nail tints

It always baffles me what people claim as “historically accurate” for ye olde fantasy fiction while completely ignoring all the cool shit that actually did exist and negates their misconception that everyone was Gross™ and unkempt because Reasons.


Like all y'all realize we’ve had soap for a while, right, and perfumed oils?


I mean fuck me, we have evidence of the Egyptians as far back as Cleopatra (and likely before) styling their nails (rich and poor!) bright vibrant RED hues using tinted oils and henna.


We’ve got evidence of unisex nail tints and adornments from the Ming Dynasty including but not limited to kohl, vegetable dyes and literal actual gold dust gelled together with egg whites and bees wax. Not to mention actual mother fucking tooth brushes dating from the late 1400s and the well known “chew brushes” from before then.


But sure. Rough mannered white dude takes a piss behind a tree and makes a comment about wining and whoring as he does up his ‘britches’, and all your women just expect to be brutalized 24/7 while lamenting the stench because nobody bathes.


Yep, sure sounds like mediocre white dude fantasy to me.

I HAVE FINISHED ACOWAR. OH MY GOD.

Spoilers. 10/10 recommend. Also there’s a huge spoiler at the end end of the book. *evil cackles* Seriously. Read it. REEEEAD IT. NOW FOR YOUR VIEWING PLEASURE::

- Perhaps when my task here was done, I’d burn this manor to the ground, too. Starting with those roses.

- But it was the vines—the thorns—that had made it unlivable. My old bedroom had been overrun with them. They’d curved and slithered over the walls, entwined themselves amongst the debris. As if they’d crawled off the trellises beneath my windows, as if a hundred years had passed and not months.

- To see Ianthe. And at last decide how I was going to shred her into pieces.

- Healing. Alive and healing. I reminded myself of that every day. Even when I still heard their screams, smelled their blood.

- That was my first step: make Tamlin believe, truly believe, that I loved him and this place, and everyone in it. So that he would not suspect when I turned them on each other.

- Not to demand the whereabouts of the two sets of wings his father had kept as trophies after he’d butchered Rhysand’s mother and sister.

- I let my glow spread, until it, too, rippled from Lucien’s bowed form. A knight before his queen.

- I was the nightmare. Preying on what Tamlin had feared from my very first days here. I had not forgotten that long-ago fight he’d picked with Lucien. The warning he’d given him to stop flirting with me. To stay away. The fear that I’d preferred the red-haired lord over him

- “What have you done,” Lucien breathed, and Tamlin’s face was the picture of devastation as Lucien shoved him aside.

- And if I could have painted that moment, I would have named it A Portrait in Snares and Baiting.

- Alis squeezed my hand. “Blood rubies or no, you will always have one friend in the Summer Court.” My throat bobbed. “And you will always have one in mine,” I promised her. She knew which court I meant. And did not look afraid.

- “I’m going with you,” he said again, face splattered with blood as bright as his hair. “I’m getting my mate back.” There was no time for this argument. For the truth and debate and the answers I saw he desperately wanted. Tamlin and the others would have heard the shouting by now. “Don’t make me regret this,” I told him.

- Cassian had taught me to always have a second escape route. Always.

- “But I think letting his court collapse around him is a better punishment. Certainly longer than an easy death.”

- JESMINDA

- “Tell me about her—about Elain,” Lucien said quietly.

- Closer and closer to the shore, to the awaiting party of sentries that winnowed in out of nowhere. No, no, no—A shadow slammed into the earth before us, cracking the ice toward every horizon. Not a shadow. An Illyrian warrior.

- “There’s no such thing as a High Lady,” one of Lucien’s brothers spat. A faint smile played on my mouth. “There is now.” And it was time for the world to know it.

- And as those violet eyes met mine, as that familiar half smile faded … My face crumpled. A small, broken noise cracked from me. Rhys was instantly moving, but my legs had already given out. The foyer carpet cushioned the impact as I sank to my knees. I covered my face with my hands while the past month crashed into me. Rhys knelt before me, knee to knee.

- Lucien said nothing while Rhys spoke. Or when I continued with my tale, Cassian often chiming in with his own account of how it’d been to live with two mated-yet-un-mated people, to pretend Rhys wasn’t courting me, to welcome me into their little circle.

- “And you love him. And he—he truly does love you.” Lucien dragged a hand through his red hair. “And all these people I have spent my centuries hating, even fearing … They are your family.” “I think Amren would probably deny that she feels any affection for us—” “Amren is a bedtime story they told us as younglings to make us behave. Amren was who would drink my blood and carry me to hell if I acted out of line. And yet there she was, acting more like a cranky old aunt than anything.”

