viridieanfey said: The makeup I’ve got down, it’s the giant hair that gets me. The top just doesn’t like to go up. With how fine my hair is, I’m kind of afraid to backcomb it too much. X__X
There are two answers to this dilemma! And both products are from the same company!
Big Sexy Hair “What a Tease” Backcomb in a Bottle. It’s a little expensive for a small bottle of product, but it’s worth it. Spray it at your roots, in sections, and you will get amazing lift. BE WARNED: the product is sticky, so don’t go running your hands through your hair, and the nozzle clogs, which means running it under hot water (and occasionally scrubbing it with a washcloth).
Big Sexy Hair Powder Play. I use this whenever I want big, tousled hair but don’t want to do any backcombing. It doesn’t give you giant hair, but it does give a lot of volume.
However, the truth is that you won’t achieve sky-high goth hair without backcombing. So perhaps keep the enormous hair for special events, and for everyday go for still voluminous, but not heavily backcombed.
“Curwen-McAdams, a PhD student at Washington State University, and WSU professor Steven Jones have developed a new species: a cross between wheat and its wild cousin, wheat grass. They call it Salish Blue. Their goal was to make something that’s like wheat but grows back year after year.” Growing crops this way might be more environmentally friendly and sustainable.
November is Native American Heritage Month so many people look for books
featuring Native people during this time of year. For November and all
year round, this list is filled with some excellent books by Native
Urban Tribesedited by Lisa Charleyboy and Mary Beth Leatherdale
Young, urban Natives powerfully show how their culture and values can survive—and enrich—city life.
Much of the popular discourse on Native Americans and Aboriginals
focuses on reservation life. But the majority of Natives in North
America live off the rez. How do they stay rooted to their culture? How
do they connect with their community?
Urban Tribes offers unique insight into this growing and often
misperceived group. Emotionally potent and visually arresting, the
anthology profiles young urban Natives from across North America,
exploring how they connect with Native culture and values in their
contemporary lives. Their stories are as diverse as they are. From a
young Dene woman pursuing a MBA at Stanford to a Pima photographer in
Phoenix to a Mohawk actress in New York, these urban Natives share their
unique perspectives to bridge the divide between their past and their
future, their cultural home, and their adopted cities.
Unflinchingly honest and deeply moving, contributors explore a
wide-range of topics. From the trials and tribulations of dating in the
city to the alienating experience of leaving a remote reserve to attend
high school in the city, from the mainstream success of Electric Pow wow
music to the humiliation of dealing with racist school mascots,
personal perspectives illuminate larger political issues. An innovative
and highly visual design offers a dynamic, reading experience.
Margaritte is a
sharp-tongued, drug-dealing, sixteen-year-old Native American
floundering in a Colorado town crippled by poverty, unemployment, and
drug abuse. She hates the burnout, futureless kids surrounding her and
dreams that she and her unreliable new boyfriend can move far beyond the
bright lights of Denver that float on the horizon before the daily
suffocation of teen pregnancy eats her alive.
Lewis “Shoe” Blake is used to the joys and difficulties of life on
the Tuscarora Indian reservation in 1975: the joking, the Fireball
games, the snow blowing through his roof. What he’s not used to is white
people being nice to him — people like George Haddonfield, whose family
recently moved to town with the Air Force. As the boys connect through
their mutual passion for music, especially the Beatles, Lewis has to lie
more and more to hide the reality of his family’s poverty from George.
He also has to deal with the vicious Evan Reininger, who makes Lewis the
special target of his wrath. But when everyone else is on Evan’s side,
how can he be defeated? And if George finds out the truth about Lewis’s
home — will he still be his friend?
Acclaimed adult author Eric Gansworth makes his YA debut with this
wry and powerful novel about friendship, memory, and the joy of rock ‘n’
A post-Apocalyptic YA novel with a steampunk twist, based on an Apache legend.
Years ago, seventeen-year-old Apache hunter Lozen and her family
lived in a world of haves and have-nots. There were the Ones — people so
augmented with technology and genetic enhancements that they were
barely human — and there was everyone else who served them. Then the
Cloud came, and everything changed. Tech stopped working. The world
plunged back into a new steam age. The Ones’ pets — genetically
engineered monsters — turned on them and are now loose on the world.
