tightly coiled hair

Crawford spotted Beverly Katz through the window of an examining room as he wove his way between the boxes. She had a pair of child’s coveralls suspended from a hanger over a table covered with white paper. Working under bright lights in the draft-free room, she brushed the coveralls with a metal spatula, carefully working with the wale and across it, with the nap and against it A sprinkle of dirt and sand fell to the paper. With it, falling through the still air more slowly than the sand but faster than lint, came a tightly coiled hair. She cocked her head and looked at it with her bright robin’s eye. 

Crawford could see her lips moving. He knew what she was saying. 

                                                     “Gotcha.”

That’s what she always said.



                                                             independent multimuse ft. beverly katz
                                                                             dark themes present
                                                                             private and selective
                                                                                  written by riley

anonymous asked:

So how about spones with Spock being extremely jealous about something but not letting McCoy know because it's illogical

Logically, Spock knew that Leonard did not mean anything by it.

It was simply in Leonard’s nature to be flirtatious. Spock watched as Leonard kissed the back of Lady Aldendron’s hand and gave her his best winning smile. She lit up with laughter and Leonard chuckled back. Spock attempted to control the pang of jealousy Leonard’s laughter elicited. Usually Spock enjoyed the sound of Leonard so happy, but he could not stop feeling disappointed that it was someone else who had gotten such a reaction from his beloved.

Leonard offered Aldendron his arm and then had to explain the gesture to the alien woman. She laughed delightedly and accepted it, walking alongside him through the winding halls of the castle.

Stone-faced, Spock followed behind them.

The Lady was quite beautiful, Spock thought with a touch of annoyance. He knew that Leonard had previously been attracted to similar women. She was slight of build and had brown, tightly coiled hair interlaced with glinting silver wire. Her dress was the same color Spock imagined fairy wings would be, if such a mythical creature existed. She glided over the hewn stone path with a sense of dignity and purpose Spock could not hope to emulate. When she laughed it was like the reverberation of a bell, clear and sweet.

He thought of his own straight black hair, plain looks, lack of ornamentation, and slightly wrinkled uniform. He thought of his own awkward feet and the fact that Leonard had never heard him laugh out of pleasure.

It was illogical, Spock knew. Leonard had chosen him to be with. But when Spock saw him at ease with Lady Aldendron, a gentle smile gracing his beautiful features, Spock could not help but think that Leonard had made the wrong choice.

Aldendron lead them to the viewing chamber and left them there as she went to gather the rest of the city’s ruling parliament. Leonard bounced on his heels, folding his hands behind his back as she glided from the hall. He was still smiling.

“Well, Mr. Spock? What do you think?”

Spock looked towards where Aldendron had gone. “I suppose she is quite pleasing to look at, if one notices such a thing.”

Leonard grunted. “I suppose, but I was referring to my diplomacy skills. Maybe I should branch out. Be a doctor and a diplomat.”

Spock turned to frown at him and saw that Leonard was smiling gently. Spock softened at the sight. “Your skills are unmatched on both accounts.”

Leonard laughed and tipped his head to the side like an inquisitive bird. “What about you? Is something the matter?”

“The matter? No.” Spock attempted to school his features, to erase whatever emotion Leonard noticed in his face, but his attempt only seemed to increase Leonard’s puzzlement.

“Really? You’ve got this look like…” He waved a hand in Spock’s general direction.

“An unhelpful critique,” Spock said, feeling quite discomfited by the exchange.

Leonard chuckled again. “It wasn’t a critique,” he said softly. He stepped towards Spock and interlaced their fingers together. “I just notice you, is all.”

Spock flushed at the kiss of Leonard’s fingers. “It is illogical,” he said.

“You know I love to hear you being illogical.”

Spock looked down to the ground. “Your…familiarity with Lady Aldendron was… striking to me.”

Leonard sucked in a breath. “Oh, Spock. Are you jealous?”

He sounded honestly concerned and so Spock did not take offense. “Jealousy is a human emotion.”

“That ain’t a ‘no.’”

Spock sighed. He looked down to their joined hands. “Perhaps…Slightly. A miniscule amount in the grand scheme of things.”

“You know I’ve only got eyes for you, right?”

“So you have told me.” Spock looked up to him and stopped breathing, pierced by the intensity of Leonard’s gaze. He inhaled again, shuddering. “So you have told me… many times.”

“I’ll keep telling you, too.” Leonard began to brush his gentle fingers over the back of Spock’s hand. “Every day, for as long as it takes you to believe me. And then some more,” he said, grinning. “Because you deserve to know I love you.”

“Leonard… shaya tonat.

