defined curl

6

So Tumblr doesn’t allow picture formatting to ask answers, whoops.

An anon asked me how2draw hair (’specifically wavy or curly’), and here’s my process.  You really have to draw/paint hair a lot to get an idea of how it should look in my opinion, but hopefully you can glean something from this^ Check the captions for extra tips :)

SWEET DREAMS - model: Gabrielle Richardson - photography: Anairam - beauty editor: Jade Taylor - hair: Sean Michael Bennett - makeup: Lindsey Williams - Nylon February 2017

beauty notes: Nars single eye shadow in night star - Urban Decay afterglow 8-hour powder blush in obsessed - TonyMoly petite bunny gloss bar in bunny 1 - Moroccanoil curl defining cream

her eyes are filled with stars. i spend my time trying to connect the dots and find the constellations floating around her irises.
i found the planets on her body and in her soul. similar to mercury, at first you may confuse her for stars. just like the roman goddess venus, she is known for her love and just like the earth, she is life. she breathes beauty into the world with every exhale. so close, yet so far away. just out of reach, as mars seems to be. she and jupiter have the shortest days of all; perpetual sleepiness sometimes seems to be her defining trait. the curls of her hair are more captivating than saturn’s rings, and all the ice of uranus reminds me of how cold it was the night of our first kiss. and like neptune, she is far from her sunshine.
she is more than the solar system. she is entire universes, a million galaxies in one beautiful girl.
—  galaxy girl

AMAZING LACE - model: Jourdan Dunn & Anais Mali - photography: Victor Demarchelier - fashion editor / styling: Jillian Davison - hair: David Von Cannon - makeup: Sir John - Glamour June 2017

  • on Dunn: Louis Vuitton sweater, pants & sunglasses - on Mali: Dior top & bra
  • beauty note: for textured curls, try Garnier Fructis Curl Shape Defining Spray Gel
Guys My Age

Originally posted by grungedaddykinks

Summary: Negan visits Alexandria to get under your father’s skin. Instead he finds you with a guy in your bedroom which cause his rage to unleash.

Warnings: Language and Negan’s vulgarness.


Cause you hold me like a woman, in way I’ve never felt before. And it makes me wanna hold on, and it makes me wanna be all yours. Guys my age don’t know how to treat me, don’t know how touch me, don’t know how to love me good.


“So, what’s the deal with that one asshole, Negan?” Carter responded flatly as his fingers brushed along the numerous sight of romance novels that rested in your book shelf; analyzing the different titles.

You snickered to yourself. In fact, he was an asshole but a ridiculously attractive asshole that you couldn’t keep out of your head. In all honesty, you were beginning to become concerned of how and why you found him so captivating. For crying out loud, he murdered both Abe and Glenn who were like uncles to you.

“There’s not much to say. He killed Abraham and Glenn. That’s pretty self explanatory.” You stated bitterly as you stood from your bedside, flipping your silky, defined curls to the opposite side of your cranium.

Lately, if anyone insulted Negan, you blew up in an instant. Though, you chose to believe it was simply a crush on an older man that most girls your age were known to have. But it was quite an age gap considering you were in your early twenties, him looking as if he were in his mid forties.

He chuckled in amusement at your bizarre behavior, walking towards you with a toothy grin. “I know that. Are you alright, (Y/N)?”

You nodded your head nonchalantly. You definitely did not want to give him the idea that speaking negatively of Negan offended you in any way.

“Yes, I’m fine. I think you should go. I don’t think Carl or my dad will be back tonight.” You responded calmly, gesturing towards the door with a slight smile.

You didn’t want to give him the impression you were rude, but having Carl’s friend up in your bedroom was more than awkward.

You watched as a sly smirk plastered along his face, a look of lust embedded in his dark eyes. “I don’t get a goodbye kiss, baby doll?”

You instantly scoffed, widening your eyes at his sudden outburst.

“Carter, what the hell? You’re my brother’s friend. I just thought you and I were good friends.” You pointed out with a disgusted expression as you folded your arms over your petite chest.

He chuckled dryly, his tongue coming in contact with his bottom lip.

Baby, you told me Carl wasn’t here, then led me up to your room. To me, that seems like you wanted to mess around.” He replied with no remorse in his tone, seductively grazing his finger tips along the smooth, exposed skin of your lower abdomen.

You instantly furrowed your eyebrows, pursing your full lips angrily at the audacity he had appeared to expose towards you.

“I was only being nice. I wasn’t trying to sleep with you, dumbass. You’re a year younger than me.”

He laughed at your comment, “What? You like older guys? Shit, what do they have that I don’t?”

He forcefully grabbed your waist, pulling you against his body hungrily.

Even though he was younger, he was much more stronger than you which was an astonishment to you.

“Carter, fucking stop.” You hissed through gritted teeth, suddenly feeling his rough lips against yours.

Abruptly, you heard several loud knocks at the door causing you to jump out of your skin.

“I need to answer the door.” You growled impatiently, clawing his chest in order for him to release you.

“One more kiss.” He suggested with an arrogant smirk, placing more kisses along your lips that were moist from his salvia.

Once you gave in and kissed him back, you heard whistling that was familiar to you.

Rick! Where the fuck are you, prick?”

Negan.

Your stomach instantly churned from nervousness and excitement.

“Oh my god, Negan.” You muttered in fright, motioning for him to get off you.

Your door slung open where Negan was welcomed to a guy with his hands all over you.

“N-Negan.” You gasped in embarrassment causing Carter to instantly bolt towards the door until Negan stopped him by pressing the very tip of Lucille against his skull.