Lozen was not one of the lucky ones pre-C, but fate has given her a
unique set of survival skills and magical abilities. She hunts monsters
for the Ones who survived the apocalyptic events of the Cloud, which
ensures the safety of her kidnapped family. But with every monster she
takes down, Lozen’s powers grow, and she connects those powers to an
ancient legend of her people. It soon becomes clear to Lozen that she is
not just a hired gun. As the legendary Killer of Enemies was in the
ancient days of the Apache people, Lozen is meant to be a more than a
hunter. Lozen is meant to be a hero.
A powerful and visually stunning anthology from some of the most groundbreaking Native artists working in North America today.
Truly universal in its themes, “Dreaming In Indian” will shatter
commonly held stereotypes and challenge readers to rethink their own
place in the world. Divided into four sections, ‘Roots, ‘ ‘Battles, ‘
‘Medicines, ‘ and ‘Dreamcatchers, ‘ this book offers readers a unique
insight into a community often misunderstood and misrepresented by the
Emerging and established Native artists, including acclaimed author
Joseph Boyden, renowned visual artist Bunky Echo Hawk, and stand-up
comedian Ryan McMahon, contribute thoughtful and heartfelt pieces on
their experiences growing up Indigenous, expressing them through such
mediums as art, food, the written word, sport, dance, and fashion.
Renowned chef Aaron Bear Robe, for example, explains how he introduces
restaurant customers to his culture by reinventing traditional dishes.
And in a dramatic photo spread, model Ashley Callingbull and
photographer Thosh Collins reappropriate the trend of wearing ‘Native’
Whether addressing the effects of residential schools, calling out
bullies through personal manifestos, or simply citing hopes for the
future, “Dreaming In Indian” refuses to shy away from difficult topics.
Insightful, thought-provoking, and beautifully honest, this book will to
appeal to young adult readers. An innovative and captivating design
enhances each contribution and makes for a truly unique reading
“The hour has come to speak of troubled times. It is time we spoke of
Skullyville.” Thus begins Rose Goode’s story of her growing up in
Indian Territory in pre-statehood Oklahoma. Skullyville, a once-thriving
Choctaw community, was destroyed by land-grabbers, culminating in the
arson on New Year’s Eve, 1896, of New Hope Academy for Girls. Twenty
Choctaw girls died, but Rose escaped. She is blessed by the presence of
her grandmother Pokoni and her grandfather Amafo, both respected elders
who understand the old ways. Soon after the fire, the white sheriff
beats Amafo in front of the town’s people, humiliating him. Instead of
asking the Choctaw community to avenge the beating, her grandfather
decides to follow the path of forgiveness. And so unwinds this tale of
mystery, Indian-style magical realism, and deep wisdom. It’s a world
where backwoods spiritualism and Bible-thumping Christianity mix with
bad guys; a one-legged woman shop-keeper, her oaf of a husband, herbal
potions, and shape-shifting panthers rendering justice. Tim Tingle—a
scholar of his nation’s language, culture, and spirituality—tells Rose’s
story of good and evil with understanding and even laugh-out-loud
Choctaw humor. — Cover images and summaries via Goodreads
Finally got around to dying my hair!! This time I went for a pink, yellow and blue combo, which looks totally different depending on how its worn. When its down the yellow section is basically hidden, so this hair has kind of a secret rainbow that I can bust out whenever I’m in the mood to be super colourful, hehe :)
First I sectioned my hair into the different colour areas, ensuring that the partings between the sections were nice and straight. I clipped each of them to keep them separate. A third of my fringe and roughly 1.5cm of the front of my hair next to my fringe were sectioned off for the blue. For the yellow the underneath area of hair above my ear (its hard to describe, but I parted my hair halfway down my head and sectioned off the area from there down over my ear). The rest of my hair was allocated to the pink dye.
Then I mixed/prepared my dyes. When dying multiple colours, having them ready to go beforehand makes it much easier!!
I dyed the blue areas at the front and in the fringe first.
