so. this is my attempt at revitalizing a small part of old romanian culture via tungel.hell. also goes for the near&far eastern versions of this, of which i was able to find nothing of (at least in english) online as well
i have not been able to find pictures of either of these hairstyles or even their less complex variations past the early 1930s. perhaps this is still done somewhere in huneduara, but it escapes me
now, firstly, i wanna say i originally learned how to twist by going to an african hair salon; so shoutout to the two congolese women who taught me. they couldn't figure out how the top part was done either but they were v sweet lol
these are twist braids, crochet braids, they have several names. i only know that the ones on the right were called cuarne, "horns", in romanian. this is one of the better and more clear tutorials i have found for how to twist. its pretty easy and fast, once you get the hang of it
to start: I recommend heavily conditioning your hair and scalp the night before if youre planning on keeping them for days/weeks, and oiling/moisturizing it before you start braiding. I dont know what oil they used back in the day (perhaps animal), but I use both argan oil and a pretty oily leave in conditioner. however, this depends on hair type, u want your hair to absorb it; if your hair or hands are too slick it will make it more difficult.
the way the begginings of the braids are done - the way it looks like the hair is flat until them - is like this. i made them bigger so its easier to see, but once you get the sections of hair thin enough (vertically), you cant see any skin between them anymore. you can start to twist from the very top (using the bottom/lower strand to pull the hair to the scalp), or start with a 3 way part and quickly switch to two (might look a bit different/flatter). change the direction of the twist when you change sides
the ones on the left are straight down; the ones on the right are done at an angle twoards the back (ca şi cuarnele). the ones in the top left photo are angeled twords the front, center forehead initially. old photos show there were several styles floating around, soo uhh have fun w it
how to keep them: chances are if youre going to spend hours upon hours doing this youre not gonna want to take them out the next day. if you have tight curly hair, or coarse, they're likely to stay better. even if not, once you get the twisting down right, they'll stay quite well (the braids can look "right" but not actually be; the way to tell is if when you let go, it barely comes undone/spins. tbh this is one of those skills you develop w time). generally, the smaller and tighter you make them, the more likely they are to keep. you can of course tie them w small elastics, but the smaller they are, it becomes a nightmare and closing one takes longer than making it. something ive found works quite well is: when you near the end, split the hair in 3 parts and do a regular braid, as small, tight, and for as long as you can (no this isnt good for your ends). by the bottom the braid is already small enough that the difference can't be seen, but it will close it much better. (there are also ways to make knots at the bottom of braids out of hair but ive never been good at this). hair spray or gel also kinda work (and uhh i think maybe either sealing them w ice cold or boiling water, or using a hair iron, but i havent tried these)
hair damage& care: this ⬇️ is how the hair looks the morning after i took out the half-assed ones i did for this post. as u can probably guess, when you do this small and tight, and keep them in long, these strands get quite compact. now, if you did this carefully and correctly, your hair wont be tangeled, just twisted, and youll be able to take them out without damaging your hair by gently rolling them between your fingers, starting at the botttom, in the opposite direction. dont attempt to use a comb, or start from the top, or rush, bc chances are you will pull and very quickly create a very nasty knot which will fuck up your hair. last time i did these on my own, i kept them for about 3 weeks; id oil them every other day or so, and i washed them once. I have pretty thin hair, but i had no real issue. you just have to b patient taking them out
for reference, just this front section of my hair took around 3 hours to do
24 notes
·
View notes
task force 141 with a controversially young civilian girlfriend.
-> mentions of large age-gaps, referenced sexual content, alcohol use. afab!fem!reader. minor dubcon (everyone's drunk.)
thinking that you're studying in uni. working on the side to try and afford rent and, if you're lucky, some noodles every other night. you don't really get seen compared to your friends, who go out clubbing and spend their spare time on dating apps.
one time, your friend drags you to a bar. not usually your scene, considering its clientele is more for tradies, and military-type men. not like the stuck-up blue collar boys at your uni.
cue you getting drunk off your ass, barely even standing, when you bump into one johhny mactavish.
he holds your elbows, your chest crashing into his. gentle with it, too -- kind and sweet and grounding.
"y'alright, lass?" he asks, a small smirk on his face, eyes darting across your frame greedily. he, in all fairness, looks nearly as drunk as you. he stumbles a little with your weight.
you giggle, tilting your head to look at him. say something stupid like, "you don't look like a student."
his brows raise, his dimples deepen. "aye, very smart, hen."
you preen with the compliment, a cheesy grin stuck to your face. you make no move to stand up and leave. you think your friend just left with a guy anyways.
johnny moves you, muscled arm around your waist as he takes you to a booth.
three other men sit in it, only one looking somewhere in a ten-year age bracket to you. they're all impossibly large, filling out the space with ease. your stomach swoops, but you easily blame the alcohol.
manoeuvring you so you sit in his lap, johnny's hand is a comforting weight on your waist. he huffs a laugh.
"didn't realise we were goin' for jailbait, soap," the youngest one chimes, dark features shining in the pub's dim light. his eyes trail your frame silkily.
you can't stop the roll of your eyes -- your inhibitions have made you senseless. "'m not, 'm completely," you drag out the syllables, "legal."
a hand on your thigh makes you jolt, and when you look over, a blonde man with a black medical mask raises an unimpressed brow. "got a problem, kid?"
you shoot him a weak glare. "not a kid. weirdo."
the arm around your waist tightens, as does the weirdo's hand encompassing your thigh.
"not scared of anythin', are you darl'?" the final man in the booth asks, hands folded together where they rest at the table. he looks at least double your age, and that simple fact along with his drawling words has your core tightening.
"what's there to be scared of?" you ask, stupidly. your head tilts to the side, unknowingly moving to rest on johnny's shoulder. he doesn't comment.
"miss bein' young and drunk," gaz sighs, hand softly gripping the gin sat on the table in front of him.
"you look young," your brows furrow, not understanding. how old could he really be, to act so nostalgic of your current predicament? "how old are you guys?"
it's an embarrassing question -- makes you feel like a child all over again. but your interest is quickly peaking, and your need for answers overpowers your need for decorum.
johnny's the one to answer, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers.
"gaz, the pretty one over there, he's twenty-eight," he murmurs, heat stirring low in your gut as you nod mindlessly, meeting gaz's eyes.
johnny stokes his thumb over the skin of your hip, and you curl into him further -- stranger be damned.
"i'm thirty," he hums, and god, he sounds so fucking sensual you're about to melt into his arms. if you aren't already.
"the guy in the mask?" said man's hand tightens impossibly against your skin, fingers just shy of grazing your aching pussy, "he's thirty-seven. got a lot of experience, aye?"
you shudder.
"what about you?" you end up voicing, shyly meeting the last man's gaze. he takes a slow sip of his whiskey.
he leans back into the cushion, eyeing you carefully.
"forty-three."
your thighs squeeze together, and fuck, if that's not a turn-on. no matter how unsafe you should feel, surrounded by four military-grade, older men, it only manages to have you wet beyond belief.
all you can manage is one question.
"take me home?"
7K notes
·
View notes