“Well, damn baby girl, I was stopping by to greet your father and his minion’s, but realize they’re gone and I find you instead with a boy up in hands all over that irresistible, little body. Do you know how fucking pissed that makes me? Or how pissed your daddy’o would be?” He pressed Lucille against Carter’s skull once more, lifting his head with the bat higher.

“Man, I’m sorry. I’ll leave. Please let me go.” Carter pleaded with tears in his eyes from the fear of what Negan was capable of.

Negan chuckled in amusement, “What a pussy. (Y/N), baby, why would you want a little boy like this when you can have a man?”

Your heart fluttered with anxiety as you watched the scenario play before your eyes. “Negan, just let him go.”

As much as you couldn’t stand Carter, you didn’t want to see him die in humiliation in front of the two of you.

A chuckle escaped his mouth as a smirk formed along his pink lips. “Fine. Asshole, go sit outside on the porch. I’ll meet you in a bit out there and we’ll have a little chat.”

Carter instantly bolted out the door where Negan stood, placing his weight onto Lucille as his eyes skimmed over your figure lustfully.

“You know, Negan, I don’t want him,” You began as you bit your lower lip shyly.

He watched in amazement, a smirk laying upon his lips. “Why’s that?”

“Guys my age don’t know how to treat me, but I know you could.”

He smirked devilishly, his large gloved hand caressing your rosy cheek.

“Princess, I can do many, many damn things that a little boy couldn’t do for you.”

Your heart pounded anxiously as he wrapped his arms around your tiny waist, beginning to tease you by barely pressing his lips against yours.

“Do you want me to show you? You know, if you’re agreeable to it.” He inquired, slouching back with his usual smirk.

“I do.” You purred, allowing him to drop you onto your desk.

He wrapped your legs around his waist as his lips greeted yours sensually, his fingers tangling in your thick locks of hair.

“Negan.” You gasped in satisfaction causing him to place his finger against your lips to make you silent.

“Wait, that little bitch..Carter, is it?” He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion as he waited for a reply.

“He’s waiting out there for a chat and Lucille is thirsty.” You watched as a twisted smirk toyed upon his lips as he gripped Lucille, walking out of your bedroom.

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Lust Spilt from Mason Jars

Painting was Levi’s worst habit.

He wished he could stop painting the blues and greens of those ocean irises and sunkissed skin sitting vulnerably in front of him. He wished he could stop, but he knows that he can’t. He was in too deep - too addicted to those chocolate mocha curls, the defined muscles that curved and mended his body, the bonfire scent that never failed to stimulate and heighten his senses, the raspy morning voice that seemed to always tumble out through those lustrous looking lips. He was hooked - completely enraptured and addicted to this man. And none of it was his to own. This man was a desire made to be off limits.

Eren was like an endangered species, a rare and exotic mammal worshipped and praised in a world filled with power thirsty men. He was the branches of the tropical trees reaching for the rich, moist air of the Amazon rain forest - the dew drops slipping off the fresh, greenery leaves and into the rich soil of the Earth. He was the desperate intake of air when rising from the depths of Washington’s freezing waters. He was an area of unknown wonders. An area of vast curiosity. A mystery.

On the other hand, Levi was - well he was the crumpled piece of paper at the bottom of his plastic blue dented trash can. The plastic blue dented trash can in his overcrowded room of pencil shavings and unfinished canvases. He was the smeared smoky watercolors staining the cold concrete flooring of his studio, the sketchy amateur lines inscribed into the massive piles of sketchbooks on his overly cramped desk of spilt mason jars and matted paint brushes. He was an uncompleted mess of cheap clutter - a hoarder, a waste of space.

He wished he could limit the amount of hours that he spent in his studio painting and perfecting those colors flourishing in his eyes, trying to convey the same range of sea green and cerulean blues swimming behind those thick black lashes.

There was just something about those sultry eyes staring back at him all posed and lazy on the stupid old rickety stool he bought from a yard sale but never had the guts to get rid of. He was a true hoarder of the meaningless things, the things that were never picked up by outstretched hands for their cheap outlook. Just like him. Cheap and meaningless.

He looked down at his canvas and cleared his dry throat, his eyes reverting back to the model posed in front of him. He wanted to paint this otherworldly man in red - in the color of passion and lust. He wanted to be the air filling Eren’s lungs that filtered through his body with every intake and exhale leaving his nose. He wanted to be the six hundred dollar trench coat clenched loosely in his white collared fingers just so he could feel him mold around the crevices of his naked skin and drown in his sweltering heat. He wanted to invade every inch of space between Eren’s widespread legs dressed in ripped light washed cutoffs so he could watch their shadows play out the joint connection of their bodies moving and joining in sweet ecstasy. He wanted to be painted in his red.

Levi took in Eren’s full parted lips letting out wisps of generous breaths and listened to the labored breathing of his healthy lungs tumbling through his smooth fleshy pink lips, completely entranced by his caramel chiseled chest slowly inhaling and exhaling. He swallowed.

“Something the matter, Levi? You look…distracted.”

Levi licked his lips and lifted his eyes to settle on Eren’s sculpted jawline and sharp nose. He didn’t want to risk looking into his tantalizing glare. He didn’t want to be tempted by the golden treasures lost at deep sea.

“No…I was…um-” He tsked and furrowed his thin brows in annoyance. Why wasn’t he able to speak? He was a fucking thirty year old man. Not a blubbering fifteen year old.

“Taking a short break?” Eren offered, his voice low, gruff, and dangerously husky.

Levi tightened his sweaty fingers around the paintbrush in his hand and shifted his eyes onto his canvas. “I…” He swallowed and licked his dry lips. Why was it so hard to speak to him today?

When he heard the familiar creaking of the stupid old rickety stool and the soft padding of Eren’s bare feet on the smoky water colored concrete flooring of his studio, Levi felt his heart clench and punch against his ribcage. Fuck.

