#taking care of it! it's waist length! thick and curly too but i straighten it

[silverselfshippingchaos]

this scene is so silly ajdjajsja but I can't stop thinking of him saying that to Ash and Ash just grinning.

"... G.arrus, humans usually just say 'you have a nice ass'"

"That's not what I meant! I wasn't even looking there- Well- Actually- Uh... I-I meant, you know.. It's just, well, uh... Oh, come on, Ash! You know I'm new to this!"

And then she bursts out laughing.

#ash rambles 💚 #can't calibrate this one 🌌 #also sir 😭 is this music your idea of romantic?? #it's not exactly setting the mood.. #anyways #i love ash teasing him so much! they kiss a lot after that #also teehee look at my s.hepard! isnt she pretty? i love making player characters in games a lot #sometimes i get a little insecure tbh since there's so much s.hakarian in the fandom #and hey i cant blame them. it's a damn good ship #but methinks g.arrus should kiss ash!!! #or hey. even better. you throw ash in the middle of g.arrus and s.hepard #honestly i like that ship a little better with male s.hepard for one (1) reason and thats so he can tickle ash with his facial hair LMAAAOO #but hey either s.hepard works. i kiss both men and women #i got sidetracked #point is. g.arrus cute 👉👈 #the way he compliments her hair... that part always gets me. as an indian girl my hair naturally means a lot to me and i spend a lot of time #taking care of it! it's waist length! thick and curly too but i straighten it #it just makes me smile whenever i think about him complimenting my hair or asking to touch it #and by the way. he was absolutely looking at her ass.

[blissfullyecho]

I am very seriously considering Japanese hair straitening because I am so tired of living with fine, thin curly hair and quite honestly I want long, straight, thick hair that grows down to my waist

BE CAREFUL!!!!! i have fine wavy/curlyish hair too and straightening treatments are so harsh. i am a blonde (bleached) and my hair took a toll but it's in really good shape now and it's growing because i do the following:

k18 (worth the price-- the bottles last me for at least 4-6 months) and i think it's much better than olaplex

i only put heat on my hair when there is heat protectant and i limit heat styling to 1-2x per week

i only use salon/professional-grade products. kerastase is so good for my hair and so is redken.

i get my hair professionally trimmed every 8 weeks (just a tiny bit, like a quarter of an inch) because I lighten my hair each time i go

i wear professional extensions now from JZ styles, but for clip-ins i recommend bellami (silk seams). my bellami's were in good shape for about a year and i wore them everyday and styled them a ton.

i would try all of that first ^ and then if push came to shove, get the straightening treatment but i advocate against it. i never wear my hair natural unless I'm washing it lol. I've been doing this for years and my hair is in pretty good shape. i would say to learn to take care of your hair, straighten it, and add extensions for length and volume!

#q/a

[enbies-and-felonies]

Here Comes the Sun (And I Say, it’s Alright)

The second part in the “Finding Home” series!! (pt one)

AO3 LINK

taglist, just ask to be added or removed: @barrel-of-cat-mituna @completekeefitztrash @tiergan-andrin-alenefar @lemontarto @hershis-kotlc @genesiscaveat @everything-else-and-mars @juline-dizznee @chaotic-basics @an-absolute-travesty @classyfunnyquotesmuffin7 @iamstealingyourgenderaswespeak @itstiger720 @introvertedscarecrow @sunset-telepath @an-idiot-in-a-trenchcoat @cowboypossume @anaccidentwaitingtohappen @sofia-not-sophie @fire-sapphics @dr-alan-grant @real-smooth @juline-dizznee

Warnings: some swearing

Summary: Keefe meets Sammy’s moms (they love him).

Keefe looked down at the small boy who walked beside him, gently swinging his hand back and forth and humming. Sammy was a cute boy with wavy, slightly wispy, light brown hair that reached below his ears and hung in his eyes, causing him to pause every so often in order to brush it away before returning to whatever he had been doing before. He had freckles covering his face and spreading lightly over his neck, and he was missing one of his front teeth. Keefe smiled; Sammy also had the tendency to walk with little hops, or to skip and gallop. It was kind of endearing.

"Mr. Keefe?" The young boy abruptly stopped and peered up at Keefe, swiping at his hair with a thoughtful expression that seemed the wrong fit for his round face. Keefe was struck all at once by the vividness of green in his eyes.

"Yeah kiddo?" How did people normally refer to kids??

"You don't need to worry. My moms- my moms are nice and- and- and you know I'm pretty sure they will love you. I love you Mr. Keefe, and my moms will love you. You fixed my knee!" Apparent mission accomplished, Sammy turned away and started off, humming again under his breath.

Keefe's throat got thick, but he just smiled and nodded, too overcome by the pure emotions rolling off of Sammy to answer. How could one person hold so much hope and joy?? How could this kid, after knowing him for barely seven minutes, already feel such overwhelming love and fondness for him?

It knocked the air out of his chest.

"Alright, sure Sammy." His voice was tight with emotion, but he smiled anyways. The kid was alright.

"Hello, my name's Keefe." He flashed his most charming smile and tried to ignore the thumping of his heart. it's FINE, he just looks like he kidnapped their kid. Again, FINE-

"Hello Keefe! I see you've met Sammy; Thanks for finding us." The taller of the two women in front of him gave a teasing smile at Sammy, "Mischief maker." He giggled up at her and she scrunched her nose back.

She had light brown skin and her curly umber hair, which was the length of her chin, was pulled half-up into a ponytail. Her eyes were smiling when she turned them back to Keefe, and although his heart was stilling going faster than a rabbit's, he smiled cheekily back.