Next I applied the pink dye. I held the bulk of the hair up above my head and using the brush applied dye to the roots around the section first. Then I applied the pink dye to the rest of the section using both my hands and the brush, making sure to separate the section to ensure coverage all the way to the roots. I clipped this large section in place on top of my head in a rolled bun to keep it separate from touching any other coloured sections.
Lastly, I applied the yellow.
I left the dye on for 40 minutes - this is enough time that it will last a few washes, but won’t prove impossible to fade out of my hair when I want to change colours!
When rinsing my hair I used lukewarm water to preserve the colour, and firstly rinse the bulk of the dye off my hair each section at a time to stop any colour transferring. Then I rinsed my hair all over to get out any remaining dye.
I’ve had this bamboo stalk for almost 10 years now and it’s always been green and healthy but a few days ago I’ve noticed it started turning yellow and I don’t know how to fix it. :( I’ve recently changed the light bulb in my bedroom and it might be receiving slightly more light than usual ??? I don’t know if this is the cause, but it’s the only recent change I can think of.
All my lovely super-talented colleagues from Big Hero 6 are sharing their sexy paintings and glamorous linework, so I thought I’d leap on the bandwagon like a socially awkward Quasimodo and wave my hair diagrams around. These were done for most of the main characters so their hair could be built in 3D in a way that would behave realistically when put through the simulation process. Each clump of hair needed to be placed and plotted so the layers built up in a way that reflected Shiyoon’s designs. It was a challenge but kinda fun for all that … I won’t get to see how it turned out until January, when the film comes out in the UK, but I hear people like it, so that’s good.
4. Teacher/Single Parent (with a surprising lack of school)
Alphas and Oranges
three decades of life, Arthur had found himself in a plethora of unbecoming
situations. From inopportune heats to eyebrow plucking mishaps, he’d had his
fair share of indignities. Crouching behind a crate of oranges in a supermarket
to avoid an encounter with an Alpha, however, had to be the cherry on top of
father would just bloody move, Arthur would be able to flee from the
supermarket unnoticed. The man had been hovering around the vegetable section,
rooting for the biggest potatoes, for the past five minutes, effectively blockading
Arthur’s only escape route.
The Alpha turned
to his six year old daughter and smiled, earnest and incandescent. At the sight
of it, Arthur’s blood ignited and insides went warm and gooey.
He was the
lowest of human beings for fancying his student’s father. Single father, he should add, or unmated at the very least. A hot
single dad. What a cliché Arthur was for near salivating whenever he was in
close proximity of the man.
“As someone who doesn’t watch Person of Interest, I’ve been confused by why the pairing is so popular and have heard a lot of criticism of the show for portraying queer women as violent sociopaths/arguments that the relationship is abusive.”
I can’t believe I just read that with my own two eyes
It happened in the winter some years after the fall of Corypheus, and a light snow had just begun to dust over the already frozen hills of Emprise du Lion.
Winter in Orlais. Dorian would later think to himself, a terse pout drawn upon his sharp features. It’s like a bad omen in itself.
Sightings of rogue Venatori agents dispersing themselves throughout southern Thedas had started cropping up. There were those out there that still believed in some disillusioned idea of grandeur to restore Tevinter to what it had once been, with or without a leader.
“Cut off the head, the serpent will flounder,” Leliana had hummed, crossing her arms and shifting her weight to one hip. There were small crow markers placed haphazardly around the war room’s map. “They are disorganized and lost fighting for a cause they desperately hope will make sense to them as it once had.”
It was simple for the most part. Take out an operative here, a make-shift mercenary band there. Things the Inquisitor and his companions hardly blinked at. In hindsight, maybe they shouldn’t have let their guards down so quickly.
They had tracked the few remaining agents to a secluded cave which weaved through the rugged landscape of Emprise du Lion.
Bull had gladly accepted the invitation. “You know I’m always game for tearing apart some vints, Boss. Let me give Krem the run down, and put him in charge of the boys while I’m out raising some hell.” The Qunari barked a laugh, slapping the Inquisitor’s shoulder in comradery before parting.
Cole was equally enthusiastic, a quick nod bobbing his large hat in front of his face. “Yes. These are bad, bad men… Roaring, ravaging, ripping flesh to ribbons like thin parchment paper as they smile wickedly, wrathful… It would be best to end this quickly.”
