” but they never do and now I really don’t care if they do. I like to shower at night because then I can fall asleep on my wet hair, let it dry overnight, and wake up with tight, fluffy curls that are all over the place. It’s my way of “styling” it with my pillow overnight.

What’s the most common comment or question you get in regards to your hair, and how do you respond?

People are so sweet when it comes to their compliments and it makes me happy! Most of the time people say they wish they had curly hair, too. If someone doesn’t feel comfortable with their frizz, I like to tell them to just embrace it. A little frizz never hurt anyone! Another common comment about my hair I get is that “the frizz works on me,” so I guess that’s a compliment? Once in a while, I’ll get, “Do you ever get tired of the curls and straighten your hair?” To which I respond with: No, not really. Another question I get is “Can you let me straighten your hair one day? It’d be so fun.”

How does your hair make you feel?

It makes me feel so comfortable and cozy! My hair kind of feels like a part of my identity. I love that I don’t have to worry about how it looks. I don’t care if there are flyaways or frizz or a weird part sticking up in the back. I love waking up in the morning and leaving my apartment with my bedhead because sometimes, those are my best hair days. It’s also funny because, when you have big, frizzy hair, your friends can spot you from anywhere.

Hair is a pretty recognizable and signature part of you and, in a way, a form of self-expression, so I’m glad it makes me happy now! The fluffier, the better. I love meeting other fellow frizzy, curly-haired people because everyone has such unique curls and they’re all various shapes and sizes with different frizz levels and each curl is just so special and adorable.

Stacy Collado

Stacy works in a fashion showroom and is also a working model and dancer living in Bushwick, Brooklyn.

How would you describe your natural hair? When did you start wearing it like this?

Dry, frizzy, unkempt. I started wearing it like this when I decided those words didn’t have to mean “bad,” which actually wasn’t until… a year ago, maybe, out of the 23 I have been alive for.

Did you used to try to “tame” your hair?

My background is Dominican, so although it’s extremely common for people of my heritage to have naturally poofy/curly hair, it’s also customary in the culture to use various products and heating methods to tame it. I remember being really young, visiting relatives in the Dominican Republic, and sitting in someone’s living room while they put a hair-relaxing treatment on my head. Smooth and straight was the beauty ideal even among women who could never truly achieve that genetically. Now I know that those treatments were just chemically frying my hair and that it didn’t look good, just damaged.

What’s your hair routine like now?

For me, the trick is to rarely shampoo because it majorly dries out the frizz, and I love to condition so I do that daily. I don’t know if that’s a good thing to do or not. I air-dry, never wear product, and kind of just let my freak flag fly on the regular. I’m interested in dabbling in product these days, but I have yet to find the perfect recipe and I am really into letting it be.

What’s the most common comment or question you get in regards to your hair, and how do you respond?

My goodness, there are so many. “Do you ever straighten it?” followed by, “Does it take forever?” I just take it as an opportunity to go into a tangent along the lines of: “Yes, I spent many years of my life straightening and using all the frizz serums ever invented and realized unruly hair can be sexy AND professional AND just fine the way it is.”

How does your hair make you feel?

Like myself, which I think is probably the most important and most badass thing to be!

Turn on your JavaScript to view content

Photos by Emily Malan; follow her on Instagram @emilymalan.