if i was your stylist

nolongertainted  asked:

(pssst it just so happens I love chuuatsu too yo) little prompt: Atsushi loves to braid Chuuya's hair

Aw shit bOI I love them too (honestly I’m all for the soukoku square™ excluding Aku and Dazai)

“I’m supposed to be your enemy, not your hair stylist client.” Chuuya mutters, eyeing the comb in Atsushi’s hand.

“Well, we were in a temporary truce right?” Atsushi hums, “Besides, I’ve always wanted to try styling for myself…”

“Is this the ‘cycle of bad hair abuse that you received from a six year old and you felt too guilty so you just kept it’?” Chuuya raised an eyebrow.

“…” Atsushi sheepishly smiled, getting a mirror. “Your hair’s symmetrical when you wake up, I didn’t know that kind of bed head was possibl-” “Fix it. Now.” Chuuya averted his eyes from the horrifying symmetry, exhaling. “…Please.”

“You know, you don’t have to act like you hate me just because we’re ‘enemies’.” Atsushi said, brushing Chuuya back into comfortable asymmetry.

“Define enemies.”

“…Okay fair enough.” Atsushi smiled. “But it’s not like you have any reason to be hostile.” He ran the comb through, taking care of a particularly bad knot.

“I’m like this to everyone.” Chuuya rolled his eyes. “And besides I’m not used to…” He trails off, groaning at himself.

“To what?” “Y-You just…fiddling around! You took down the Guild so I figured you’d be a little more than some fluffball…” Despite the seemingly harsh words, Chuuya seemed to relax slightly under the were-tiger’s touch.

“Well not everything has to be a horrible battle.” His hands ran through Chuuya’s hair, parting it. “And you don’t always have to yell at people. So, I think it’s nice to just take a break.”

Chuuya glanced at Atsushi at the corner of his eye. “You are way too naïve, you know.” He stifles his laughter, “Hey, you’ll mess it up if you move!”

Atsushi mumbles, “And it’s not that… I guess I’m like this /because/ I know how tough life can be. Besides…” he holds up a mirror, showing a low braid with a black ribbon hair tie at the end. “Isn’t this nice?”

Chuuya stared at himself, and Atsushi’s smile. “Fine, I’ll give you that.” He smirks.

“But, we need to fix up that monstrosity, seriously, your one streak is too inconsistent…”

Mother Knows Best, Lin-Manuel Miranda x Reader

Prompt: The Oscars’ luncheon breeds a new relationship for Lin.

Words: 2,450 (Good LORD)

Author’s Note: I’ve been looking for some smaller things to write as I gear up for the write-a-thon, and Lin was tweeting about the Oscars’ Luncheon. Got a bit of an inspiration. (Y/M/N) = Your Mother’s Name. I know that some people don’t have mothers but this prompt required a parental figure. Feel free to change it to anyone you want!

Warnings: General lack of knowledge as to what happens at an Oscar Luncheon.

Askbox | Masterlist


“I’ve never even heard of this.” You sigh into your phone, your publicist trying to maintain an even and calm tone with you. “I mean, yeah, any day I get to stand in the same room as Meryl Streep you can count me in.”

“Amazing! I’ll get in touch with your stylist-” You allowed the eccentric woman to go off about a list of her duties as you boarded your subway, weaving through bodies to find an empty spot next to the handrail.

“Nothing too insane. This is a luncheon, I’m not meeting the queen.”

“This is the Oscars, Y/N! No one will be in a sweatshirt and Levis!”

You certainly wish you could be.

The past year has been a bit of a whirlwind for you - interviews and movie offers and an Oscar nomination. Everything was still very new to you - you had never even gone on a talk show until just a few months ago. A year ago you were struggling to pay rent and scraping together money to be able to feed both you and your dog.

Then a once in a lifetime chance came your way and you jumped on it before you could blink.

“You’ll need a date.”

“I’ll take my mom.” You grumbled, not necessarily looking forward to this day. All smiles and not really answering interviewer’s questions wasn’t quite how you wanted to spend a Monday morning.

“You know, a celebrity date would bode a little better. Get some headlines.”

“They’ll all read ‘Y/N’s Mother Convicted of Murder For Not Taking Her To Meet Viggo Mortensen’. I doubt that’s the kind of publicity you want.”

She spared you and signed off with a few details about changes to your schedule to fit this in. The luncheon wasn’t set for another few weeks, so you were in the clear for a moment.

The moment ended rather soon. In a swarm of press junkets and being shuttled from late show to late show, the days passed in a blink. Before you had any say, you were on a Red Eye flight to Los Angeles with your talkative mother next to you.