Dorian… Dorian needed coaxing. “Emprise du Lion? You do realize what it is you are asking of me?” He sniffed, shoving a thick tome back into one of the library’s many bookshelves a bit too forcefully. “I’ll remind you. A frigid, unforgiving, wasteland that I am most likely to catch hypothermia and die a sad, cold death. It is without a doubt the last place the Maker created.” A beat. “By created, of course, I mean to say He took a shit in the middle of Orlais and named it after a lion.”
The Inquisitor huffed in amusement, a shy smirk pulled at his lips. “Sometimes I wonder why I like having you around so much, and then you go and remind me exactly what drew me to you in the first place.”
Dorian shared the smile, turning his head toward the man with a quirked brow, “Ahh, yes. My crude remarks do amuse that young boy’s sense of humor you seem to carry in that overgrown body of yours.”
“Do you sweet talk everyone like this?”
“Only the ones I plan on keeping around, Amatus.”
The Inquisitor extended his arm, running his palm along the side of Dorian’s short, cropped hair, and holding it there. Dorian leaned into the warmth, visibly relaxing from the touch alone. His eyes slipped shut, a somewhat defeated sigh escaping his lips.
“Isn’t there anyone else you could take? Another mage perhaps?”
“They wouldn’t be you.”
A sharp exhale left Dorian’s nostrils, that hint of a smile graced his features again. “Very true.”
When it was all said and done, they were mid-battle in the very bowels of the snowy mountains. Five Venatori agents. Two archers, two armored tanks, and one mage. This was the final battle.
The Inqusitor and Cole quickly dropped into stealth, slipping into the shadows just as Dorian dropped a barrier for the two rouges while The Iron Bull waited for their signal. Once the two assassins had successfully carved blades into the backs of the archers, Bull charged in with a cry to draw the armored agents onto himself. Dorian continued casting barriers and supportive spells to further his companions’ heavy assault. Cole had managed to slip a blade between a weak armor plate in the back of one of the tanks, effectively subduing him enough for Bull to bring his axe down for one last blow. The pair quickly made haste to lock onto the other tank who the Inquisitor seemed to have dancing in circles as the bulkier enemy tried to find a hold on the quick rogue.
A grin flashed bright on Dorian’s face as he began preparing to cast another barrier around his companions. The brute of an agent was just about to fall from his wounds when the Inquisitor dropped to stealth out of the corner of Dorian’s casting range. No matter, after this agent fell… Wait. Wasn’t there another?
A mage. There had been a mage. Why hadn’t he seen the mage this entire fight? What could the agent possibly-
The smell of static and ozone hovered strongly in the air. He finished the barrier cast on Bull and Cole. The short hairs on his forearms rose in panic, as if to warn him of what was to come next.
A shout. The Inquisitor’s voice, he realized too late, and then he was being forcibly shoved onto the cold dirt floor. He rolled once, twice, before a sickeningly sharp crackling noise echoed around the cave’s hollow walls. Dorian shook his head, willing his eyes to focus and his scrapped arms to hoist him up. It was just enough so that he could turn and see a stricken look of horror paint the agent’s face, that had previously been out of Dorian’s peripheral view, as Cole removed two daggers from his bloodied robes.
A sharp smirk slipped onto Dorian’s face. “Well, that wasn’t so bad, but was that shove so necessary, dear Inquisitor? I think you sprained my wrist,” Dorian noted with a soft chuckle, turning further so that the Inquisitor’s back was now in view.
The man’s posture hadn’t changed though. The Inquisitor was hunched slightly, knees bent and stance wide as if posed for attack. Two freshly bloodied daggers were still gripped in his palms.
The stench of electricity still hung heavy in the air as Dorian slowly lifted himself from the ground, taking a tentative step forward. He thought he heard Bull swear harshly under his breath off to the side.
“Inquisitor?” Dorian prompted once more, noticing a slight tremor run through the man’s arms.
The daggers slipped from the Inquisitor’s clenched hands. As if a visible shudder traveled up the man’s spine, he dropped to his knees and fell forward enough to echo in the cave once more.