“You’re welcome, beautiful.”

At that moment Lady Aldendron came back into the room trailing a cluster of politicians. Leonard gave Spock’s hand one last squeeze before stepping back to face them. Spock stood beside him, infused with the might of Leonard’s care for him, and they face the situation together.


[Prompts // Patreon // Ko-Fi]

outerspacetrashprince  asked:

Dan buddy, yoga and meditation instructor spock and bones going because someone makes him?

Grumbling didn’t work. Promising to eat better didn’t work. Swearing up and down that he would take it easy at the hospital didn’t work. Swearing in general didn’t work. In the end, it was Jim’s face that finally pushed Leonard over the edge. The way he pouted when he said, “Bones, you really need to take care of yourself. For me?”

And goddammit, he was a doctor! He knew how to take care of himself! So what if he imbibed too often and frequently forgot to eat? So what if he worked himself half to death and forsook sleep? He took his vitamins. But the sad kicked-puppy dog look on his friend’s face forced him down to the store to buy a pair of bright blue spandex yoga pants and a matching yoga mat. He muttered under his breath the entire drive to the yoga studio.

Leonard wasn’t normally a yoga kind of guy. He’d never been very flexible and much preferred a quick jog around the park–something outside, where he could see green things growing. But Dr. M’Benga had given him a coupon for the place along with a stern scolding that he needed to unwind, so he figured he might as well check it out. He had ten free visits and he planned to make the best of them.

The studio was a drab little building that appeared to have been recently painted the color of cement. Inside was nicer, all wood paneling and soft silk drapes, although there were no overhead lights in the lobby. The only light emanated from three bright white string-lights and a glowing rock in each corner. There was a young boy with a stunning helmet of hair filing his nails behind the desk.

The boy glanced up. “Hello,” he said in a disinterested Russian accent. “You’re new. You here for a class?”

“Er, yes.” Leonard stepped forward and flashed his coupon. “I checked the online schedule and saw that there was one in a few minutes.”

“The fal-kov,” the boy confirmed. He took the coupon and punched out a square and then went back to filing his nails. “The non-member changing room is to your left, and the studio is on the second floor. Elevator is beside the changing room if you prefer that to stairs.”

Leonard nodded and hastened to the changing room. He got out of his tired scrubs and struggled into the spandex tights, annoyed by how tightly they clung. They caught on the hairs of his legs. Once dressed he tossed the wrapping off his new mat and climbed the stairs.

There were already people gathered and stretching. Leonard unfurled his mat in the corner, as far away from the front as possible. He didn’t want anyone looking at him. He stood there, uncertain, until a tall slender Vulcan man walked in alongside a short, round woman with long, tightly-coiled black hair. The Vulcan was wearing black yoga pants and a cropped yellow t-shirt that revealed his slightly furry belly.

The woman had a bucket of water bottles and she handed one out to everyone in the room. Leonard accepted it politely and gave her his best winning smile, but she only arched her brow in return. She went and had a hushed conversation with the Vulcan man and Leonard swore they looked his way. He thought maybe it was his nerves getting to him, but then the Vulcan looked directly at him with a piercing black gaze and raised one angled eyebrow.

Leonard frowned.

The woman left and the man stood at the front of the room and unfurled his mat. He introduced himself as Instructor Spock and said they would begin when the room reached the proper temperature.

Immediately, Leonard began to sweat.

He thought it was his residual awkwardness at the new situation, but then he really began to sweat. The temperature in the room seemed to double and it was like they were piping water into the very air itself. Leonard struggled to breathe, but Spock and the others seemed unaffected. Spock had an excuse–he was Vulcan–but the humans in the room must just have been crazy.

“The temperature is now optimal,” Spock said, his voice rich and resonant in the thick air of the studio. “Begin standing, ankles together.”

Leonard hastened to catch up with what everyone else seemed to implicitly know how to do. He followed along as Spock demonstrated from the front of the room how to stand and slowly lift one’s hands to the air. Leonard found his gaze drifting a little south, to Spock’s flat stomach. He jerked his gaze upwards again.

It didn’t seem very difficult at first, and then quite suddenly it got impossible. Spock made them balance haphazardly and stick their legs out at odd angles and lean dramatically to the side. Occasionally, Spock came out into the room and readjusted one of the students. Leonard was feeling headstrong now and refused to stop even though he was already feeling tired and hot and sweaty. He guzzled about half his bottle of water in the first ten minutes and sweat began to bead on his brow and run down into his eyes.