“Levi.”

No, I’m not…I can’t-

Mr. Ackerman.” He whispered.

Levi felt his cheeks redden. Why did he have to go and say shit like that? There was a reason to why he told him not to call him by that, and it was specifically for this reason. He scrunched his nose up. The little shit was probably doing it on purpose.

“We should continue this tomorrow,” Levi muttered, quickly putting away his utensils and color palettes. “You have a meeting in thirty minutes anyways.” He continued, his voice calm and collected. The complete opposite to what he was feeling on the inside.

“Then I’ll cancel it.”

Levi deepened the furrow of his eyebrows and gnawed on his lip. “Well, Hanji is supposed to be coming-” He started before Eren grabbed his chin and turned his face to look at him, his eyes meeting his in an instant.

Shit.

Levi let out a sharp breath and felt his cheeks burn tremendously as Eren’s thumb caressed his bottom lip, continuing to keep their eyes on each other as Eren slowly pulled down his lip. Just when he was starting to lean down, Levi freaked out and moved to grab onto his portable cart of paint to back away from him, but instead pulled it down with him. He panicked and fell out of his stool, spilling all of his bottles of paint onto him and on the floor in all kinds of colors. Levi cursed and wiped a good amount of paint from his eyes as he stared down at the mess he made. Why was he always like this? It was like his whole life was born to be a mess from the very beginning.

Just as he was about to sit up, Eren’s warm hands grasped onto his face and pushed him back down onto the floor, climbing over his body. Levi could feel the spilt paint seeping into his hair and clothes and clenched his jaw. He felt filthy. Disgusting.

He should be getting up to get a change of clothes and jumping into the shower right this second, but with the presence of Eren over his body, he thought otherwise. Besides, he hardly ever got the chance to be this close to Eren and still have the ability to get away with it. It was like a blessing - as if he was in the presence of a deity, a god.

Levi pressed his paint covered hands on Eren’s bare chest and pushed. “What do you think you’re doing?” He asked, trying not to focus on how Eren’s hot skin felt under his cold palms. “I will not be responsible for replacing your expensive fucking pants if you end up getting paint on them.”

Eren chuckled. “I don’t plan on it. Besides…” He started, briefly looking down at Levi’s painted lips before he inched down and brushed his mouth over Levi’s, purposefully coating his lips in a dark shade of blue.

“I don’t mind getting dirty.”

queen-max  asked:

You know I can't resist your writing. I'm going to go with the obvious. Silver and Flint for 34.

@ellelan asked for the same. :)

“It’s not like I missed you or anything.”


The knock on his door had come out of the blue, but Flint would have been lying if he said he hadn’t spent many long hours picturing this exact moment in excruciating detail, in infinite forms, hoping for it and then trying his best to keep those hopes small and tempered. And yet, here they were: Flint stepping aside as his former quartermaster hopped past him into his dingy little hallway, as though not a day had passed since they had shared a cabin and a ship and a crew. Silver looked almost unchanged from the last time Flint had seen him. A little cleaner, perhaps, and more well-groomed, just, but looking as though he had simply stepped out of Flint’s memories like a ghost of a past life. Flint wondered, just briefly, whether he might be having some sort of funny turn after all, and what it might suggest that this is what his mind had chosen to conjure. But then Silver stopped and turned to face him, and Flint could see the faint smattering of freckles on his nose, and could smell the salt air clinging to his clothes, and he knew that those were vivid details beyond the capacity of even his wild imagination.

“You look different,” Silver said, at exactly the same moment that Flint said, “You look the same.”

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2

Bloom

70

I’d decided to book a week off work, with no ulterior motive than to just have some time off. Just giving myself a little room to breathe, some time to clear my head, to relax and immerse myself in having no worries and doing absolutely nothing; to be blissfully un-busy.
By the Monday afternoon I was bored.

I was stood looking around my flat in silence, arms folded, bottom lip extended, and it was only in that moment that I realised being un-busy didn’t really suit me. Not anymore. Maybe when I was younger, it was fine, but after having a full-time job and living on my own had awoken this need in me to actually keep myself busy.

“Well fuck.” I mumbled to myself. “This is rubbish.”

I’d made such a fuss about taking the time off. Dave had once again been reluctant, but I’d fought another battle and he’d finally caved. I couldn’t ring up and just be like I’ve changed my mind because he’d laugh and get smug, and I’d spend the rest of the week at that sat at that desk being utterly miserable.
I needed to try and make the most of this time off.
I picked up my phone and clicked on my recent calls, finding Harry’s name within seconds and then pressing it, holding the phone up to my ear and praying he’d be free. The rest of the gang were at work, Mo was working, and Harry was one of my final hopes.
He answered pretty quickly.

“Hey, you.” His tender voice called.

“Hi! You okay?”

“I’m great, how are you?”

“I’m alright, but I’m bored. I booked a week off work and I have no idea why. I’m like… four hours in and I’m bored out of my mind.”

He released a low chuckle, a slight shuffling sound pushing through my speakers, and I could picture his dimpled smile perfectly.

“You regretting it?” He asked.

“Well, that depends. Are you working?”

“No, um, I’m working the weekend so I have today and tomorrow off. You wanna do something?”

“I need to do something.”

“So you’re using me for entertainment?”

“Are you complaining?” I raised my brows.

“Not at all.”

I smiled down to the floor, blushing somewhat, pleased that he didn’t mind that he was now on my list of people who I wanted to spend my time with. Harry was happy that I was choosing him to keep me occupied; to extinguish my boredom.

“Good. You better not be.” I cooed. “So, what can we do?”

“I was thinking the other day, about the book you got me for Christmas. I was looking through it. I still love it, by the way.”