Dorian’s eyes had grown to the size of saucers as he nearly hurdled the few strides it took to drop down next to the man’s unmoving form. Dorian quickly took the Inquisitor in his arms, turning him over and cupping his face tenderly. His eyes darted across the jagged pattern zig-zagging and branching across the Inquisitor’s body like tree roots. There was a section of the man’s cloth top that had been burned off almost entirely which the harsh markings followed along the expanse of exposed skin.
The smell. The sound. It was all clicking together before Dorian’s horror-striken eyes. The venatori agent had cast a lightening spell. The agent meant to hit Dorian. The Inquisitor noticed just a moment too late. The Inquisitor pushed him. The Inquisitor took the hit directly. The Inquisitor saved his life, in place of his-
“Amatus! Love, please, can you hear me? Please say something, please I beg you, please!” Dorian’s voice had raised an octave in his panic. He distantly registered the sound of The Iron Bull’s heavy gait approaching, and a familiar, listless voice to his side.
“Fretful, fearful, falling… I am falling and I can not see the light. What has my foolishness cost me? What will become of me if he is… Dread, depression, despair, if he is dead?”
Dorian’s features had twisted into something painful as big, ugly tears rolled from his eyes. “Cole! Stay out of my head!” Dorian snapped unthinking. A beat. A desperate idea. “Can you hear him? Please, Cole, tell me what he’s saying! Please, I beg you.”
Dorian worried his lip harshly, cradling the unmoving man closer to his chest as if his own body heat would case the man to stir.
The boy drew closer, blinking owlishly down from his wide-brimmed hat. Cole’s brow scrunched, focused, before his eyes grew wide. He opened his mouth, a strangled intake of breath the only noise to escape. He swallowed shallowly, his lip quivering, before trying again.
One of the best-known blood builders and purifiers available.
Safely reduces blood cholesterol.
Contains excellent levels of Vitamins A, C, D, and B complex as well as iron, magnesium, zinc, potassium, manganese, copper, choline, calcium, boron, and silicon.
Overweight people when shedding pounds can become too acidic. These acids in the blood are destroyed by dandelion. It also supports digestion of fats.
One of the best liver cleansers. It increases the activity of the liver and the flow of bile into the intestines.
The flow of bile is a laxative which speeds the breakdown of various steroid hormones and indirectly has a favorable effect on eczema and skin breakouts.
Contains all the nutritive salts for the blood. Dandelion restores and balances the blood so anemia that is caused by deficiencies of these blood salts disappears.
Helps flush and clean out the urinary tract from the kidneys to the bladder.
The herb to build energy and endurance and fantastic for too-low blood pressure.
It is first-rate for use in hepatitis.
Increases activity of the pancreas and the spleen.
Strengthening for the female organs. Excellent to prepare for pregnancy and estrogen balance.
Helps clear skin disorders.
What You Need:
~ a big bowl and gloves for gathering dandelion roots ~ 2 year-old, actively-growing dandelion roots dug from a spray-free, pet-free yard ~ a spade or small shovel to loosen soil from the roots ~ canning jar with tight fitting lid ~ vodka, 80 proof is fine
~ wash off the soil thoroughly, remove any crushed roots, and leave root hairs ~ chop the roots into 1/2″ sections ~ place roots into the canning jar, cover with vodka plus an inch or so, and cap jar ~ steep contents for 3-4 months in a dark cool cabinet to fully extract medicinal properties ~ during this period, shake the jar 2-3 times a week to thoroughly mix contents ~ when finished, strain off the tincture with coffee filter, etc. into amber bottles and label ~ discard the exhausted root pieces
Homemade Dandelion Tincture, vodka, root, steeping, extracting medicinal value of herb, herbal remedy
Dosage: Dosage for dandelion tincture is ½ teaspoon 3-4 times per day for the root or leaf. Tinctures can be taken directly under the tongue and held in the mouth for a short time then swallowed, in a small amount of water, or in hot water to evaporate off the alcohol. When stored in a cool dark place extracts have a shelf life of five to seven years.
I store all the un-bottled tinctures tightly sealed in a dark corner of the old pie safe which isn’t in direct sunlight. Remember to label and date your final product.