His feet were wet and kept sticking to the mat. His shirt clung to his shoulders. But dammit, he was going to do this. He’d show that Vulcan that all his skeptical eyebrow raising was ill-informed. He was perfectly capable of–ah!–stretching in these…weird…uncomfortable poses. He winced as his back let out a shout of distress.  He let out a breath and held the pose. Spock came from the front of the room and stood behind Leonard, gently resting a hand on his shoulder. Spock only pushed him a half-a-centimeter but suddenly the tension went out of Leonard’s body and his back relaxed. He blinked a confused thank you, but Spock did not respond.

Spock was up at the front looking utterly unruffled, though most of the humans in the room were now huffing and puffing. Leonard figured they had to be at least half-way done–it felt like they’d been at this for hours–so he drank the rest of his water and mopped the sweat from his brow. Spock had them all stand on one leg and then, mercifully, they could lay down. Leonard felt like taking a nap but Spock didn’t let up for a second.

They lifted legs, shoulders, bodies in time to Spock’s meditative voice. Leonard did find it soothing, and at some point his brain stopped registering his discomfort. He moved through the series of poses not without effort, but certainly without thought. He moved where Spock guided him. Twice more Spock came to his mat and helped him enter the pose required, his long hands shockingly cool and dry in the oppressive heat of the room.

Finally, they knelt. Spock told them to breathe and they did so. Leonard felt his eyes close automatically. Breathe in, Spock said. Out. Feel the heat of the room. Moisture in the air. The center of your body striving for water. Breathe in. Out. Feel.

Leonard felt.

He opened his eyes sometime later and saw that most of the students had already left. A few hung out by the door, chatting.

There was a bottle of water hovering near him.

He took it, looking up at Spock with embarrassment. “Thanks,” he muttered.

“It is no difficulty,” Spock said. He stood with his hands folded behind his back as Leonard tried not to drown himself in his haste to drink. He hadn’t realized just how thirsty he was, but now that he had water he realized he was light-headed with dehydration. “You did well for your first session.”

Leonard frowned. “How do you know this was my first time?”

“I know all the students,” Spock said patiently. “We are a small studio. Also your…expression as the room began to heat was quite telling.”

Leonard chuckled. “I guess I didn’t exactly know what I was getting myself into.” He tried to stand up and realized his legs were jelly. He swiped a hand over his brow, disgusted at the sweat still clinging there.

“If you wish—” Spock cut himself off, glancing towards the door. “There is a shower area normally reserved for studio members. I would give you access today.”

“That bad, huh?” Leonard said, hoping he didn’t stink. Wasn’t there something about Vulcans and a superior sense of smell? “I sure could use it. Thanks.”

Spock nodded and looked away politely as Leonard struggled to his feet. Spock lead him to a door tucked away on the ground floor and opened it with a key card. Inside were rows of lockers and two students chatting as they changed. Leonard gave a wave to Spock in thanks and went straight for the showers.

The water was exquisite. Amazing how different water could feel pouring down his throat or over his body, rather than clinging heavy in the air. He let the water run over him and rested his head against the cool tile wall, thinking that maybe everyone had been right. A little exercise never hurt anybody. He felt good. Energized. 

He found towels in a pile and put on his street clothes. When he left he saw no one until he got to the lobby, where Spock was sitting on a wooden bench reading a book with a pair of black thick-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. He’d changed into a regular long-sleeve shirt that covered his midriff. A real disappointment for Leonard.

He glanced up as Leonard entered.

“Did you…” Leonard trailed off, not wanting to ask if Spock had waited up for him.

Spock rose. His ring finger fell between the pages of his book, saving his spot. “The studio closed. I remained behind to lock up.”

“Sorry, I didn’t realize I had taken so long.”

“It is no trouble.” Spock’s face was soft. “I also intended to tell you that tomorrow you will feel quite different than you do now. There is a certain euphoria after exercise that will fade to exhaustion tomorrow.”

“I know that.” He smirked. “The human body’s no mystery to me, Spock. I’m a doctor by day.”

“I see.” Spock seemed honestly interested. “In two days time I will hold another class. You should attend.”

Leonard laughed, caught off guard by Spock’s forthrightness. “I’ll do that.”

Spock gestured Leonard out and locked up the studio. Leonard hesitated on the sidewalk in the cool night air, feeling like he should say something else. He wasn’t sure what.

“So…”

“I did not get your name,” Spock said.

“It’s Leonard. Leonard McCoy.” He almost stuck out his hand before remembering Vulcans preferred not to touch. But then, Spock had been touching him plenty during the class. Maybe it was different in that hot space.

Spock nodded and Leonard realized suddenly that his eyes weren’t black, as he’d thought at first. They were a deep, rich brown. Quite inquisitive. “I bid you good night, Doctor McCoy.”

