@queerbuckthrace tagged me some time ago to post five things I like about myself. This is a very hard thing for me to do, but I shall give it a shot.

1. I’m a damn good knitter/spinner/crocheter. I taught myself to crochet from a book when I was 10. Learned knitting from a book when I was 30. And in my early 40s I learned to spin - not from a book. I can’t learn shit about spinning from anything other than actually seeing it. No, videos are not at all useful. Weird.

2. I have great hair. Granted, it’s not like I have any control over the fact that I have thick, coarse hair. But it’s still something I like. Can’t believe I’ve had it long this long.

3. I’m reasonably adventurous. I mean, I live in China. And not one of the big cities everyone’s heard of. No, I’m in some small (by Chinese standards) city way up in the northeast, entirely too close to North Korea. 

4. I refuse to grow old gracefully. Flat out not gonna do it. As it is, I play at being a grown up. I have a job, I pay my bills, I buy food and eat. But I also play quite a bit. More than I think is “expected”. 

5. There is no number five because all the things I don’t like about myself are pushing forward in my brain, and this list is not about all those things.

There doesn’t seem to be a “tag x number of people” on this, so please do it if you’d like. :)

Shout out to all the girls with dark, thick,and/or prickly/coarse hair on their bodies.

Shout out to all the girls with hairy tummies, thighs, backs & booties.

Shout out to all the girls who have ever felt ugly for having hair on their bodies.

I feel ya and you’re all gorgeous, exquisite beings.

 Any person who is worth your love will love you for all of you. Even your hair. 

I need to see more big lipped, dark skinned, coarse haired, flat assed, flat chested, wide-nosed, non-shaved women on television pls. and not playing the crazy woman or the girl w/ the bad attitude. I want to see her play a coveted damsel in a wild romance. I want little girls who look like her to see her and feel they r worthy of love exactly the way they r.

I want to remember...

Summary: What if you wake up and can remember enough of what happened the night before to know that everything has changed, but still don’t know who made the first move? (just a little friends to lovers sexy times for your Saturday) AO3

She wakes up to the usual sounds of squealing brakes followed by impatient horn blasts, security gates rattling in their journey upwards, murmurs of cell phone calls and the occasional bark of a too small dog. The noises of the city around her never seem to change, even on a morning that feels like it should be different. She presses at the base of her neck to see if the skin there is raised, fingertips tracing the same pattern as his lips, his tongue, the coarse hairs of his chin. Scrunching her eyes ever more tightly closed, she tries to add clarity to images threatening to disappear as consciousness fights with the fog of drunken mistakes.

Was it a mistake the way his mouth felt against hers, the weight of his hands on her skin or the possessive feel of his fingers anchored in her hair. Did he not mean the words he breathed between her lips between soul deep kisses?

“Finally…I’ve always wanted…Emma…”

She knows the truth of hers.

“Me too…”

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concept: gross monster widow

what if widow was a bit like an actual insect/human fusion. kinda like “the fly” in brundle’s early stages, sort of:

  • coarse sticky hairs protruding from her body and back. she can stick to walls with them.
  • a like a thin layer of mucus around her body
  • she doesn’t need to eat, but whenever she does she vomits acid over her foood
  • her teeth and nails sometimes fall off leaving a trail of slime
  • she has super strength and can rip off a man’s arm easily.
  • in a pinch, she can also(painfully) grow out underdeveloped raw gory insect limbs from her body(for example, when she wants to save a falling sombra and her arms are occupied) she doesn’t do this often, since she has to rip them off afterwards, eat them up and spit acid to close the wound. 
  • super heightened instincts and stamina. while she feels no “nuanced emotions”, she runs basically solely on instinct and gut feeling.

It’s a lazy sunday morning and Draco’s wrapped up around Harry, his head is pillowed on Harry’s chest and his hand’s playing with the dark coarse hair there. Harry sighs in contentment and lets his fingers continue their slow caress on Draco’s hair.


For anon…reader works with Winter Soldier as requested. Enjoy! {TRIGGER: contains panic attack}

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why now is the best time to love the African DNA in you

Now is the best time to love the African DNA in you, you know why?

Because one day it will be extinct

Yes, now is the best time to love 

that wide ass nose and

that dark ass skin…..

those high ass cheek bones 

because its being white washed as we speak…


The traps that were setup will eventually wipe us out (to just name a few)

{the media content that doesn’t promote black love}

{the prisons that cant wait to hold us}

{and the many possible ways of death that will capture us from not being a community}


you will only have to suffer for your descendants……

In an amount of time that has been planned out, everything about the African we know now will be gone.

and as we move forward; hating ourselves for the world hating us we will mix with all races left until we are watered into history not the books because those will be rewritten


 pale skin 

and non coarse hair (4c hair)

and noses that are not wide but pointy


and the best thing  about this is

if you hate the color of your skin or

the texture of your hair

you can sleep well knowing  that one day that your future grand kids will never be cursed with those things

I cant wait how about  you?