“Good, I’m glad.”

“But I was also thinking… you never took me down to that bookstore. Where you got it from. You said you would.”

“I did.” I giggled.

“So let’s go, and we’ll take the day from there.”


71

I was looking at Harry rather than looking at the literature.
His eyes were glistening as he glanced over the words of a giant book he’d picked out, something historical that looked ridiculously complicated and ridiculously heavy.
But he looked so happy.
Stood among the poetry and wonder of the written word, Harry Styles looked exquisitely blissful, his smile affectionate, his curls defined, eyes alight and heart heavy. He looked wonderful. Truly beautiful.
I concentrated on his large hands as he flicked through a few more pages, running his hands down the paper and inhaling the scent of the book in his hands and those that surrounded him.
The bookstore was tiny, and every single shelf looked like it could fall apart at any second under the weight of the books they’d homed. Every single inch of the place needed painting, or at least dusting, but it was perfect. It felt like home whenever I walked in. Dodging down those tiny little aisles and searching for hidden treasures was one of my favourite things to do.
Harry seemed to be enjoying it too.

“I need this book.” He sighed wistfully. “But we have entire day planned, and it’s just gunna weigh me down, isn’t it?”

“It looks heavy.”

“It’s pretty fucking heavy.” He nodded, placing it back on the shelf. “I’ll have to come back another day. I hope it’s not gone.”

“It won’t be. I’m pretty sure Arthur only has about ten people who come in here. He knows everyone by name. He’s great.”

“Well, I need to meet him.”

“You do. C’mon.”

I instinctively took his hand in mine, pulling him towards the back of the store, whispering a timid curse to myself when I noticed Harry tightened his fingers around my hand. I thought back to when we’d shared a taxi just over a week ago, and found our fingers intertwining, and it had felt like the most normal thing in the world.
It didn’t feel normal in the light of day without a drink in me. I could tell that it was weird that I’d just naturally take his hand in mine and think barely anything of it. I found that my fingers wove through his like silk, our touches easing together.
And even though I was silently cringing as I dragged him in the right direction, wondering how we’d ended up being that way together, I still didn’t want to pull my hand from his. I liked that I could feel his thumb rubbing against my skin, like a silent comfort. I liked that my hand was stretched to suit the size of his grasp.
I liked everything about it.

“Arthur!” I yelled gently.

We stood behind the tiny counter at the back, our hands still linked, and a few moments later he pottered through the back door, his glasses falling off the end of his nose before he pushed them back up, bringing the two of us into focus.

“Florence!” His smile grew with the word. “Where’ve you been?”

“I’ve been busy, but I’ve still been raving about this place, don’t worry.” I giggled. “I brought a friend of mine. This is Harry.”

Harry automatically reached his hand across the counter to the frail man, who reached back, and his smile warmed my soul.

“Nice to meet you, sir.” Harry greeted.

“I can’t remember the last time someone called me sir.” Arthur chuckled, gently shaking his hand.

“I told Harry all about this place. He’s been very eager to visit.”

“You have a lovely store.” Harry returned his hand to his side, squeezing my own hand with his other. “It’s a great collection.”

“Thank you. I’m very glad you like it. What’s your name again, sorry?”

“Harry.”

“And are you Florence’s boyfriend?”

“No!” He replied quickly, the two of us speedily tearing our touch apart. “We’re just um… We’re good friends.”

Arthur let out a soft snigger, shaking his head at the two of us. I glanced up to Harry, seeing the quizzical look in his eyes, and the sweet smile on his lips.

“Yeah, I’ve read enough novels to know how that turns out.” Arthur finally said.

“You must have been reading some cheesy novels.” I tried to diminish the weight of the words he’d just said.

“All the great novels are.” He concluded.

Freckles of pink were blooming in Harry’s cheeks, a meadow of flushed roses crafting upon his soft skin as he looked towards his feet, bashful and giddy over just a few words.
My stomach bounced watching him.
My head ached watching him.
I’d told myself that I wanted to enter this new stage of our friendship with an open mind and an open heart, but it still felt completely bizarre when my stomach would flip over such minor tremors in his body, how sometimes even just a few words from his lovely lips could make my heart beat a little harder. It wasn’t a feeling I was accustom to. Watching him often felt like watching the sunset. This feeling that was overwhelming, consuming, magnificent and warm, like his splendid glow could illuminate every single person within reach of his light.
No one else had that effect on me. I knew that.

“Uh, I… It was lovely to meet you.” Harry choked, snapping me back to reality as I turned to look away from him. “I’m sure I’ll see you very soon.”

“Have a lovely day.” He wished.

“Thanks again, Arthur.” I said, gradually turning on my heel.

It was like I felt like being outdoors would clear my head, like I could just forget Arthurs knowing snigger and that Harry would no longer feel like a warm sunset, but just like every other person in my life. I thought being outside would wash away those couple of minutes that had made me feel so weird and flustered. I felt like I’d gotten lost in a world I wasn’t familiar with, maybe one of the worlds from one of the surrounding novels.
But when I finally got outside, I turned to watch Harry quickly following, his cheeks still pink.
It was my universe.
They were my feelings.
Accompanied by the sound of seagulls, and the boats that were pulled into the docks on my left hand side, I began marching down the street, thinking I was moving with speed, but it took no effort for Harry to keep up with me. Harry and his stupid, long legs.

“You alright?” He asked me.

I knew he’d pick up on something, because Harry was used to slowing his pace down to accommodate for me. I was running away again, like I always did, but I was trying to keep it discrete.

“I’m fine.” I shuddered, not turning to face him.

“You sure?”