“Just Leonard, please,” he said, and smiled. “Doctor McCoy was my father.”

Spock didn’t seem to get the joke but his face softened anyway. “Good night, Leonard.”

Leonard left into the night feeling lighthearted. He bounced in time to the song dancing through his head, not caring at all that tomorrow he would awake sore and tired, cursing Vulcans and their overheated yoga classes. He knew he’d still be back in two day’s time to unfurl his mat at the front of the room.

And maybe he’d bring his own water, next time.

[send me a prompt or support me on patreon]

Mega Alolan Dugtrio

The two smaller heads seem to prefer hiding in the bigger one’s hair rather than the ground. Even in this form no one knows what their bodies look like.

Their tightly coiled hair form natural afros, which cushion them extremely well from external forces. They can also deliver mean combination headbutts.

Type: Ground/Steel
Ability: Buffer (On switch-in, this Pokemon creates a Substitute with ½ of its current HP rounded down without depleting this Pokemon’s HP.)
Stats:
HP 35
ATK 100
DEF 120 (+60)
SPA 50
SPD 120 (+50)
SPE 100  (-10)
BST 525
New Moves: Shore Up

They kinda look like volcanic eruptions if you squint hard enough.

Nessian POV - ACOWAR Chp 15

First up on the Nessian POVs of ACOWAR is chapter 15 when Cassian, Rhysand and Feyre find Nesta in the library. 

Velaris was full of life outside. Cassian could hear fae walking in the streets along with distant laughter. Except those sounds were dull in his ears as his heart thumped in his chest at the small tether that pulled him forward.

Feyre had only just arrived back in Velaris with the Spring Court emissary, though from the looks of it perhaps Lucien would no longer hold that position after they fled from Tamlin’s territory. Now it was time for her to see how her sisters were adapting to their new lives as fae.

Rhysand began tracking down Nesta, but Cassian already knew where they would find her. Exactly in that same spot she preferred among the bookcases with a novel in her narrow fingers.

He remembered coming to the town house after his wings were healed enough not to keep him bed-ridden. Every other day he would walk through those doors and seek Nesta out. And every time she would snarl and hurl vicious words his way when he offered to train her.

She was being stubborn. And skies above if he couldn’t help, but to do everything in his power to rile her up. Because seeing her anger was better than her hiding back behind that wall she always kept up.

He was afraid. So afraid that after everything Hybern did to her- Cassian’s mouth tightened.

He lost Nesta once and he was going to do everything in his power not to lose her again. Any moment it felt as though she could break under some pressure he was trying so damn hard to help her with. But every time he offered to teach her combat or even speak a word of kindness she deflected it as though his efforts were meager whims instead of tasks that he put his heart and soul into.

But he could understand her distrust. Even though it was misplaced. He only wished that she would have enough faith in him to know that he would rather die than let her be harmed again.

And so as he walked with Rhys and Feyre to the library. Cassian’s shoulders tensed in anticipation. Each step drawing him closer and closer to the female who he couldn’t stay away from.

The red stone halls were dim much like his siphons at the moment. Cassian’s wings rustled as he slightly rolled his shoulders. His muscles loosened at the movement, but became taught with every step toward the wooden double doors he had walked through so many times before.

He could sense her presence inside before Rhysand even opened one of the doors.

And there she was. Curled up in an armchair she preferred. A book was on her knees and her posture was calm. Relaxed even. Her gray-blue eyes focused on whatever was written on the page she was currently reading.

But before Cassian could enjoy the moment any longer Nesta heard them in the doorway. Her head shot up and her back instantly became rigid. She shut her book soundly with a thud while placing the book face down on the table beside her.

Nesta regarded them with a simple gaze. Though she was far from simple in Cassian’s eyes as he held his breath and watched her stand in a plain pewter gown that did wonders for her curves. The design for the dress was modest, but it didn’t matter. Nesta could command attention in anything she wore.

And her long dark golden hair was braided today in a style resembling a crown upon her head. Yet still hiding those pointed ears that she was ashamed of.

Many times Cassian wondered what Nesta would do if he unpinned her tightly coiled hair and let it hang loose down her shoulders. He was curious about how her hair would feel through his fingers as he pushed the strands behind her ears while letting his thumb caress the pointed tips down to the lobe.

But with her hair pulled up as it was today it showed off the pale skin of her neck. Cassian’s eyes darted over the spot where he had last touched her there. It seemed ages had passed since that time in front of the fireplace across the Wall.

Except he remembered each detail with vivid clarity.