I mean now we wont have to make babies with good hair because those that had the worst hair will be wiped out, 

and shit no need to date people with lighter skin tones because the most black will be gone 


and as the credits role I would like to thank the creator of all these ideas

I mean the originator,

whoever you were or whatever collective group you were

 you did hell of a job 

Everywhere I look I can see you  convinced the majority in many countries to fellow the destruction plan you set out

You were able to break down the minds of the Africans and  spread a standard of beauty that the world has died and killed for 




S/O Falls Asleep on Assassin

Altaïr : Altaïr would look over at his S/O annoyed, but once seeing their face he would smile because of how adorable they looked when they slept. He’d stay there for a moment before slowly getting up, placing a pillow under their head, and leaving the room.

Ezio : Ezio would kiss the top of his S/O’s forehead dotingly, running his coarse fingers through their hair (he would take their hair down if it was long enough to be tied up). He would allow his S/O to sleep on him all he liked, and if it was late enough, he’d try to pick them up for bed (although usually it fails and they wake up).

Connor : Connor would anxiously look over at his S/O, unclear on what to do next. He’d stiffly sit there for a while, watching every breath cause their chest to rise and fall, until he himself calmed down and he’d try to slowly awake them, unless he knew they were dog tired.

Edward : What are you talking about? He would be asleep too.

Arno : Arno would watch his S/O begin to fall asleep. He would try to get them to stay attentive (because they were probably watching a movie or something), but after a while he just gave up trying to keep them awake. When their S/O finally was out, Arno would sigh lowly and cross his arms, trying to not want to cuddle them. In the end we can all assume what happened.

Jacob : He would awkwardly allow his S/O to slump into him, moving back she they could place their head on his shoulder. In some way, shape, or form, he managed to get them comfortable and himself uncomfortable. At least he was with his S/O (desperately wishing they’d wake up soon).

Evie : Evie would have in the first place refused to watch a movie. She would usually be working late or working around the house. None the less, she could be easily convinced by her S/O, so when they ended up watching a movie together, Evie would not only allow them to fall asleep on her, but also soon leave them to go work on something (not before kissing them and covering them up.).

he can feel your muscles 
under your skin, solid &
tightening beneath the meat

your wrists find solace
at the stretch of his back as
his arms enclose you like towers 
- this is your shape

the damp warmth of his breath
at the crook of your neck
feels too raw,
too human

- this is his vulnerability,
a bare, breathy hint of
‘i’m here, i live’
& if you lean back enough to 
meet his eyes, you
might see a forest grove,
storm-green marshes &
misty-wisp rainwater
ghosting at the surface in lovely spirals
- sink

his hands are barns, warm
in the summer gold,
peaceful at the wheat field slope of your waist

if this is so, then his hair
is coarse straw in your fingers,
& his beard might be too

the line of him against you
fits like two seams 
meeting at the breach of
press & touch

you wonder what it means
to be 'mythical,’
humming into a dimension where
wolves speak tongues that get you hot

& with you between his legs,
his legs could be bridges,
heavenly stone,
you, the hard water beneath
melting down from the mountains

compare him to nature,
take him from the static 
of busy life in motion,
& pause below the stars

watch your breath climb
up to the moon
when you tell him 
& note the twitch
of his cunning lips

hold out your palms
& he’ll trace the crinkled lines,
say, 'i was there, there too,’
before laying the cup of his mouth
in the dip of your hand &
sealing your fate with a kiss

admire him this way,
as a fragile being
strengthened by your history,
built by bricks tinged blue
from your young laughter

someone asked you once
to name his animal,
but lions and tigers and bears 
don’t feel quite right

perhaps instead,
he is a lamb,
big-eyed and wobbly,
unsure how to stand on such 
skinny legs but growing
big & warm & wooly,
snuffling a muzzle at
the soft crease of your thighs

he is your gentle pet,
but do not be fooled by
his capacity to orgasm,
in which he becomes not a pet
but a man

with his heavy body
pressing you down 
& into yourself, 
he calls you bo
& says you feel so good

let yourself receive the 
slit of his lips &
the rock of his body, 
relax into the hollow
of your own pleasure

be unafraid to
growl animalistic in your response 
- feral
& when you return,
he will be there with you

he is there,
just like the start,
two boys beside the river,
a boulder & a creek & again
that heavenly stone

the two of you swore,
smearing in blood,
to create something together

perhaps this is it,
you & him,
a culmination of
memory & history & laughter & fucking & love

& maybe it does not end here,
with your lamb-boy in your arms,
perhaps the seam has blurred
& it has just begun.

—  he is a freshwater spring & you were born thirsty

I mean it’s not revolutionary to see a creature race as nonwhite (as so many of us have already waxed poetic on)  but  I am very glad Bull has curly hair and that Cass put out the call for the arts from all the art wizards.

Iron Bull with textured hair is my shit. I feel like between Par Vollen and Rivain, the demand for tea tree, olive, and coconut oil is too damn high. Not to mention the sheer array of butter mixes they’ve got between them. I know the Rivaini towns surrounding Kont-Aar got butters that folks in Afsaana etc barely even know about. Like you fuck around and get some shea-kasaanda root blends that keep your shit shining until the next wash day with one application.

Everybody glistenin, got the moisture retention on lock.