She could hardly contain her excitement over who she might meet, re-reading the list of nominations just to squeal over a particular name.

Ryan Gosling.” She sighed dreamily, holding her phone to her chest. You held back from telling her that she was thirty plus years his senior and allowed her a moment of pure bliss.

“Please don’t embarrass me. These are some big people and they have no idea who I am. I’d like for my first impression to not be my mom trying to make out with Ryan Gosling.”

She mumbled something about ‘letting a woman dream’ before returning to her list.

Upon landing you were met with a rush of meetings with designers and an appointment to try on clothes. You approved the first dress you tried on but your mother strutted through ten different selections before settling on one.

You decided that if you were bringing your mother to this - a woman who had supported you emotionally and financially as you chased an insane dream - you were going full-out.

Your first night in Los Angeles was spent in various exotic baths and with a gaggle of women working on your nails and hair and anything else they could get their hands on.

Your ‘date’ woke you up well before the sun, shaking your bed in excitement. Finally the people she watched on television were going to be breathing the same air as her. You laughed as she ran around the room frantically, searching for her shoes and an extra bobby pin just in case.

You were dressed in a flash and mostly sat around as your mom was glam’d up by your team. You laughed as she had her Hollywood fun, deciding that her energy was infectious and maybe this day would be as fun as she thought it would be.

Your publicist didn’t tell you that you would quite literally be diving right in. From the hotel to the car ride to the venue you only assumed there would be light mingling and drinks and food.

Pulling up, however, you were met with loud calls of your name and a sea of flashing lights. You smiled, waved, and helped your mother out of the car. An assistant to someone ran up and gave you fast paced instructions on where to stand as she escorted your mother down the carpet.

Aside from a young girl asking you to move down the line every minute or so, you were all alone. You tried to pretend like you didn’t just see Pharrell from your peripherals. You certainly tried to pretend like he wasn’t wearing a NASA sweatshirt and Levis. You smirked, noting his outfit with the full intention of bringing it up to your publicist later.

You smiled and thanked people when it was polite and posed how they asked you to. It was all rather non-confrontational and you found yourself at the end of the carpet after awhile, meeting back up with your mom. You held onto her like a security blanket.

That was when you noticed who she was talking to.

“Did you make a friend?” You asked, smiling at the stranger. Your mother did always have a knack for making friends with anyone in a five foot radius.

“Y/N, this is Luz. Her son is nominated for…” She trailed off not quite remembering.

“Best song.” She filled in, holding out her hand in a friendly greeting.

You shook it, trying to rack your brain for the list of nominees you had religiously studied.

“Your son is-”

Mama!” Came the call from a few feet away.

You looked up just in time to spot a mop of dark hair headed your way. His arm snaked around his mother’s waist as he placed a single kiss on her head.

“Sorry about that, I didn’t know they would separate us.”

“Why anyone would want to take a picture of you is beyond me.” She softly joked, causing her son to pout. “It’s fine, I’ve just been talking with (Y/M/N).” Luz gestured over to your mother and he noticed the additional bodies for the first time.

“Hi!” He grinned, eagerly reaching over to shake her hand, “I’m Lin.” His eyes glanced at you for a moment before returning to your mother. He stalled for a second, eyes immediately turning back to you.

You hadn’t noticed until now, but you were certainly gaping at him. His eyes were fixed on you, and your mothers’ shifted uncomfortably at the silence.

“My daughter-”

“Y/N.” Lin breathed. He hesitated offering his hand, not remembering when it had gotten so sweaty.

He knows your name. Be cool.

“Hi.” You answered, smiling shyly.

Well played.

“I, uh, I’m a big fan!” You added, trying to ease the tension.

“You know who I am?” He grinned as your parents stepped to the side, sharing a certain look only suspicious mothers could.

“Hard not to, you’re everywhere these days.” Your shoulders relaxed as you settled into the conversation. You walked side by side slowly, following the different signs into the venue.

“As are you.” He nodded, “Congrats on the-” He gestured to the gigantic Oscar statue you walked by, the gold shining in the sun. It was the millionth time someone had offered their congrats, but it was the first time it had hit you hard.

“Thank you.” You nearly whispered, eyes trained on the upturn of the corner of his lips, “You too. Well deserved.”

He shrugged, hands situating themselves in his pockets. He looked just like he did in every picture you had seen of him before. His face was relaxed but his eyes were shining. He had a smile that begged you to talk to him and an aura that said you were the only one that mattered.

You slowly made your way into the venue, your respective mothers waiting at the door.

“We’re at different tables, unfortunately.” Luz sighed.