Keep reading

kahleniel  asked:

Shklance for motivation? :D

Apparently I got this message a few days ago but I completely forgot what it was about? I’m sorry D: So I wrote a drabble for you instead. Hope this is okay!


Shiro let his feet do all the work. Automatic like a well-oiled machine, he ran down the flight of stairs as fast as he could. It wasn’t terribly far away, just three stories down. As soon as he was out of the building, he dragged himself to the wooden bench by the sidewalk, watching the empty road. It was nearly three in the morning, no cars would come up in this residential neighborhood any time soon.

Left leg shaking uncontrollably, Shiro let his head fall forward, hands coming up to hold his temples as fingers coiled tightly against his hair.

“It’s fine, it’s fine. I’m fine. This is okay. We’re- I’m fine. It’s okay.”

Keep reading

“Of Love and Agony,” (1/1)

Summary: His tongue was cruel in more ways than one.

Notes: This was inspired by a very NSFW sketch that appeared on my dash. It is also DO-era filth, which means it is incredibly sad. So be aware going into this, it’s probably the darkest thing I have written or will write. Thanks to the bae, @abbadons-little-witch! Also tagging @captainwiley, by request. xo Also on Ao3, as always.

I have lost myself in the sea many times
with my ear full of freshly cut flowers,
with my tongue full of love and agony.
– Federico García Lorca


+ He surrenders in an unknowable moment between her thighs; but he won’t realize he’s lost until it’s too late, the strange, salty taste of her an intimate, uncanny premonition of the blood in his mouth.

“I knew,” she’ll whisper days, weeks, months later, their skin warm and damp in the light of a grey, early dawn, “I knew.”

Keep reading

The Evolution of box braids

Box braids didn’t become popular until the early 80′s when the GOAT Patrice Rushen took to the R&B and jazz scene

But at the time, they weren’t really called “box braids.” They were individual braids inspired by North African cultural aesthetics, especially Egyptian. However, box braids have their roots in our home region, West Africa as well.

Early on, you saw a peep of these beautiful, intricate hairstyle in the late 70′s from the female singers in Oddysey and S.O.S. Band

I believe both singers from these bands appeared with these hairstyles in the year 1977. So box braids have been here in African-American culture for a LONG time. It just didn’t really become a fad until the early 90′s because before then, these hairstyles were looked at as “trippy” Afrocentric hairstyles that artists would wear to get in touch with their African roots. The 80′s was a time where a lot of African-American artists’ fashion were inspired by West and North African roots.

 At the turn of the decade, you began to see box braids become more mainstream with Janet Jackson, Naomi Campbell’s ethereal ass, rapper Yo-Yo, and Jada Pinkett Smith.

Then in the mid 90′s, Stacey Dash makes braids en vogue by sporting the famous look in Clueless.

All the middle to upper-class girl caught on to box braids because of this but who should really get credit is the incomparable, Brandy Norwood!

Ask for “Moesha” at the hair salon, and it was say no more.

Mariah’s white-passing ass tried them on for size in her Thank God I Found You remix video and they looked dope!

And then here comes sexy stemme Alicia Keys bringing back our great-great-great North African ancestry in 2001

She made cornrows cool for all the black girls in grade school!

And I almost forgot! Beyonce really made kinky twists hot in the early ‘00s as well

Always looking like somebody’s cool redbone cousin rollin’ up at the family cookout 

Then Christina Aguilera tried to join in on the fun, but we said, “Nah, sweetie. You Latinx but you not afro honey. But you look cute sis”

*fast forward to several years later*

Unfortunately, box braids were no longer as popular as they were in the early ‘00s. Bad, synthetic weaves dyed a tacky brown were in from 2004-2008.

But in early 2013, box braids had a revival!

Thank you, Keri Hilson! You may not be shit, but you did that thing! I always said you was my hair-fashion icon tho. I can’t stunt on you.

We had Zoe Kravitz make braids cool for the edgy, sarcastic and loner black girls like me!

Soon, we saw so many pictures of black girls modeling box braids on Tumblr and Instagram!

Solange soon rocks these braids because she’s hip and poppin’

Then Christina Milan being Afro-Latina, she had to get in on this

Even Tia or Tamera

Soon, these 90′s R&B girls came back for a reunion with their beautiful, braided locs!

We all saw Ayesha Curry try to butter up to the black female community by taking an adorable selfie with her mama 

Now we got Instagram models and actresses making braids en vogue!

(Babyhairs aren’t mandatory and I recommend women with type 4 hair to get these styles. If you are under, I wouldn’t keep these in for very long)

So now box braids are everywhere, and they are the go-to for a black girl’s protective style, especially if they have my hair type! But anyone who is black and of African descent can wear them. You don’t have to have tightly-coiled hair to wear these, but they are what the styles are intended for since the hair is apt for them. 