Suddenly, I stopped, halting abruptly and taking a few deep breaths, forcing myself to just take a moment and calm down, because I was getting worked up.
Harry came and stood ahead of me, his brows creased as he looked down to me.

“My sisters having an engagement party next month.” I gasped.

“Right?”

“I don’t think I’m gunna go.” I focused my gaze on the ground.

“Why?”

“What the fuck has she ever done for me?”

I was taking one emotion and twisting it into another. I had been completely dumbfounded by those unfamiliar thoughts of Harry, and I couldn’t deal with them. So, I altered where my thoughts were, turning his potion into poison and conjuring up the thought of my sister.

“What?” Harry was completely thrown off course by my tone.

“She hasn’t ever done anything for me.” I was shaking. “And-and we’re not even close. I want her to feel fucking miserable when I don’t show, because she’s never done anything for me.”

I was working myself into a frenzy, barely pausing to breathe as I rushed through my words, barely even noting what I was saying. I just felt like I needed to say something; anything to take my mind to somewhere new.

“I think she’d be upset, if you didn’t show, Ren.” Harry spoke gently.

“Good!” I cried. “I want her to be upset!”

“Is that the type of person you’re gunna be? Really? The type of person who repeats hurtful actions rather than loving ones?”

I raised my head and looked at him, noticing that my bitter words had clearly left a bad taste in his mouth.
The girl stood in front of him wasn’t the girl he knew.
She wasn’t someone I knew, either.
Throughout all the years of being beaten down by my family, I’d never let it grow into a resentment. I’d never let it develop into something where I felt the need to beat them down, too.

“I… I dunno.” I finally breathed.

“You shouldn’t want to stoop to her level, Ren. You’ve always made a conscious effort to rise above that bullshit. Don’t change now! Don’t mimic her! Your only intention here is to hurt her, and that’s not you! I know it’s not.”

He was desperately trying to get through to me, trying to push out this weird anger that had just forced itself upon me.

“I… I don’t want to hurt anyone.” I muttered.

“Then don’t hurt her. You… You should go. Do what you’ve always done and rise above it. I know it must be easy, for me to say that,” He sighed. “But you… You’re an amazing person, Ren. I admire you, genuinely. Stay true to yourself, please. You’ve come so far.”

I nodded, swallowing harshly, feeling sad that I’d let an anger fall over me and be the most prominent feeling I had.
I knew I’d never been good at handling my emotions, but in that moment, I completely lost myself, just in an attempt not to deal with something that I was feeling.

“Will you come with me?” I asked him.

“Huh?”

“To-to her engagement-do? It’s okay if you don’t want to, but, you made things easier over Christmas. And I’m guessing it’ll be the first time I see my mum and dad since. So, I dunno. I think I’d just like it if you were there.”

He was silent for a while, rubbing the back of his hand over one of his tired eyes.
Suddenly, all I could think about was if he’d had another tough night, another evening of restless sleep, and no one there to comfort him.

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” He huffed. “I mean, they think we’ve broke up. Wouldn’t it be weird?”

My eyes went wide, my fingers finding the material of my coat and pulling on it, mumbling to myself a little before I managed to blurt out a sentence.

“Uh… Well… The thing is… I actually never told my parents we broke up.” His head whipped to me as soon as I said that. “I just… I never got round to it… Or… Fuck it, I just didn’t want to tell them. I wanted them to think we were still together.”

I watched a smile force itself upon his lips, and a few seconds later he just burst out laughing, turning on his heel and marching in the other direction, running a hand through his hair and shaking his head.

“What?” I cried, doing a little jog to catch up with him. “What?”

I looked up to the side of his face, his dimple digging into his cheek and his nose beginning to crinkle, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“It’s just funny.” He shrugged. “Because I never told my parents we split up either.”


72

I could tell that Harry was smug about the fact that he was sat on the opposite side of the bar than he usually was, Louis shaking his head at the two of us as he made us a second lot of cocktails, once again, free of charge.
Harry had a smirk etched into his face the entire time.

“I’m gunna slap you!” Louis scalded.

Why?” Harry played innocent.

“You’re very pleased with yourself, aren’t you? That you’re not working and I am.”

“It’s just fun! I never come into work unless I’m actually working. I like it.”

“I fucking don’t.”

Louis and Harry could have been mean to each other all night, and it would still be painfully obvious how much they cared for each other. Louis had been one of the few people that Harry trusted when it came to his dreams, and that made me like him automatically. I had met Louis a few times, and of course I liked him anyway, but that fact merely increased how highly I thought of him.
He gave Harry the middle finger, but it was still ridiculously endearing.

“How’ve you been, Ren?” He turned to me, lifting his eyebrows, very suggestive.

It was a little strange, knowing that whenever our friends saw us spending time together, they would automatically predict we were getting back together. Whenever one of them gave me a look, like the one Louis just had, I really wanted to burst and tell them that we’d never been together. I was trying to figure out how I felt about Harry, and I could have really done with being able to do that without my friends and his friends eyeing our every move. It seemed to put all of our movements under a magnifying glass, and when I was trying to keep things realistic and simple, I didn’t like my feelings and my actions being amplified by others.

“I’ve been good. How have you been, Louis?”

“Other than having to work with this horrible bastard,” He gestured towards Harry. “I’ve been pretty good.”

“And you’re not feeling even just a little bit sad that you’re not on this side, drinking with us?” I smirked, batting my eyelashes.

“You’re as bad as each other you two!” He slammed our drinks in front of us. “I gotta go serve. I’ll be back in a minute. And you both better start being nice to me!”

He scurried off to his left, attending to a woman who was leaning across the bar, probably just in the hope of being a little closer to him, squishing her breasts together and smiling dumbly.
It didn’t surprise me when I saw Louis pass over his card to her after preparing her order.