- “I hadn’t realized I was a villain in your narrative,” Lucien breathed.

- “As far as I can recall, Cassian,” Rhys countered drily, “you actually said you needed a reprieve from staring at our ugly faces, and that some ladies would add some much-needed prettiness for you to look at all day.” “Pig,” Amren said.

- “I’ll never forget it, you know,” he said, blowing out a breath. “The moment when he spoke to us all, mind to mind. When I realized what was happening, and that … he’d saved us. Trapped us here and tied our hands, but …”

- “Why should I be scared of an oversized bat who likes to throw temper tantrums?”

- Again, that dry, quiet smile. “Why do you think Illyrians are so fit?” “Why did no one warn me about this cocky side of yours?” Azriel’s mouth twitched upward.

- “Nesta,” the Bone Carver murmured. “Nes-ta.” I squeezed Cassian’s hand. Enough. It was enough of this teasing and taunting. But he didn’t look at me. “How the wind moans her name. Can you hear it, too? Nesta. Nesta. Nesta.” I wasn’t sure Cassian was breathing.

- But Rhys rubbed his jaw, weighing, thinking. Then he said simply, “Only Nesta would not just conquer Death—but pillage it.”

- They outright gasped as Rhys simply perched on the arm of the throne, smirked at me, and said to the Court of Nightmares, “Bow.” For they had not. And with me seated on that throne … Their faces were still a mixture of shock and disdain as they all dropped to their knees.

- Cassian was halfway to Mor when she whirled on Rhys and said, “Why?” Her voice broke. And something in my chest cracked, too, at the tears that began running down her face.

- Cassian casually slid Nesta behind him, his fingers snagging in the skirts of her black gown. As if to reassure himself that she wasn’t in Amren’s direct path. Nesta only rose onto her toes to peer over his shoulder.

- Elain was staring at the spymaster now—unblinkingly. “We’re the ones who need …” Azriel trailed off. “A seer,” he said, more to himself than us. “The Cauldron made you a seer.”

- I caught Cassian glancing at me for the third time in less than a minute and demanded, “What?” His lips twitched at the corners. “You just look so …” “Here we go,” Mor muttered from where she picked at her red-tinted nails against the stair banister.

- “Welcome to the court,” he said to her. “You’re about to have one hell of a first day.” And to my eternal shock, a smile tugged at Nesta’s mouth.

- as Kallias opened his mouth—And then my friend squealed. Squealed. Both females hurtled for each other, and Mor’s squeal had turned to a quiet sob as she flung her arms around the slender stranger and hugged her tight. The female’s own arms were shaking as she gripped Mor.

- VIVIANE IS BADASS

- “She is Fae.” “No shit,” Viviane muttered under her breath, and Mor’s snort was cut off as Kallias raised his brows at them. Helion ignored them.

- “I rescind the blood rubies. Let there be no debts between us.” “Don’t expect Amren to return hers,” Cassian muttered. “She’s grown attached to it.” I could have sworn a smile tugged on Varian’s mouth.

- But Viviane nodded, chin high, and rose. “I will fight with you.” Cresseida stood a heartbeat later. “As will I.” Both of them looked to the males in their court. Tarquin and Kallias rose. Then Helion, smirking at me and Rhys. And finally Thesan—

- I let my gaze dart through the room, half paying attention to Helion’s musing on the wall and how to repair it, then dared study the High Lord for a heartbeat. Look at him. The nose is the same, the smile. The voice. Even Lucien’s skin is darker than his brothers’.

- Nesta was watching me carefully. I admitted to her, “Sometimes … I have problems with small spaces.” “I can’t get into a bathtub anymore. I have to use buckets.” I hadn’t known—hadn’t even thought that bathing, submerging in water…“ Nesta said.
- Nesta stepped forward. Then another step. And another. Until she was in front of Graysen, faster than anyone could see. Until Nesta smacked him hard enough that his head snapped to the side. “You never deserved her,” Nesta snarled into the stunned silence as Graysen cupped his face and swore, bending over. Nesta only looked back at me.

- Run, the Suriel mouthed once more, blood dribbling past its withered lips. That was pain in its eyes. Real pain, as mortal as any creature. And if Ianthe took it alive to Hybern … The Suriel knew it was a possibility. It had begged me for freedom once … yet it was willing to be taken. For me to run. Its milky eyes narrowed—in pain and understanding. Yes, it seemed to say. Go.

- Amren found me within twenty steps, a wrapped bundle in her arms. “Every time you lot leave me at home, someone manages to get gutted.”

