Ok ladies! Urmys asked what my natural hair was like and how I achieve my current style.

The first image is my natural hair, air dried. Its not bleach damage or lack of deep conditioning, that’s juts how my hair has always been! It used to be very curly as a child but now is just frizz. 

The second shows the thickness of my hair (after taking dreads out) 

The last shows my usual hair style. 

I achieve the last image through vintage style wet sets using water (and sometimes setting lotion) and pin curls. I use great conditioners such as dumb blonde (the old formula) and aussie three min miracle. I also treat with argan oil and coconut oil. My protein filler of choice at the moment is joico. 

Our Last Summer

Originally posted by h8rryh8rt

The summer air was soft and warm when Y/N and Harry fell in love during a chance encounter whilst Y/N took a gap year to travel the world, first stop was Paris. Harry was there on a mission with the Kingsman, he had been a Kingsman for around a year and was enjoying every moment of it. It beat any desk job he could have had after University.

Feelings coiled around Harry’s heart as his breath was taken away as he watched the young lady he knew now to be known as Y/N walked past him, her hair blowing in the light breeze, her sweet scent engulfing his nostrils. A small piece of paper dropped from her pocket and Harry made it his mission to give it back to her. “Mademoiselle!” He called out as he raced along the Elysee to catch her up. The young lady turned around at the call of his voice. “Excusez moi, Mademoiselle,” Harry smiled as he tried his best French to speak to the lady before him.

“British right?” The girl smiled as she eyed the smartly dressed man. “Oui- I mean yes,” Harry replied nervously, he had never seen such a beautiful woman before. He then stuttered out, “I believe you dropped this,” Harry held out the piece of paper to the woman, who took it from him, “Thank you, Mister…” she trailed off. Harry flashed her a charming smiled, “Hart. Harry Hart.” Y/N’s heart began to beat quickly and she grinned, “Well Mr. Hart, as a thank you, would you accompany to a cafe and I will buy us a coffee?” She twisted her feet waiting for a reply. “It would be an honour, Miss…” She chuckled softly. “Y/L/N, Y/N Y/L/N, Mister Hart.” Holding out his arm to her, Y/N softly took it, “Please, just call me Harry.”

The pair took a seat in a small café and ordered coffees. Y/N listened to Harry as he spoke of politics and philosophy whilst Y/N just smiled like the Mona Lisa at each of the words that came. That moment they began to take a chance in building a blossoming summer romance.

Walking the streets of London, high heels strapped to her feet, she avoided each puddle as she daydreamed about that summer. She could still recall it so clearly. The walls they took hand in hand along the river Seine and the laughter that would emerge from their lips as the rain began to fall. That summer she spent with Harry Hart, those memories still remained clear in her mind.

 As Harry put up his umbrella and stepped outside onto the streets of London, his eyes saw the reflection of light in the rushing water into the drain. A smile came across his lips as his mind took him back to the times he spent in Paris with the Y/N.

They made our way along the river and Harry laid a blanket in the grass in the perfect view of the Eiffel Tower. It was their first date after the night they met and Harry was so thankful and happy that they had met.  They were so young then, not a care in the world, no regrets to be had. Yet, as Harry walked along in the Thames, Big Ben in sight, he began to realise he regretted the moment he was called back to London, leaving Y/N. Seeing the flowers that grew near the Thames, he chuckled to himself at the thought of the daisy he tucked in her hair.

Bumping into a woman, Harry quickly apologised, “I’m terribly sorry,” He supported the woman who wobbled in her heels. Harry’s mind was else where when he bumped into the women. His thoughts were laced in Y/N, where she was, what she was doing, was she happy? The time they spent together in Paris, though happy, was filled with fear of growing up. They took their chance with their romance and now Harry regretted the moment he left France.

“No apologies needed, I should’ve been looking where I was going,” The woman laughed as she regained her balance. The sweet tone in her voice sounded familiar as Harry fully took at the woman who he held in his arms. Her piercing eyes and her puckered lips caused his mind to jump back to that summer. It was all so clear to him. The tourist jam around the Notre Dame. “Sorry, do I know you? You seem so familiar,” Harry asked taking his hands off of the girl. “Hart? Harry Hart?” The girl questioned, a surprised look on her face. 

Harry nodded as the pair stood under Harry’s umbrella as the rain began to pour. All the memories they shared together that summer. The Paris restaurants, the morning croissants they shared. The times they lived for the day, all their worries were so far away. The times they could laugh and play without a care in the world. “Gosh, how long has it been?” Y/N questioned, stepping closer to Harry as drops of water dropped from the edge of the umbrella. Her scent drifted across his nostrils, the same scent that he had come to love all those years ago.

He shrugged, wrinkling his suit slightly, “Years, say, would you like to get a drink, I’m sure we have a lot to catch up on,"  He held out his arm like he did the first day they had met, a soft smile graced her lips, "I’d like that,” Y/N replied as they began to set out to a local bar.

“So let me get this right, you’re working as a tailor?” Harry nodded, “And your a big football fan?” Y/N questioned, a smile tickled her lips. All those years ago, she wouldn’t have taken Harry to be the typical English family man. “Yes, all correct, but I’m still single. The closest thing I have to a family was my dog Mr Pickles, but he pasted not too long ago.” Harry confessed as he watched Y/N’s beautiful features in the bar light as he sipped on some whiskey. “That life seems so dull,” Y/N admitted, “My life is just as dull if I’m completely honest.” She would never admit she followed Harry back to London and had been living here ever since. She saw how happy he had become and how he easily moved on. Yes, it broke her heart to watch him move on but he was still the hero of her dreams. 