“Today was good.” Harry smiled, drawing my eyes back to him. “Will you be bored tomorrow, too? We could do something.”

“You not bored of me?” I raised my brows.

“That’s never gunna happen.”

Once again, I found my head dropping, unable to look him in the eye as I giggled to myself, overcome by his aura once again.
I just wasn’t used to boys looking at me in the way that Harry did. I wasn’t used to having a boy watch me with low eyes and a huge smile, or the way he always sat close to me, held himself as close as possible. I was used to either being a temporary interest to a charmless male, or a despondent sidepiece to a boy who didn’t really care about me.
When Harry looked at me and said certain things, sometimes it felt otherworldly.
I looked back up, finally thinking up a suitable comeback which could get a laugh out of him and make it easier to ignore how flustered I’d become, but the words died in my mouth.
I watched as a girl came and tapped Harry on the shoulder, inviting him to turn and see her, and she was quite the sight.

“Sorry for interrupting, but don’t you work here?” She asked him.

“Uh… Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“I’ve seen you before.” She took it upon herself to sit in the seat beside him. “You look different with your hair down.”

“I hope that’s a compliment.” Harry turned so he wasn’t just facing me, accepting the girls company.

She had these beautiful, giant blue eyes, long blonde hair that reached almost down to her hips, and the friendliest smile in the world. Even I felt a little captivated by her. I wouldn’t have blamed Harry if he’d opted to completely turn away from me.

“It’s definitely a compliment. Even though, you look good with your hair up, too.”

I could feel that my hands were forming into a fist, a large intake of air pushing into my nostrils, and I turned away from the interaction. I almost felt sick.

“Uh, thank you.” Harry nodded.

“So, I saw you hand one of those cards out the other night,” She continued, leaning a little closer. “Does that mean you’re single?”

I glanced to her again, annoyed because she was being ridiculously polite and she seemed frustratingly lovely and yet I still felt like telling her to fuck off. I couldn’t even understand what was happening, other than the fact that I hated the thought of him handing his number out, and I hated the thought of this girl speaking to him in the way she was.
And I hated the thought of Harry sleeping with some girl that he didn’t even care about.
Because this was how I imagined it had gone. He’d been in a bar, maybe he’d even been working, and some random girl had approached him and flirted with him, and put her body on his, and he’d accepted her affections. He’d accepted them so openly that he’d lost his virginity to her, probably without her knowledge that it wasn’t a meaningless one night stand to him. He’d lost something within a woman who wasn’t aware of what she was taking, and I hated that.
I really fucking hated it.

“Uh, yeah.” Harry eventually answered, seemingly slightly uncomfortable as he cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’m single.”

“Then, can I have one of those cards?” She questioned.

I looked away again, raising my glass upward and putting the tip of the straw in my mouth, noticing from the corner of my eyes as Harry leant forward slightly, reaching into the back pocket of his jeans to retrieve a card for her.
My hands started to shake.
I completely looked away, glancing down to the other side of the bar, seeing the faces of happy drinkers who weren’t fazed by this girl. Fuck, I shouldn’t have been fazed by her, but I was. I didn’t want to think about all the reasons I was bothered by her, because it was too overwhelming for me to handle, but she was really fucking bothering me, and if I thought for a second that I had a single leg to stand on, I would have asked her to leave him alone.

“I’ll call you.” I heard her say. “What’s your name?”

“Harry.”

“I’m Genevieve.”

“Nice to meet you.” He mumbled.

“I hope to see more of you soon.”

I plucked up the courage to look again, watching as she walked away, checking back over her shoulder to shoot him one last friendly smile, and then she went to join her friends again.
Harry ran a hand through his hair before twisting on his chair again to face me, and he seemed a little stuck for something to say.

“She was pretty.” I squeaked, my voice unnaturally high, my eyes on my drink.

“Ren-”

“But I’m sure you’re used to it. Handing out your card. Must be a nice confidence boost.”

“Look at me.”

“You must really-”

“Ren, look at me!” He almost yelled.

I turned to face him, biting my tongue and trying not to scrunch my nose, watching him look at my face and figure out my exact emotion.

“What?” I asked.

“Are you jealous?”

“No.” I didn’t know I was lying, but I was.

“If I had known you were going to get jealous, I wouldn’t have done that.”

“I’m not jealous.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong!” I squawked. “I’m fine!”

“You’re a terrible liar!” He half laughed. “Are you jealous? Just tell me!”

“I don’t know!” I yelped. “I don’t know how I feel!”

I could feel myself getting worked up and frustrated, but then I saw him smiling, this huge grin popping his lips upwards, the feeling began to wash away.

“You’re jealous.”

“Why is that funny to you?”

“Just… You. You’re jealous about me with someone else. I… I didn’t think I’d ever see the day.”

“It doesn’t mean anything!” I argued.

“It means something.” He fought back. “I don’t know what, exactly. Not yet. But it means something.”

“It’s just rude to flirt like that when you have company.” I shrugged, still reluctant to accept that I’d felt a large dosage of jealousy.

“Then I won’t do it again.” He was still grinning like a fool. “I’ll focus all my flirting on you, if that’s what you want.”

“Don’t be stupid, Harry.”

“Okay.” He held his hand up in surrender. “Whatever you say.”

I’d given Harry another reason to be smug, because as much as I was denying it, not just to him but to myself, I was exceptionally jealous about that girl, and how she’d spoke to him, and how she’d acted with him, and the fact that he’d willingly handed over his number in the way he had.
I stirred my drink with straw, whispering my next statement, because maybe I didn’t fully want him to hear it.

“I don’t think I have any right to be jealous.”

He reached out to me, taking my hand and wrapping his own around it, and his touch managed to sooth the shakes that I’d had since she approached him.