- Amren and Varian didn’t even bother to join us. No, she’d just wrapped her legs around his waist, right there in front of us, and he’d stood, lifting her in one swift movement. I wasn’t entirely sure how Varian managed to walk them out of the tent while still kissing her, Amren’s hands dragging through his hair, letting out noises that were unnervingly like purring as they vanished into the camp.

- “I CAN’T love him like that.” “Why?” “Because I prefer females.”

- “What?” she asked, coming to my side. “I was just thinking,” I said, smile growing, “that whenever you’re ready … I was thinking about how much fun I’m going to have playing matchmaker for you.”

- And then Nesta began screaming. Not in pain. But a name. Over and over. “CASSIAN.” Amren reached for her, but Nesta roared, “CASSIAN!” She scrambled to her feet, as if she’d leap into the skies.

- “He named his three personal ships after them,” Drakon said with a smile. And there, sailing at the front … I beheld the names of those ships. The Feyre. The Elain. And leading the charge against Hybern, flying over the waves, unyielding and without an ounce of fear … The Nesta. With my father … our father at the helm.

- The talons came first. Replacing fingers and feet. Then dark scales or perhaps feathers, I couldn’t get a look at them, covered his legs, his arms, his chest. His body contorted, bones and muscles growing and shifting. The beast form Rhys had kept hidden. Never liked to unleash.

- threw herself to her knees before Cassian. “Get up,” she sobbed, hauling at his shoulder. “Get up.” He tried—and failed. “You’re too heavy,” she pleaded, but still tried to raise him, fingers scrabbling in his black, bloodied armor. “I can’t—he’s coming—”

- Nesta didn’t stop him as he leaned up and kissed her—lightly. As much as he could manage. Cassian said softly, brushing away the tear that streaked down her face, “I will find you again in the next world—the next life. And we will have that time. I promise.”

- “Don’t you touch my sister.”

- Rhys’s face was battered—bloody. His hands were still tipped in talons, his canines still elongated. Barely out of that beast form. “You—you freed her—” He was stammering. Shaking. I wasn’t entirely sure how he was even standing.

- It took me a moment to grasp it. What I saw. Rhys was sprawled on the rocky ground, wings draped behind him. He looked like he was sleeping. But as I breathed in—It wasn’t there. That thing that rose and fell with each breath. That echoed each heartbeat. The mating bond. It wasn’t there. It was gone. Because his own chest … it was not moving. And Rhys was dead.

- “Be happy, Feyre.” Tamlin said quietly.

- “Someone fish out dear Amren before she catches a cold.”

- “Hasn’t anyone told you? You’re disgustingly rich.” “Just because I have money doesn’t mean I need to spend it.” He squeezed my knee. “Good. We need someone with a head for money around here. I’ve been bleeding out gold left and right thanks to our Court of Dreams taking advantage of my ridiculous generosity.”

- A gift. All of it.

- There are more tales to be told in the land of Prythian … THE SERIES WILL CONTINUE IN 2018

(HOLY SHIT YESSSSSSS)

It just occurred to me

Harry Potter was set in the 1990s, and all the…..ahem… fashion thereof.

….

HERMIONE GRANGER IN 90S FASHION OUTSIDE OF UNIFORM

CAUSE HER MUGGLE ASS WOULD KNOW ABOUT THAT SHIT

instagram

So, I’ve been using this pill case for a while now, decorated. That’s why it’s kinda dusty lol… but I figured it would be a good time to show a durability video, since I haven’t in I think a year! This video shows me tugging at the whip and cabochons as hard as I can (one-handed), and yet nothing budges. This pill case has fallen on the floor a couple times, and been shoved in and out of bags many times already at this point.

KEEP IN MIND, deco CAN withstand this treatment, but that doesn’t mean it SHOULD! Do not treat your cases/frames/mirrors like this regularly! Over time, something would eventually give and you would be disappointed. 🙇

(Apologies for the purple-tinted nails…my hairdye is fresh and I can’t get it off. 😳)

Made with Instagram

And I never quite understood
why people let others
reach into them and
pull out what they liked
and discard the rest
then walk away
and I never quite understood
why people let others
treat them like they were
replaceable, discardable, forgettable
I spent countless hours
at 3 am and 3 pm
consoling my friends
asking them over and over
why, why, why
you knew he was bad
You knew she was
a monster with bright red
nails and sharp tint
in her eyes
and they would say
if only you knew
they would give up
everything they had
for just one more second
and I never could understand.

And then I met you
and it all made sense.