“But!” Your mother cut in excitedly, “We’re just going to switch some things around. I’ll sit next to Luz and the two of you can sit together. It turns out we only live one train ride away and are on our way to becoming best friends.” Her smile had a slight edge to it, one that said ‘Just go along’.

“Sure!” Lin plucked both of your name cards from his mother’s hand, searching the venue for the correct table. “I’m sure it’s totally against the rules, but who cares?”

He lead you away to a table closer to the front. There was already an impressive spread out - despite the lack of actual people in the venue. The room was unnecessarily tall, the ceilings reaching ten times your height.

As more people began to flood your tables you found yourself sitting across from Emma Stone and her exuberant brother, who seemed to just be happy to be in the room.

Despite your company, you kept to Lin. If your mother was your security blanket, he was certainly the next best thing. You asked him about Mary Poppins, and he answered with the enthusiasm a rookie actor would about their first speaking role.

He had a very infectious energy, you realized. Soon the entire table was watching him and laughing and suddenly nobody felt like a celebrity anymore. 

Soon, speeches began and names were being called. It felt a bit like a faux-graduation. A name was called along with a list of accomplishments, which was met with polite applause as that person stood and took their spot on stage.

The whole ceremony was rather elaborate, with a dozen assistants guiding people to the right spot. Soon, Lin’s category was called and his list of accomplishments were a bit longer than most other people in the room.

You clapped a little louder than necessary, but you pinned it on the single mimosa you had drank rather than your current and ever growing crush on the man.

It took a little longer for you to make it up there. You sat embarrassed as one thing was named for your list of accomplishments, but accepted the kind applause and took your place a few rows in front of Lin.

You looked at him for support and he threw an enthusiastic thumbs up for help.

Pictures were taken and you were whisked away into rooms for interviews. Precisely thirty-four interviews in the course of four hours. Filled with simple, celebratory questions that you were able to answer with a little anecdote about Denzel Washington or something similar.

“Lin-Manuel Miranda tweeted about you-”

“Well, that’s how you know you’ve made it.” You smiled charmingly at the interviewer, who made quick work of fishing out his phone.

“Have you seen it?”

“I haven’t! My mom is holding my phone and I haven’t seen her since the lunch.” He offered you the phone, making sure it was still in shot.

@Lin_Manuel: Bit of a day. Stories soon.

The picture attached seemed to be one taken from the carpet, your first meeting with Lin. You weren’t aware pictures were being taken - and you couldn’t help but blush at the complete dumbstruck look on your face.

“He seems quite taken with you!”

“I’m sure it was my mother he was taken with. She is the smoothest talker I know.” You expertly dodged the question, knowing your publicist would have wanted you to lead them on a bit.

The questions continued without another mention of Lin, but he was the only thing on your mind. Throughout the rest of the day, actually, you continued to search the sea of ballgowns and suits for him. As the night winded down, you found yourself giving up on the idea of bumping into him again.

“Y/N!”

He was pushing through bodies towards you, eyes trained and steps determined.

“Lin, how was-”

“Can I talk to you?” He was standing a foot from you now, very aware of the eyes trained on the two of you, “Maybe somewhere private?”

You nodded as he took your hand, leading you into a dimmer hallway - not exactly private but you would have to work with what was there.

He found comfort leaning one shoulder against the wall, body close enough to where you could feel his warmth.

“I feel really stupid doing this-”

“I think a MacArthur Genius Grant would disagree-”

Can I have your number?” His words were rushed, almost undecipherable, but with your close proximity you were able to put two and two together.

“You want my number?”

He nodded, holding his phone out to you with a nervous fidget.

You immediately snatched the phone from his hands, making quick work of typing in your information and being sure it saved properly.

“I would ask for yours, but my mom has mine,” You laugh, returning the phone.

His thumbs worked across the screen quickly, a whoosh signalizing the sending of a message.

“Now you have it.”

You parted with sweet smiles and a promise to keep in touch and that ‘I’ll see you at this Oscar thing, if you haven’t texted me we are no longer friends!’ from Lin.

Meeting back up with your mother, who was dreamily staring at Viggo Mortensen from across the room, she broke her trance like state to give you a nudge with her elbow.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“You like Lin.” Was her simple response. “He likes you back.”

“Are we in the fourth grade?”

She let out a sigh before digging through her purse, placing your long-forgotten cellphone in the palm of your hand.

“Were you reading my messages?”

“Just look at it!”

You swiped your thumb across the screen, scrolling through the million messages you had missed from your publicist to find one from an unfamiliar number with a New York area code.

This is Lin! I like your daughter a lot.

“He likes you.” She tried again, this time with a more teasing tone. You didn’t try to quiet her or convince her that he didn’t. You just smiled and reread the message over and over until the only thing on your mind was ‘I like him too’.