* Use dandelion with caution if you have gallbladder disease. Never use dandelion if you have an obstructed bile duct.
A missing scene from the good ol’ days of season one, where our favourite co-leaders didn’t have all that much to worry about except hallucinogenic nuts and the occasional temper tantrum from one of the delinquents. Dedicated to @feminist14er , whose amazing fics were one of the many reasons I fell into this fandom. Have an amazing birthday lovely, and I hope you like this! x
Bellamy Blake makes it a point to not pay attention to Clarke Griffin, unless he has to.
It’s bad enough that he has to co-parent a whole brood of helpless, hormonal teenagers with her. He refuses, based on principle and principle alone, to become friends with her. She has plenty of those anyway, with spacewalker hanging onto her every word and the wonder twins following her around like lost, overly-eager fawns.
But she’s been sneezing uncontrollably for the past hour or so, wiping her nose on that dirty, grimy sleeve of hers and it’s disgusting–
“The fuck is wrong with you?” he snarls, making sure to inject extra venom in there lest she mistakes it for concern.
(It’s not like he’s worried or anything, it’s just goddamned unhygienic, that’s all.)
Clarke sniffles, manages a pitiful, “I think I might have the flu.”
motherfucking samaritan with their brand new uniforms every year
they even have two sets
on for when it’s day and another for night shows
they pay top dollar for the best drill and music writers, and even have their own grass field to practice on
it’s nicer than the football team’s tbh
all the thornhill kids hate them on sight
when martine was…removed due to her injury, she quit band
and transferred to decima academy
she’s their drum major now, because she couldn’t march with a broken leg
she ended up loving it and the sense of power it gave her because martine is a fucking garbage can
decima and thornhill don’t see each other during competitions, as the two school are juuuuust too far away from each other to face off in local region and area competitions
but at state?
you bet your ass shit goes down
the first year after martine leaves the rivalry grows even stronger
ms thornhill has never seen the bus so quiet
it takes four hours to get to the stadium, and there’s barely a peep
just a bunch of kids staring holes into their sheet music, determinedly practicing counts and and turns and stops
she can her the clicks of slides and keys and the quiet puffs of air and it’s like a silent symphony
on the drumline bus, you can hear the quick and precise taps on practice pads and the subtle shifting melody of the base line
the parents and volunteers have never seen anything like it
the get off the bus and unpack their instruments
march in perfect lines over to the practice field and begin to warm up
harper doesn’t murmur a single innuendo, and root doesn’t trip over anyone’s instrument case
it’s truly a sight to behold
they stretch and do a few practice runs on some of the more difficult sets, and before they know it, it’s time to enter the field for prelims
samaritan goes ahead of them, of course
shaw and the rest of the drumline lead the way, and she watches samaritan’s show with a critical eye
it’s edgy, sure, with deep troubling undercurrents against a powerful high brass and near shrieking woodwinds
the percussion seems to whip in and out of the movements, both sinister and overpowering at times
all in all, it’s very angry and vengeful, and very VERY good
shaw chews a little more aggressively on her chip strap, the only outward sign of her nervousness
all too soon, the show is over, and our favorite marching band kiddos take the field
it’s a solid run, one of the best they’ve ever had
the drum break is flawless, the lines are crisp and pristine, and joss’s saxophone solo will be spoken of for years to come
when they regroup outside near the buses to change out of their uniforms to eat and recharge, ms thornhill congratulates them on an amazing performance before hurrying off to grab the results and commentary for their prelims run
there’s a quiet nervous energy in the air
a few try to start halfhearted conversation, but the group always returns to uncomfortable silence after a couple sentences
dani squeezes the fuck out of harper’s hand, clearly anxious as hell, and harper really wishes she had a joint right about now
joss paces anxiously, and not even a congratulatory text from zoe can ease her worries
john has resigned himself to leaning against the bus to watch harold’s hands flutter nervously around his clarinet
root and shaw are in their customary uniform appropriate huddle; shaw leaning back into root’s chest, root long arms wrapped around her to keep her calm
and then: the results
second place in prelims
there’s pride and joy, of course, but also disappointment
because those bitch ass samaritan motherfuckers placed first
the judges loved their show, and felt that the marching aspect was flawless, but they felt that the message wasnt quite clear
“those pompous old dickwads don’t understand jack shit unless you spell it out on the field for them.”