 And notice something else; none of these styles were coined or invented by white or non-black women. They were all made and adorned by black women. And Patrice Rushen is the Godmother of protective styles. Don’t whitewash these!

To Be Big

Summary: Garnet and Amethyst come home from a mission that’s left Garnet exhausted. Amethyst just wants to be able to be there for her.

Word count: 935

(Read on Ao3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/8819227)

Sometimes Amethyst wishes she was big.

Like Jasper.

Not in a self-deprecating way, not anymore, but in the way that she wants to be able to give Garnet a break sometimes.

She knows that Garnet never really asked to be their leader after Rose…left. Pearl could have easily taken over, Amethyst thinks, if she hadn’t been so scarred by the entire thing.

And Amethyst was small. Small, immature and far too young to carry the burden that Garnet now held firmly on her strong shoulders.

So it’s times like these, when it’s just the two of them coming back from a mission because Pearl’s had one of her episodes and hasn’t left her room in the temple for two weeks, that Amethyst wishes she was big.

Like Jasper.

Like the Quartz she should have been.

Because Garnet slumps as they return to the beach house through the warp pad, and her body sparks with excess electricity build-up, and stars does she look exhausted. Garnet drags herself to the living room, and probably means to make it to the soft comfort of the couch, but instead she face plants right to the hardwood floor. The resounding thud of the contact makes Amethyst cringe, and then she’s right by Garnet’s side, trying in vain to wriggle beneath her body somehow to lift her up off of the floor.

This doesn’t work. She’s too small.

Keep reading

Type 4A-Coily Springy

Type 4A is tightly coiled hair that has an “S” pattern. It has more moisture than 4B; it has a definite curl pattern. The circumference of the spirala is close to that of a crochet needle. The hair can be wiry or fine-textured. It is very fragile with lots of strands densely packed together. Type 4 hair has fewer cuticle layers than other hair types, which means it has less natural protection from damage.

4A celebrities: Macy Gray, Solange Knowles, Leela James

Tips:

Start your coily springy regimen with co-washing. This will cleanse and condition your coils without out its natural oils. Restore and renew your dry coily springy hair with a deep conditioner once a week. Hydrate, soften and nourish your coily springy hair with moisturizers

A non-black friend of mine posted as their Instagram caption, “Excuse the nappy hair” indicating that their hair was messy.

Except that “nappy” isn’t an adjective meant to mean “messy”, it’s an adjective used to describe a texture of hair, particularly tightly coiled Afro-textured hair.

I’m not trying to call anyone out, I just want to inform you that saying your hair is nappy, when it’s messy, is associating a negative image with those of us who have naturally nappy textured hair. The same goes when your hair is poofy or untamed and you say you have an “afro”. Phrasing like that lends a negative connotation to those of us who grow that kind of hair naturally, and can negatively alter the perception of black people by society.

bookworm-technogeek  asked:

Could you do a Captain Canary fic where they adopt a kid who was taken from abusive parents and Leonard is the best dad ever, trying to give the kid a better childhood than he had? Thanks!

note: i made it lighter than what the prompt asked for…

“Has he said anything?”

“No. Give him time.”

Sara frowned, slowly crossing her arms over her chest while looking at her son sitting on the floor of his room. The young four-year-old currently had a red car in his hands and was twisting it around in his grip. His shoulders were tense, and he still had the single red backpack he came with sitting on his bed zipped up. His name was Earl. He’d been in a few foster homes before Sara and Leonard had decided to adopt. It was something they’d discussed shortly after getting married. They still wanted to try for one together, but the desire to adopt had also been strong.

“How much time?” she asked. 

“As long as it takes,” said Leonard. “We’ll need to be patient.”

Keep reading

Uuugh, I dragged my brainsick self outta bed just for this one. A sad anniversary coming up and some bittersweet fluff.

Coran skidded to a halt outside of the nursery just in time to see a shrieking little blob of black fling itself out of one of the nannies’ arms and slither under a wardrobe. “What in the-”

“Oh, glories, are we glad to see you, sir,” another nurse said as she tried to collect shreds of cloth and fluff that looked like they had once been pillows. “We have no idea what happened! She was just fine all through her bath-!”

The nanny who’d suffered the worst of Allura’s tantum winced as she touched the scratches on her face. “As soon as we tried to put her down for bed, she started screaming for her father or you, and- *this!*”

And Alfor was still in a sealed cabinet meeting. Coran sympathetically patted the injured nurse on the shoulder and directed the woman to the medical kit next to the changing station, then got down on his hands and knees to peer into the dark space under the wardrobe. “Allura… little sweetbug… It’s your old pal Coran…”

Glowing green eyes and bared tiny glowing green fangs greeted him from the shadows. “Prove it,” came the hissing growl, its attempt to be threatening somewhat mitigated by how squeaky it was.

