transitional dreads


Is ya boy Lazzy and his wonder daughter (boy I love those mercenaries, huh)

I wasn’t a fan of the returning characters at first, but at least they bothered to explain it and honestly, considering it gave us Soleil, I ain’t even mad

hope you’re all out there voting fellow Britbongs 👀 if I hear theresa may won because it was raining and no one wanted to go out I will track down every one of you who didn’t vote and show up at your house to give you a three hour long powerpoint presentation about the dangers of the rise of the right wing during times of economic crisis. there’ll be dreadful slide transitions and excessive clipart. vote.


New Dreads currently for sale in my Etsy Shop!

Click HERE to go to the listing! :)

7 Layered Transitional Synthetic Dreads. (20 pieces)

Colors: Black, Dark Purple, Purple, Orchid, Strawberry, Grapefruit, Orange, Lime Green, Sea foam Green, Green, Turquoise, Polar Blue.

About 20" inches long.


The Rivet Redux is back this week with a video tutorial on Transitional Synthetic Dreads! This week, you will learn how to make transitionals (ombre) dreads that will not unravel, have hard spots, nor will crack like wrapped transitionals. This method has been used for years by professional dread makers to create very durable twisted dreads that start as one colour and transition into another, which can also be great if you want to match your natural colour and have unnatural coloured ends. This method also has the potential to create very long dreads, if you use the same colour and can be adapted to use more than 6 different colours, without forgoing length and the stiffness associated with striped dreads!

Preference #2: Going the Distance (C.H)

Space was something you’d grown accustomed to.

Everything was always half; the queen-size bed, the closet, even the bathroom was always stocked with only your products, his were always absent.

That came with the nature of his job: packing his suitcase to leave and entertain thousands of girls each night across the globe. It was his dream, and you were undeniably proud of the boy who accomplished everything he wanted.

But it was hard. The late night calls and Skype sessions were difficult. You only saw his face or heard his voice for a meager ten minutes before his head nodded off from exhaustion, or your yawns kept breaking his steady summary of that night’s show.

You missed him.

You knew what you signed up for when you accepted to be his girlfriend six months back. You anticipated it to be hard, but never expected it to be this draining. His soothing touches seemed to linger on your skin like a painful itch you couldn’t seem to scratch, and when his cologne began to fade from his pillowcase it felt like the dreaded transition of the warmth of summer to the blistering frost of winter.

“When can I see you again?” was a question that was uttered a copious amount of times. Pleas for you to come out to see him play at some odd state in America were voiced, only to be shot down when your schoolwork and professor proved to be a crucial factor. Each time you’d have to decline against every fibre of your being, and tears would well in your eyes as you spoke a simple, “I’m sorry babe, but you know how it is.” It sucked, distance truly sucked.

He could hear it in your voice.

He knew that this tour was tearing you apart limb by limb.  He saw it in the half-smile you offered when he retold the tale of some meet and greet, or when your voice would crack as you bid your goodbyes.

So when the boys were surprised with a break in radio interviews and selling out venues, he purchased the first plane ticket back to your shared apartment in Sydney.  He was going to close the distance, and mend each wound with a caring caress and late night cuddle before the spaces between you ultimately severed the relationship of his dreams.

It was late at night, you were typing away softly at your computer trying to finish an essay on the Psychological Significance of Pygmalion and Galatea.  Your earphones were in, and you were listening to some James Bay track at full-blast in hopes of creating the ideal study lounge.

Yet it was three am, nearing four, when your eyes softly shut.  Even though you told your brain, “Just for a second”, your body took advantage of the distraction and sent your exhausted form into a dreamless sleep.

Luke snuck in, slipping the familiar key in the lock.  He welcomed the scent of vanilla and your perfume; he was home.  He dropped his suitcase and crept towards the dim kitchen light.

And there you were, mouth slightly agape and your hair pulled into a messy bun. Your face rested on your laptop, and a notebook filled with doodles and bits of class notes was sprawled across the wood table.

With a small smile ladened in infatuation, he shook your shoulder and whispered, “Baby.”

Your eyelashes fluttered and groggily, your eyes opened a small fraction before they shot open, “Lu?”

The distance was eliminated with a shocked bout of laughter from you, and an emotional giggle from him.  Arms and limbs became intertwined as hugs and kisses were exchanged. “You’re here,” you commented lamely, cheeks flushed from the gentle caresses and kisses that were smothered against your collar bones.

“I am,” he confirmed, stroking a piece of your hair that had fallen loose from your bun. “I’m never gone,” he added, “Maybe physically but that will never stop my love for you.” The final kiss on your swollen lips seemed like a promise.  It sealed an oath to always come home, and to never give up on an everlasting love.