—  I would sell my soul for one more touch by a.k.s

Beachy Daydream using all four colors from the OPI Sheer Tints collection. Layering them makes them ever more rad! The names are really unique too: be MAGENTAle with me, don’t vioLET me down, I’m never AMBERrassed & I can TEAL you like me. So witty!

Batik inspired mani

this nail art technique has been trending last summer and has found a comeback recently in new year’s manis. 

thought I’d try it.

used white acrylic paint over black, and OPI sheer tints.

remember these sheer colors give a new color when they overlap, which gives a cool rainbow/gradient effect when aligned properly.

blue+yellow= green

yellow+pink=orange

check out the video tutorial on my instagram account @danahsnails

تصميم الباتيك

درج استخدام هذه الطريقة في الصيف الفائت و قد انتشرت مؤخرا بمناسبة تصاميم رأس السنة و فكرت أن اجربها

استخدمت اصباغ توب كوت الشفاف الملون من

OPI

و يمتاز هذا النوع بشفافية جميلة لألوانه بحيث تعطي الوان جديدة اذا ما تقاطعت المساحات بينها و يمكن الحصول على شكل تدرج طيفي اذا تم وضعها بترتيب مناسب

و كما تعرفون 

ازرق + اصفر = اخضر

اصفر + وردي = برتقالي

و لا تنسو مشاهدة الفيديو التعليمي على اكاونتي في الانستاجرام @danahsnails

The Growth AU

When Character A was young, they believed that if they swallowed seeds and dirt, they would be able to “grow a plant in their tummy.” Their parents/guardians realize what Character A did and took them to the hospital immediately. The doctors tell them they would be absolutely fine and that everything would pass through. 

After about ten years, Character A begins having stomach pains, green tinted nails, and health problems. They are brought to the hospital once more but slipped out the back door when they were sedated. Character B, a scientist at a facility, is yanked out of their coffee break to find Character A, the missing link in their research.

8

Welcome back to FRIDAY FASHION FACT! This blog is normally all about clothing, but as everyone knows, clothes are not the only piece of fashion! So today we’re going in a different direction and focusing on the cosmetic side, specifically- nail polish! It seems like such a random fashion- coloring the ends of your fingers and toes in crazy unnatural hues. The description makes it sounds like a trend that would be worn by rebels or avant-garde fashionistas. Yet nail polish is one of the most common fashions for women across the globe, even becoming increasingly common amongst men. So where did nail polish get its start?

Coloring nails is in fact one of the oldest fashions in history. It dates back to ancient times, and started with a very different demographic than today. The oldest record of colored nails is circa 3200 BCE, when Babylonian warriors would stain their nails with kohl. This accented the full face of heavy makeup Babylonian warriors would wear, which was all intended to make their features stand out from a distance, and intensify them up close- a tactic for intimidating their enemies. The higher a man’s rank, the darker the dye. Soon after, around 3000 BCE, dyed nails appeared among a totally different upper class. Wealthy Chinese women used mixtures including beeswax and gelatin, tinted with crushed flowers. The process typically took several hours.

At approximately the same time, the trend was on the rise in Egypt. The Egyptians used henna to dye their nails. Pharaohs would show off their rank by using a rich red color on their nails, a trend which was also popular throughout the centuries in India. Such bold colors faded out of fashion in the western world during the Middle Ages when modesty was a priority, but shortly after the Renaissance, there was a revived focus on manicured nails.

At this time, there was a high value placed on opulence and beauty. Cosmetics were used to enhance what were considered desirable traits, such as pale skin with rosy cheeks. Naturally, this extended to nails, which were buffed and polished (clear polish, as in the way you might polish silver or wood) so that they were extra shiny. This trend continued up through the 18th Century, when once again it became popular to tint nails, typically pale shades of pink. It fit in perfectly with the lavish fashions found in the halls of Versailles. By the mid-Victorian age, there was a strong emphasis placed on hygiene, and so manicures rose in popularity. Soft pink tints were still the colors of choice.

It wasn’t until about the 1920s that bold lacquer colors came into being. What spurred the trend? Believe it or not, cars! When cars were created, they were the ultimate symbol of wealth and luxury (as many still are today.) Around 1920, French cosmetologist Michelle Menard adapted the same lacquer used on cars to be used on nails, making a little piece of that luxury available to the masses. It was an instant success, and quickly started to be produced in a vast variety of colors, though flashy red has always been the most popular. People have been sporting bold colored lacquered nails ever since!

Have a question about fashion history that you want answered in the next FRIDAY FASHION FACT? Just click the ASK button at the top of the page!