“Don’t let anyone, or anything, convince you that the way you feel isn’t justified.” He soothed.

With a deep inhale, I nodded, wondering why everyone in my life was having to teach me how I should deal with my emotions. I’d become so accustom to running from them, so used to looking the other way and simplifying intricate things.
But the main thing was that I was taking all those lessons on board, and even if my progress was slow, things were finally starting to sink in. That was what mattered the most to me.


73

“How many days until Christmas?” Harry asked me as we turned onto my street.

“What?” I laughed, buttoning up my coat now that the wind was crashing into us directly.

“How many days until Christmas?”

“I don’t bloody know!” I laughed. “Loads. Why?”

“I wanna sing Fairytale of New York to you.”

“Oh god. I don’t wanna hear it.”

“Yes you do!” He objected. “Don’t lie! I know you loved it.”

I had loved it, though I didn’t really want to tell him that, and it was only the 20th of March for crying out loud. I wasn’t ready to hear that bloody song yet.
Even if it was Harry drunkenly trying to sing the words again.
Neither of us were too drunk, but I knew Harry had consumed enough that he would be able to get a decent night’s sleep, and I liked that. He deserved to have a lovely night’s sleep.
I felt like maybe Harry deserved a lot of things he didn’t have.

“You’re a fool.” I told him.

“What are we doing tomorrow?” He asked next.

“Who said we’re doing anything?” I cried.

“Me. I demand that we spend the day together.”

“You demand?” I cried.

“Yes. I demand.”

I laughed to myself as I held the door open for him, letting him inside my building again.
I’d told him I’d be fine getting home on my own, but once again, Harry had been pretty insistent that he got me home and made sure I was safe. I rolled my eyes, but I didn’t fight it, just asked if we could walk. Maybe I just wanted a bit of extra time with him.
We took the few flights of stairs, and suddenly we’d ran out of words. It must have been one of the first times all day that I’d struggled for something to say. Even when I’d been overwhelmed by my feelings and even when I’d gotten jealous of that girl, I’d still managed to blurt something out, because speaking to Harry was incredibly easy for me.
Even though we weren’t speaking, I noticed as we wandered up the stairs, that he was still smiling, and I smiled in return.
We reached my floor too quickly, our wonderful day together coming to an end, and even though I hadn’t actually said I’d spend the next day with him, I couldn’t help but think that as soon as I awoke, I would call him and make some kind of plan with him.

“Thank you, for today.” I spoke quietly as we walked down the corridor.

“Ren, can you just… stop… for a minute? Please?”

Suddenly his tone had dropped, and his smile was gone. The seriousness in his voice made my stomach churn, but I did as he asked. I stopped, standing still and turning to face him, seeing the way he closed the gap between us, his eyes down to his feet, moving his body closer to mine.
I took a few steps back, shuddering under the intense atmosphere, almost collapsing as he lifted his head and focused his eyes against mine.

“What’s wrong?” I whispered.

“I need to know how you feel.”

“Wh-what?”

“Ren, if you feel anything for me, please let me know.”

“Har-”

“Because if you feel something for me, then I want to do this differently.”

I distanced even more, my back crashing against the wall behind me, but Harry pushed ever closer, the front of his body almost greeting mine as I looked up into his olive eyes, his face sombre.

“Do what differently?”

“If you feel something for me, then I want to do this properly. I want to… take you out on a date. I want to… know that I can hold your hand when we walk down the street together. Fuck, I want to hold your hand all the time.”

“You do?” I trembled.

“If this is just a friendship, that’s fine… But, it feels like it’s not. It really fucking feels like there’s something here, and if there is then I want to do this properly. I need to know how you feel. Please tell me how you feel.”

My breathing was coming out in harsh pants, desperate to run again, but I think that’s why he cornered me. He knew me well enough that if I could just walk away from it, I would. So he didn’t let me.
He raised his hand, cupping my cheek with his large hand, running his thumb under my eye and waiting for me to say something to him, to open up and tell him how I felt.

“I-I’m confused.” I nudged my cheek further into his touch.

“I feel like the only reason you’re confused about this, is because you’re still convinced that I don’t want you. Well, I’m here, now, and I’m telling you I do. I do want you.”

I told him that I would do this, that I would accept this new stage of our friendship, but I think one of the reasons I was still in confused, and hesitant, was because I had convinced myself that Harry wouldn’t feel anything towards me. As much as I was trying to grow, it still didn’t seem right to me that a boy like Harry could want a girl like me. I hadn’t let myself truly see that as an option.
Not until that very moment.
He was there, edging closer and closer to me, so close I could feel his breath against my lips. He was rubbing soothing circles over the skin on my face, and he was telling me he wanted me. He didn’t want a fake relationship with me, he didn’t just want the girl who comforted him in the middle of the night when he was scared.
He wanted me.

“Can… Can we go inside, please?” I quaked. “Can we go inside and talk about this? Just… sit down and talk about everything?”

“Fuck, Ren… I don’t want you to think I’m trying to rush you. I’m not trying to rush you, fuck. I just want… fuck.”

“You’re not rushing me.” I moved my hand, lacing my fingers through the hair on the back of his head. “It’s fine. Let’s… Let’s just go and talk.”

He nodded, biting his bottom lip before he finally pulled away from me, distancing our lips once more, and I wasn’t entirely sure how I felt about it.
I smashed my head back against the wall, trying to find the stamina to move and follow him as he made his way towards the door to my flat, running his hand through his hair. I stayed in my spot and watched him, clearly trying to soothe his racing mind, rolling his shoulders before he reached out for my door handle.

“Ren, you didn’t fucking lock it again.” He managed to chuckle.