Coran coughed and cleared his throat.

“The silvery light beckons in the night 
The moons are calling you to play…”

Allura immediately perked up at the sound of her most favorite lullaby, the one she had demanded that he and only he could sing for her, and scrambled out to be picked up. Coran rocked back on his heels and scooped her into his arms before getting up, letting her get comfortable.

Her newly re-dusty-state brought the attention of the nurses, but when their approach made her growl and form little claws to prick his clothes with, he quickly signaled them to hold off on another bath until morning.

“-And how brightly all the stars do shine
How smartly all the planets align
They twinkle so and dip their rings low
To guide your way to sleep.”

With her face buried in his neck and chubby fingers coiled tightly in his hair as she finally snoozed, Coran knew getting Allura into her crib wasn’t going to be happening. With a fondly exasperated sigh, he settled the sleeping toddler more comfortably and sank into one of the nurses’ swisher chairs, then started when he noticed the shadow in the doorway. “Oh, your majesty. I didn’t hear you arrive.”

“It’s quite all right,” Alfor replied, coming in to lovingly ruffle his sleeping daughter’s hair. “The meeting only concluded a few minutes ago. Heard the story from the staff on my way. ” The king gave him an oddly sad smile. “I’m glad you’re here to look after her when I cannot.”

“Yes, well, you two have had me wrapped around your little fingers since I took this job,” Coran said with a grin. But if anything, his attempt at humor only seemed to make his liege sadder as Alfor quietly pulled over a chair. “…Sire?”

“The Ballad of the Star Dance… Illyere always used to sing that to her,” Alfor said softly, sweeping a stray lock out of Allura’s face, and then Coran understood.

“The seven year anniversary is next week, isn’t it?”

“Of the waypoint gate accident, yes. But the caravan would have set out tomorrow, meaning tonight’s the anniversary of the last time she saw her mother.” Alfor scrubbed his hands over his face and sighed. “I should have thought to reschedule the damn meeting. Of course she would have been upset tonight.”

“It was a mistake, sire, that’s all. I’ll rearrange the morning duties so you two can have a nice long uninterrupted breakfast together.”

The hand on Allura’s back came up to sweep through Coran’s hair affectionately as Alfor got up, and he hoped the other man didn’t see him briefly flash pink in the dim light. “You’re a wonder. Thank you.”

“Yes, sire.”

Alfor leaned down and kissed his daughter on the cheek, making her snuffle happily in her sleep, then quietly left. Coran settled the toddler higher against his chest so she was pulling on his hair a little less, then snuggled down into the chair to get some sleep himself.

anonymous asked:

Someone at work told me that I have nappy hair :(

Tightly coiled unaltered hair is beautiful hair. The world tends to gives the term “nappy” a negative connotation. Take what that person said as a compliment. All hair is good hair, remember that.

So basically the Jet Black Heart music video made me cry. And I’m not fangirling, I’m being deadass.

I can’t remember the last time a band I liked put a girl who looked like me in a video.

I’m older than most of the fandom. (I’m 24) So I was into Blink 182 and Green Day and Linkin Park and Taking Back Sunday and My Chemical Romance and 30 Seconds to Mars and allllll those pop punk and punk rock bands while they were dominating TRL and Fuse and maybe I missed it, but this has never happened with a band that I loved as far as I know. So many bands resonated with me musically, lyrically, emotionally when I was struggling. When I didn’t want to be around. When I was praying and wishing for better days

but none of them ever looked like me.

None of the girls in the videos had my dark skin, or thick lips.

None of them had thick, black, tightly coiled hair, or braids, or dreads.

None of them shared my experiences.

It felt like none of them saw me. I was invisible. (no pun intended. Lol)

But today some girls did share my features and for this first time ever, it felt like I was worth acknowledging.

It hit me hard, man. Harder than I ever could’ve anticipated. I didn’t know I cared… I had no idea it mattered as much as it did until I saw those girls in the Jet Black Heart video.

I think I just got so used to white girls being the norm, I didn’t even realize I gave up. To see brown skin in the video shocked me. And even writing this I’m tearing up because this is something I never thought would happen. Thank you so much 5sos. I really really can’t say it enough.

And I know it seems minuscule and tiny but it’s real. God, is it real and it’s beautiful and gut wrenching and gratifying and… Shit. Smh.

