Like Braids / Plaits? Like Beachy / Tousled Hair? Then here is the tutorial for you!
Here I show you how to create a Beachy French Plait / Braid for festivals, days out, or if your hair is just in need of a wash and you simply don’t have time for that mammoth task!
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A/N: So, I’ve made it and can’t believe it. Only took me about 4 years. ggg
This is for the February challenge “Love is …” at @loveinpanem and will most probably be a Two-Parter. The second part still needs to be finished, so no idea when that one will be published. Hopefully not in another 4 years. ;)
There would be no submission if there hadn’t been a couple of ladies and their support and help. So, thank you @thegirlfromoverthepond for your constant cheerleading and handholding. You brought me back to wirting, I never realized how much I missed it. Thank you @greetingsfromthenorthernsea for our brainstorming and all your very helpful comments. And last but not least @honeylime08 for the incredible betaing. I loved all those little comments you gave at certain parts. Without you this story would be in terrible shape. ggg
THANK YOU, ladies!
Enough now, let’s start with the story. Hope you enjoy! :)
Ever since her first lesson in mathematics back when she started school at the tender age of 6, Katniss loved to solve equations. She added, substracted, multiplied and divided. She draw graphs, she solved page long math riddles.
She loved numbers.
And even though there were people out there who thought it boring and stupefying, Katniss also loved being an accountant.
Oh, and she was good at it. It was fulfilling for her to know every aspect of her clients company, to know its monthly debits and credits to the T, to have the books clean and correct and always up to date.
No matter how chaotic or unorganised a new client was whenever they sought out her company’s help, Katniss made sure the books were up and running within a short matter of time.
Tax authorities loved to work with her, always breathed a sigh of relief when they read her name as responsible for the account of the company they were reviewing.
So it took her by surprise when on Tuesday afternoon (she remembered it being a Tuesday because she had a burrito for lunch, and Tuesday was burrito-day in the cafeteria) her supervisor knocked on her office door and introduced her to her newest client.
And in stepped the most handsome man Katniss ever had laid eyes on.
A/N: I haven’t posted anything in a million years a while, sorry >__<
Our relationship was a strange one.
We weren’t really friends, although we saw each other more than I’d like to admit each week. It began at the start of the year, where my economics teacher had asked me to tutor a certain student less he flunk his exams and be forced to drop the subject completely and, for the sake of boosting my own credit, I accepted the challenge.
The challenge’s name was Kim Jongin. I only found out on the day of our first tutoring session that it was him - no wonder my teacher had oh-so-conveniently left out the name of the student I would be tutoring. He probably knew I would flat out decline.
Rose and Shireen and confessions and chips; a li’l ace!fem!Ten/ace!Rose for DW Femslash Week! Mostly all ages (maybe light teen for language/discussion topics). Tooth-rotting fluff. Sorry for your dental bills.
Inspired by a prompt from @mariechambers (thank you dahling!!!! <3), and written for my fellow tumblrer who said they wished they’d seen more of girl-talk Rose during the series (I’m so sorry I can’t remember who posted that!); also fills the @timepetalsprompts femslash prompt! THIS FIC DOES ALL THE THINGS
“So what’s it like, then?” Shireen asks. “If there’s no sex?”
Laughing (and blushing only the tiniest bit), Rose glances
all around the chippie like something in there will jump to her aid. “Not everything’s
about sex, mate,” she says in lieu of a proper response, but Shireen imagines
it’s the best that she can come up with on such short notice.
Still. Shireen quirks an eyebrow at her in disbelief.
Rose ducks her head, apparently fascinated by the basket of
ships in front of her, by the vinegar pooling at the bottom of the wax-paper. “It
isn’t like that, anyway. With her and me. She’s made it pretty clear that she
isn’t into that sort of thing. Honestly, though, it’s sort of…nice,” she
admits (to the chips, not to Shireen). “I dunno. It takes the pressure off.”
“Think I’d rather put the pressure on,” Shireen says, clicking her tongue suggestively.
“I know you would,” Rose teases. “But…”
She worries her lip between her teeth. “I sort of…wouldn’t,”
“What do you mean?”
Sighing, Rose directs her attention back to the chips, eying
them warily like they might start judging her at any moment. “I don’t know. It’s
like…I guess it feels good? I didn’t hate it. And Mickey was loads better than
“Prince Charles’ withered left testicle would be a better
shag than Jimmy. And if you’re wondering if I’m saying I’d rather shag Prince
Charles, the answer is honestly, maybe.”
“—but do you ever get the feeling that you’re only doing
that stuff cos other people want you to?”
Imagine Tony getting into the habit of playing with Bucky’s hair and doing all sorts of things with it. Since it’s quite long, Tony has fun plaiting it, styling it and throwing it up into ponytails and small buns. At first, Bucky only endures this because it’s Tony and he loves Tony being happy no matter what. But as it progress, Bucky begins to like the feeling of Tony’s slender fingers running through his hair as his fingertips brush against his scalp delightfully. When Bucky walks into the kitchen one morning, only wearing sweatpants and his hair in an messy, slept-in plait, Natasha simply says, “Your hair’s going to be wavy today, I hope you know that.”
Bucky only smiles as he thinks of a happy Tony before going, “I really don’t give a fuck.”
The park was one of Lily’s favorite places to take her son. It was easy to find a bench in the sun and watch him play happily in front of her with all the other kids. Today, she was hoping that she wouldn’t see anyone that she knew since she was wearing leggings, a t-shirt she normally wore to bed and had her hair in a messy plait. She was hoping she looked more purposefully-a-mess than just straight up tired. Harry, her two year old son, was running around the playground before her, smiling and laughing as he chased after the other kids. He’d always been rather friendly and social, and she liked to think that he got that from her, but his dad was the same way. Even though things hadn’t worked out between her and James, they were still on good terms.
She pulled out a snack that she’d brought for herself and toed off her trainers, crossing her legs on the bench and looked around taking in a deep breath of fresh air. Days like this were perfect. At least until she heard someone trying to get her attention.
“By her eyes and ears, a sharpness in some of her features, she was a Dunmer. But her skin was warm-brown, washed through with the maroons and purples most Dunmer only showed when blushing. There was mannish blood in her, somewhere down the line. […] Her stance was wide and stable. She leaned forward from the waist, inching close as if to sniff or inspect him. Crow-black hair hung straightish down about her broad-cheeked face. It looked like it was fighting its own war. A few messy chest-length plaits fought to hold the lot in check. The rest fought to get free, wisping wild from any attempt to tame it.” — The Diaries of Simra Hishkari By Sunderlorn