That made me laugh too, finally feeling normal enough to distance from the wall and walk the small distance down towards him.

“Woops.” I giggled.

“You’re such-”

I watched his face drop as soon as he pushed the door fully open, standing on the outside and looking into my flat with dead eyes.
I stopped myself still, just seeing his reaction.

“What’s wrong?” I gasped.

“Ren… I… Fuck.”

I quickly ran to his side, panicked as I approached him and turned, looking into my flat in the same way he was.
It wasn’t hard to miss what had made him react that way.
It was easier to see how trashed the place was at first, how things were strewn all over the hall, my TV shattered on the floor beside my door.
I took a step inside, slowly turning to look into my living room.
That’s when it became clear that most of my possessions, the ones that were easy enough to carry, were missing.
That’s when it became clear that my complete ineptness had resulted in my flat being burgled.

youtube

New video up on how I achieve these super defined bouncy curls without heat!

Naïveté

pycame asked: For the request thing: RusAme based on “But It’s Better If You Do” by Panic! at the Disco music video or just the lyrics? You decide. (Love your Reincarnation RusAme by the way!)

Thank you so much!! I’m glad you liked it! So this is indeed based on the video, the beginning of it modified and with more backstory. Set in about the 70s (in a universe and time when male/gay strip clubs were not *officially* criminal, but any excuse would be good enough to raid such a place, to go with the video). (This is kind of angsty/unhappy, more so at the beginning - I get sappier towards the end).

Warnings: uhm, not a lot in this one tbh, some slightly sexual themes but nothing explicit.


“Alfred, I’m in a meeting,” Ivan hissed into the payphone, trying not to let his temper rise and attract attention. He looked up, the only light the old streetlamps above him. “It’s running late. I don’t know when I’ll be-”

“Do you even try any more? Or are you gonna get married to your goddamn business?”

“Alfred-” Ivan sighed, wanting nothing more than to slam the receiver into its place and find forgettance at the bottom of a glass of cheap whiskey lit red by dimmed lights.

Keep reading

curls and tufts, or: a season by season comparison of the eppes brothers’ hair

is this a thing that needed to be done? not… not as far as i know. REGARDLESS.

season one

charlie: messy, a bit haphazard. the perfect little ringlet falling over his forehead. soft-looking, glossy, but with the potential to be slightly crunchy. a good start! 8/10
don: kitten hair! shorter on the sides and in back, sticking up in front. looks like the kind of hair you could run your fingers through while you kiss him. 8/10

season two

charlie: unreal? an actual god, come to life? long, soft, luxurious, the kind of volume you can’t even imagine in your wildest dreams. those soft little curls at the front, brushing at his eyebrows, accentuating his perfect fucking face. infuriating. possibly illegal. 12/10
don: more fuzzy than fluffy this time around. like you could take your palm and rock it back and forth on his head and it would feel like brush bristles. (am… i alone in that? okay, that’s fine.) he’s clearly frustrated with charlie’s hair as well. i don’t blame you. 6/10

season three

charlie: a renaissance painter, gazing upon his latest work with dismay. the curls are tamer than season one and shorter than season two. but they look nice and soft, and the way they’re pushed back shows off his face, always a good thing. still, i’m missing the volume. 7/10
don: don no! bad don! he goes through a Lot of Stuff in season three so i can’t blame him for taking it out on his hair, but like. you did this before all the Stuff. maybe the Stuff happened because you cut your hair so short, don. don’t do it again. also your sideburns are too long. (actually looking at this again it doesn’t look nearly that bad, it’s just he looks so good with fluffy hair.) 4/10

season four

charlie: don’t look so distressed, chuck, your hair’s got more volume and more defined curls than last season, plus you’ve got that sweet little ringlet going on again. you need to know this would be a mullet if it weren’t curly, though. you’re lucky. 8/10
don: whew. it’s not the kitten hair of season one, but it’s not last season’s abomination either, so i can’t judge too harshly. a good mid-length. not much to say. 7/10

season five

charlie: the first few episodes were like season four, and then episode ten rolls around and that happens?? it’s commented on but never explained. in later episodes he styles it better than whatever wet dog, over-gelled high school mess is happening here, and by the end of the season he’s got a respectable head of curls again, but my god, charlie. never again. 1/10 but also 6/10 so… 3.5/10 for the whole season?
don: clearly don is taking up the slack when charlie’s hair falls off the wagon. in addition to a longer length all the way around, not just on top, you’ve got those soft tufts beginning to kick out from behind his ears. i have a whole analysis about how don’s hair reflects his journey as a character but i won’t go into it now. suffice to say i love this. good job don. 8/10

season six

charlie: at this point, charlie’s seen things. he’s done things. he’s tired. it’s not that he doesn’t care about his hair anymore, it’s just that it’s not as important as it used to be. the curls aren’t as defined, the style is more slicked back. not so many ringlets anymore. it’s still beautiful, it’s just. he’s got other things on his mind. 6/10
don: oh my god. those curls. that softness. that’s hair you could twist your fingers in, hair you could comb behind his ears, smooth off his forehead, bury your face in at the end of a long night. those are the curls of a man who is comfortable with himself, or at least on his way there. those are curls that say ‘i don’t need to differentiate myself from my brother so harshly any longer.’ a+ self-actualization hair. 12/10

anonymous asked:

what does 'wear her curls out' mean?? did she not already have curly hair in season 2?? i dunno, i feel like she did

almost every time you see a female character with “curly” hair, her hair’s been straightened and then run through a curling iron to change what the hair looks like naturally. naturally curly hair is more frizzy and there’s less of a defined shape than curled hair. maggie has curly hair but it’s almost always curled. when i say “wear her curls out” i mean wear it how it looks naturally.