I’m not that broken 14 year old girl anymore. I’ve made my strides and eventually those better days came by… I’m battling different demons now (Student Loans, Electric Bills, Rent, Evil Grad School Profs, Parking Tickets, etc) but I know that seeing those girls in that video made a difference for so many black teen girls out there. I know it made a difference for me.

Representation matters. I want to thank Ashton, Michael, Calum and Luke for seeing me… After 15 years of loving Pop Punk and Punk Rock they’re the only band that I listened to that ever has.

nytimes.com
Black Travel Groups Find Kindred Spirits on Social Networks
Virtual communities have sprung up catering to African-Americans travelers, mainly women, who rarely find themselves the target of tourism companies.
By Ashley Southall

As I stood barefoot at the entrance to the Chottanikkara Bhagavathy Temple, a labyrinthine Hindu shrine in the southwestern Indian state of Kerala that is forbidden to nonworshipers, a man studied me.

Wrapped in a blue silk sari, I was an anomaly in the crowds of worshipers and wedding guests sweeping past. My pecan-brown skin had been tanned by the sun, my tightly coiled hair was cut in a close crop, and I spoke a foreigner’s English. There was no one like me there except my then-boyfriend, who was standing next to me with his modest Afro as we waited for my college roommate’s wedding party.

“What are you? South African?” the man finally said. When I told him we were American, he asked again, “South African?”

Continue reading the main story

My hair is natural and I was told by a white hair stylist that she does “ethnic” hair, and that she would do my hair.  She doesn’t say I do curly or tightly coiled hair as that can refer to anyone including white people.  I’m sick and tired of black people being referred to as ethnic or exotic (code word for anything not white).  Everyone has ethnicity including white people.  Plus, we’re not different races, that annoys me too.  We’re all apart of the human race.

[This was a little something that I just wanted to share with you guys. Hope it’s okay.]

I’ve never felt so stigmatised in my life till today. Today was the first time that I went out with my natural hair. after my big chop. The reaction that I received from people made me feel so insecure and inferior in myself. I must clear that the very people who said these to me were my external family. The comments I received when I walked through the door is “What have you done to your hair?/ Why is not straight?/ What are you doing about it/ Cover it up it looks awful.”  Yes my family said these things to me.  Choosing to go natural was an extremely hard decision for me having always had my hair relaxed from my a young age. Straight hair was all I knew and I didn’t even know what kinky hair looked like. My mother thought it was a joke or a phase where after a few months I would cut it off and trust me I came close with the reaction of my mother who couldn’t deal with her child having a tightly coiled hair.  I couldn’t stand the looks people gave me when they saw my hair - the look of disgust and the laughter that would erupt from their mouths. I was the butt of their joke and to be honest it really hurt and I don’t think I’ve cried so much in my life. 

Honestly I’m glad that I made the decision to go natural because I couldn’t handle having to relax my hair and dealing with an aching scalp. I love being able to do different things with my hair and I absolutely love my 4c hair. I’ve accepted hair for what it is and  I understand that I will be around people who will not like it and as someone told me today at Church. “It looks disgusting, don’t do this to yourself.”  But I’m not going to let that bother me because I love my hair and that is all that should matter. 

Jacqueline (ghanaian-princess)

___________________________________

Mod Note: Jacqueline, you are so brave for not giving in to your family’s wishes and sticking with your natural hair! It’s a struggle here that most of us, if not all of us, understand to some extent. My family was mostly supportive, with a few loud dissenters - but after they saw that as the months flew by I rocked my natural hair with style and grace and perseverance, their dissent turned to nothing. Eventually, I started receiving compliments from them.

Take pride in your hair. It is your heritage. Your family is not at fault for the way they’re reacting. They too have been taught brainwashed into thinking that the way their hair comes naturally is not okay. That straight hair is preferred and the only way to be “pretty”. This is the work of white supremacy and eurocentricity. And you were strong enough to resist, to do what your family does not yet have the courage to do. Be brave, girl! We are all so proud of you. And you are so so so beautiful.

I Love My 4c Hair

8

Crawford spotted Beverly Katz through the window of an examining room as he wove his way between the boxes. She had a pair of child’s coveralls suspended from a hanger over a table covered with white paper. Working under bright lights in the draft-free room, she brushed the coveralls with a metal spatula, carefully working with the wale and across it, with the nap and against it. A sprinkle of dirt and sand fell to the paper. With it, falling through the still air more slowly than sand but faster than lint, came a tightly coiled hair. She cocked her head and looked at it with her bright robin’s eye.

Crawford could see her lips moving. He knew what she was saying.

“Gotcha.”

That’s what she always said.