“language, sameen.” ms thornhill quips. “but you’re right. i have no complaints about your performance this afternoon. play your hearts and souls out as you always do, and they’ll have no choice but to give you the ranking you truly deserve.”
harold asks if there’s anything they need to work on before their final performance tonight because he’s still a giant nerd
she shakes her head. “take the next hour to relax. you’ve earned it. no amount of practice is going to make our show any more perfect than it was earlier.”
the kids are stunned, but they try to relax as much as possible
“no harper, that does NOT mean you get to smoke now” joss hisses before harper can even reach into her uniform pocket
“fun killer” harper hisses right back
shaw suddenly pulls out of root’s embrace
“i just…i have to ask ms thornhill about the uh–the drum break. i’ll be right back.” shaw calls over her shoulder, running after their director
shaw’s a terrible liar, and she’s totally up to something, but root’ll let her get away with it
shaw’s gone a long time, and root makes her way over to where john is still dramatically leaning against the bus
“hey big lug.”
john nods. “hey future sister in law.”
root hides her blush by leaning her head on john’s shoulder
“shaw’s been gone a while.”
root snorts, “never /that/ lonely.”
john nudges her a little bit. “don’t worry about it.”
root gives him a flat look that clearly says Have You Ever Met Me
“trust shaw then” he says
he’s got a good point, not that she’ll ever tell him that
shaw comes back just as everyone is getting back into formation, fiddling with her phone as she walks
“where’d you go?” root asks softly
shaw glances around and gives root a quick kiss
joss’s eye twitches
shaw flips her off
“just had something to take care of, root. don’t worry about it. we have asses to kick.”
“we’re talking about this later, sameen.”
“i look forward to it.”
and then holy shit they’re taking the field
distantly, the kids hear “and now, it’s time for long time favorite, t. m. thornhill high school!”
they ready themselves to hit their first note as the announcer prattles on
“…and finally, a final note that failed to make it into out prelims announcement!”
he pauses to see if anyone laughs at the music pun
harper and root crack tiny smiles on the field
“this year, the t. m. high school marching band has decided to dedicate their show to one of their own! first chair and section leader root…root was hospitalized in a marching related accident, and was left partially deaf due to her injuries…”
root freezes and tears begin to form in her eyes
“…has been a driving force and role model for the rest of her marching band!”
she’s not gonna cry
then everyone ripples their instrument to face her, almost like a giant band salute
(then she fucking cries)
“and without further delay, i am proud to once more give you the t. m. high school marching band!”
and then it’s like a musical explosion
they scatter drill to form intricate lines
their form is flawless, arcs perfect
it’s not like samaritan’s show
it’s a tale of loss and despair, denial and anger
but slowly and surely the anger fades into an eerie silence
dani stands alone on the field and delivers a plaintive and beautiful trumpet solo
gradually the rest of the band joins her and surrounds her in series of protective circles
they orbit her while adding their own musical voices to inspire hope
hope for happiness, for a better future
as they hold their last pose, and the crowds begins to scream, ms thornhill wipes a single tear from her cheek
they did it
they really fucking /did it/
the makes it off the field before root breaks ranks and sprints to the front of the formation where shaw is trying to lead the band back to the buses
but root has some giraffe legs and she catches up quicksly
“mm? what’s up babe, kinda busy here, leading the band and all.”
“/sameen/. /shaw/.” root repeats with a slight twich in her left eye
“did you just. dedicate our entire show to me?”
“i guess it could possibly be construed to look like that, yeah.”
“i mean it was more for the band–”
“–those judges couldnt see the point of the show if i shoved it up their asses and–”
“and like it wasn’t even i big deal i dont know why–”
root shoves her trombone into some poor freshman snare drummer’s hands and then grabs shaw’s drums and hands them off to some random flute player
root pulls her into a kiss so hard shaw thinks she sees entire galaxies
(the band continues to march around them, of course)
(”band stops for no man, ms shaw”)
(root flips harold off while still making out with shaw)
(”carter, still forever suffering, hisses “fucking /amateurs/” as she marches past them)