“I can still recall our last summer Harry,” Y/N said, swirling her finger around the rim of her glass. Her eyes didn’t meet his. “I do too, the walks along the Seine. You kicking up the puddles in the rain,” Harry laughed as he lifted up her chin, to meet his eyes. “Why did you leave me?” She asked as she pushed away his hand. Guilt coursed through Harry’s veins. He could never tell Y/N about his job, his real job. “Why did you leave behind all the memories that we made?” She questioned as she pushed away her chair. “I urmI,” Harry stuttered.

“I followed you to London, only to see you moved on Harry, it broke my heart, yet I’m still in love with you…I’ve been in love with you for all these years. Yet, you’ve still only met me with disappointment and heart ache,” Harry watched tears well in her eyes. She scrolled something on a small napkin. “Call me when you’re ready to admit why you left behind all our memories,” Y/N said bluntly, her voice shaking. Harry watched her walk about if the bar, his heart breaking.

Someday I will draw something in my downtime that is not floating bust shots but IT IS NOT THIS DAY, my friends. NOT TODAY!

oh P.S. up in the top left there is @kayzig‘s character Rat, and he will eventually be showing up in a comic she is making along with 5 other characters on here! I’d recommend keeping an eye out for it because it’s really great!

So, AS USUAL I have been working away in secret with @kayzig on rampant stuff, and I am finally solidifying these ladies (who you may have seen glimpses of) into definite roles. Well, you’ve seen Bianca and Cybil on and off… I guess Urmi is a debut!

Conversely, in films like ‘Damini’ and 'Zakhmi Aurat’, which are set in
post-independence urban India and hence lack the convenient ’enemy’ of an emasculating foreign power, the representation of female resistance carries with it a central ambivalence. The rape/revenge/justice problematic structures a female response of resistance, but because the ’enemy’ is usually a male oppressor of one’s own national and class origin (even, at times, a family member), the transcendent nationalist mythology that sanctioned resistance in the historical setting is now unavailable.

What we see in these films then, alongside the representation of strong feminist heroines, are the men who bear witness to such resistance and their subsequent characterisation as liberal, decent, law-abiding citizens. They come to represent the new Indian male as much as the rape-resisting, avenging woman represents the new Indian female. The sympathetic men in these films seemingly comprehend the raped women’s need for resistance in a way that the state does not, and sanction the avenging action through the symbolic authority invested in them by the state and society–a sanctioning necessitated by a society that disallows legal and social autonomy to women. 

This continuing trend towards the need for the male witness to sanctify female resistance raises certain questions regarding the representation of feminist action in the popular media. While purportedly offering possibilities of feminist revolution, do films like 'Zakhmi Aurat’ and 'Damini’, upon final analysis, embrace the status quo of gender relations? Why is it harder to depict situations of female resistance when the oppressive ’other’ if the enemy within one’s own national and religious boundaries? Why is the gesture of transcendent myth-making of female characters necessary in order to depict women who step outside their socially prescribed gender roles? What would a realistic account of feminist resistance look like? Although these films ostensibly depict contemporary male institutions and Indian patriarchal society as having failed women, do they then, through the inclusion and valorising of male figures who witness and validate feminist action, nevertheless reinforce the subordinate position of Indian women as subjects ultimately dependent upon male identity and social sanctioning?

Critical to understanding the place of feminist resistance in popular Indian cinema is the acknowledgment that, as in other nationalist narratives, the role of women’s history is inextricably tied in with nationalist history, to the extent that when the theme of feminist resistance does appear in the early cinema of the 1940s, 1950s and 1960s, it has been almost always subsumed under the rubric of mythical and nationalist ideology. Moreover, any kind of feminist resistance offered by heroines in these films nearly always played itself out in the shadow of the hero’s idealism about women and nation.


NIRA GUPTA-CASSALEBearing Witness: Rape, FemaleResistance, Male Authority and theProblems of Gender Representation in Popular Indian Cinema

It’s important to note that the majority of women heroes in these later films about sexual violence and “rape-revenge” sagas are characters that are bluntly put forward as virtuous upper-caste Hindu women just like their earlier nationalist “mother”-figure counterparts. And, even more importantly, the male witness was always, and continues to be, the upper-caste Hindu man. In a film like Damini, sexual violence is unleashed on a subservient, infantilized girl named Urmi who works as a servant in the home of an upper-caste, urban upper-class family, the Guptas, yet Urmi is completely erased from the film and is given no autonomy or a narrative in which she fights or gets revenge on the upper-caste men who rape her. Without even a surname she is written as a “casteless” character, yet the Guptas and Damini Gupta are not. 

Damini Gupta as a virtuous upper-caste Hindu woman who belongs to this family is instead the heroine of the film. The entire story becomes about her fight and her battle for justice and concludes with a celebration of her as the ideal, courageous, goddess-like Indian woman. Urmi is nowhere to be seen and actually dies by middle of the film, thus erasing any potential commentary about the sexual violence that uppercaste men have for centuries unleashed on lower-caste and Dalit women or a narrative in which resistance by these women is shown. In Damini, upper-caste women in the name of empowerment and feminism claim ownership over the struggles and bodies of lower-caste and Dalit women just as they have done in real life. There have been great feminist critiques of this particular film and the way upper-caste men are used to justify and legitimatize the actions of the heroine yet they never expound on the casteism that is such an integral part of the story and its commercial success. What about the respectable, uppercaste Hindu woman witness?