It was enough to sustain you until the Oscars, where you spent the entire night by his side. It was enough to warrant an invitation to London where he was filming Mary Poppins. If he was energetic while speaking about it, he was a million times more energetic performing in it.

It was certainly enough for him to move all of his things into your apartment the second he was back.

Hey Kara,

Floppy? My whole life is in chaos and you choose now to rag on my hair? Harsh. Way harsh.

My hair isn’t floppy, okay? Natural curls just sit that way. I’m sure Mom could recommend a stylist if your blowouts are disappointing you.

And Mom could definitely do that, because today I got to spend almost an hour with her.

You’re right about her being banged up. Last time she was all covered by blankets, but this time I could see all the tubes and bandages, because she was sitting up a little in bed. Said she wasn’t going to lie down when she finally had a chance to talk to me.

I know you know this, Kara, but my mom really is a badass.

The agents said they’d leave us alone, but Mom gave me the look like we both knew they’d be listening in. She wanted to know where they’re moving me, what Dad has been doing, and if I’d seen any letters at the house.

So it’s okay that I told her, right? I didn’t bring the letter in case the agents found it in my bag, but Mom says she’s okay with it if you’re okay with it. I said she could write to you herself, but she got hurt in the shoulder as well as her leg so she can’t use her right arm much right now.

I think she said something about bullets. Is that true Kara? I know she’s hurt, but did someone actually shoot her? Who would want to do that?

Anyway, I don’t have long before school. So I have to relay Mom’s message to you. I wrote it in my math book so I could copy it out again, word for word:

Stop worrying, Kara. I’m perfectly fine, just inconvenienced. Thank you for sending Susan, I know she’ll look after Carter. Don’t do anything dangerous just to see me. I’ll be home before you know it.

She was so tired when I had to leave though. Mom never gets tired. I’m not supposed to worry you, but you almost always tell me the truth. If there’s any way to help my mom then I want to do it, and you can show me how.

Let me know soon. There are other heroes out there, so don’t even think about talking me out of it.

Carter Grant

anonymous asked:

i used to draw in a sort of cartoony, mildly realistic style, but recently i changed my style, and now its very cartoony. i enjoy drawing like that and my style is somehting i usually struggle with. but i feel like everyone thinks that its way less impressive and easy to do and not as good as my old style. it does take me less time to draw in my new style, but its still hard. do you have any advice on what i should do?

getting more stylistic doesnt mean that your skill is regressing ! if anything its harder to get appealing stylistic styles, you’re good

unless you’re not satisfied with your style (though it seems you are!) then you could try to change it up, but it’ll change over time whether you force it or not bc that’s improvement, yk? dont worry abt it too much

raphael: i swear if that kid ruins one more jacket…

also raphael: you need a suit here that’s my wardrobe pick whatever you want

ruinandcreationspassage  asked:

So I'm analyzing Brian Azzarello's Joker graphic novel for my Honors thesis and I see so many stylistic parallels between his work and your style. It's awesome.

NOOOOOOO! OHMIGAHD! That is…I just…I can’t even DESCRIBE how incredible a compliment that is!!!!!

*dies* I ADORE that artwork, I could just sit and stare at it for hours! *starts sobbing*The shading, the textures, the detail, like you can actually touch and FEEL the fabric in the pictures! My God, it’s incredible and I just…I can’t even compare! *squishes you FOREVER*

anonymous asked:

If I want a hairstyle similar to yours, maybe a little longer, what should I tell my stylist? I don't want to miscommunicate and end up looking like Willy Wonka 😅 also, do you ever get tired of people asking you questions about your hair? Because it seems like everyone's obsessed.

Just bring photos of whatever you want, that’s what I’ve always done in the past. 

I don’t get tired of it, I don’t really understand it haha but I’m not really annoyed or anything, it’s okay. :)

anonymous asked:

Yeah, the other anon is right! Your art is awesome. One of the reasons why I enjoy your art is because of its "scribble" stylistic, and that's definitely not a bad thing. You keep being you, chica.

Oh my gosh! Thank you so much. The “sketchy” look is what made me favor others art over mine haha
I love how clean the lines are. I can’t do that. I’ve tried 😂 but knowing that it’s what everyone likes about my art, that’s super cool. Thank you so much. ❤❤❤🐥🐥🐥

I was thinking earlier about how one perk of Living in sporadic fl weather is that all the natural disaster are always a good conversation starter with guests in the salon. Like “hi Susan I’m Madison I’m gonna be doing your shampoo for your stylist. how did your house fare in the tornado that blew through here last night? Personally I slept through it” and by the time the hype of one dies down another one happens so I can just keep doing that over and over again forever