"I'm Maren Sauveterre, but if you even think of calling me Mrs. I'll set Sammy on you, y'hear?" Her stern words were offset by the crows-feet at the corners of her eyes and the lilting laugh that escaped. "Anyway, this is my wife, Aden."

Keefe glanced over at the muscular red-haired woman beside Maren. Despite being shorter than Maren, which actually wasn't saying much since Maren seemed to tower over everything, Aden was an imposing figure and Keefe had to remind himself to steady his breathing. At least Maren didn't seem to have a problem with his accidental kidnapping of their kid, and if worst came to worst she would probably stop her wife from beating him up.

Aden raised an eyebrow and grinned, putting her hand out for him to shake. He could do that, shaking hands was normal, it was a normal thing and he wasn't an elf and if he didn't impress her she wasn't going to kill him-

Taking her hand with what might be a tighter grip than necessary -hadn't he always been told a firm handshake was a good first impression?- Keefe gave a quick nod. Her feelings were a strong barrage of confidence, amusement, affection at Maren and Sammy.

"Good grip, son." And then Aden was smiling and turning to Maren; "You'll have to be careful with this one, Love, he's got spirit."

Keefe felt slightly relieved when he looked her over again and realized she was someone who would likely return his banter, and let an easy smirk pull at his lips.

"Yes ma'am." He responded with a small wink, and Aden burst into laughter.

He was about to say something again when Sammy tugged at the corner of her shirt and whispered up at her "Mom, mom I gotta tell you something." 

Aden quickly knelt down and tipped her head so Sammy could whisper into it, "What's up button?"

Meanwhile Maren seemed to be studying Keefe, whose heart had begun racing again. What had happened to the numbness from before?

"When was the last time you ate, or had a place to shower?" Her eyes were calculating, but not unkind, and Keefe felt his cheeks flush. He must smell worse than those selkie skins he'd once had to clean Fintan's capes with.

"I think I ate dinner last night, and the last time I showered... was longer than I care to remember." He was lying, and his heart skipped three beats. He'd had a small lunch... three days ago. Oh. That wasn't good.

"Well," Aden straightened up and crossed her arms (if Keefe hadn't already pegged her as a kindred sarcastic soul, his anxiety would have spiked again), "Sammy says you healed his knee, so I guess you're coming to our place for dinner."

"I-" What. What the fuck was the protocol for that??? Keefe did NOT have the emotional stability for- "Sure." The smirk convinced them, even if it didn't reassure him at all.

On the way to their house, Keefe learned a few things. First, that Maren might be tall as hell, and Aden muscular and *intimidating* in a way that almost made Keefe second guess his initial 'smart-ass who enjoys banter' assumption about her, but they were both kind and welcoming in a way that burned his throat.

Aden swung Sammy up onto her shoulders and called Maren 'Love' and teased them both with a fond smile just hiding on her lips, and Maren rolled her eyes and tried to tickle her side before breaking out into her bell-like laughter. Maren wore a strawberry shirt and light jean overalls that reached her mid-thighs. On her ears were strawberry earrings, and Keefe got the feeling that that was kind of her vibe. He liked it. 

Aden had her flaming red hair in a set of ornate braids twisted up to lay against the nape of her neck, side bangs hanging on either side of her face. Her outfit was a simple pair of black jean shorts, a grey tank-top, and a deep red flannel (that's what he remembered Sophie calling it at least, and he didn't dwell on it because the thought kind of stung) tied around her waist. Keefe approved of both their outfits; must be the gay.

(Another sentence Sophie had said. He really needed to stop thinking about his friends.)

It was... nice, to walk with them and not feel like there were these expectations that he had to live up to. Aden and Maren clearly adored each other, and Sammy, and they never for a moment made him feel like he was "other". Sammy rambled about bees -something about them not having lungs- and Aden complimented his knowledge while Maren smiled at the both of them, glancing at Keefe as if to say "See them? They're the loves of my life."

And Keefe could. He could see the way they fit together, the way they belonged, each, together. They fit together like families rarely did, in Keefe's opinion, and it made him ache. He had that with his friends, and now-

Now it was better not to think about it.

"C'mon Mister Keefe!!"

Keefe looked up ahead at where Sammy pulled at his Mom's hand, now back on solid ground, and smiled. Soft this time, no smirk to mask feelings he couldn't show. Sammy was already beginning to grow on him, and if Keefe wasn't careful he would let it happen. Let himself grow close to someone just to have them pulled away again, or worse, until he pushed them away, like he did everyone else.

But looking at the Sauveterre's, they way they loved their son, each other, the way they loved life-

Well, maybe this was the dawning of a new chapter in Keefe's life.

And maybe, just maybe, he would let it happen.

#felony writes shit #finding home series #My writing #keefe #keefe sencen #maren sauvettere #aden sauvettere #sammy sauveterre #kotlc fanfic #keeper of the lost cities #kotlc #original character

[erinevrly]

𝙼𝚄𝚂𝙴 𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙴:

erin invicta everly ( rose ).

𝙸𝚂 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙼𝚄𝚂𝙴 𝚃𝙰𝙻𝙻 / 𝚂𝙷𝙾𝚁𝚃 / 𝙰𝚅𝙴𝚁𝙰𝙶𝙴?

standing 5’6”, i’d say that erin is of average height, despite axl constantly calling her a shortie.

𝙰𝚁𝙴 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚈 𝙾𝙺𝙰𝚈 𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙷 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝙸𝚁 𝙷𝙴𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃?

yes, she is okay with it. of course, there are days when she feels a little insecure and wishes she was a few inches taller because then she could be a model and her mother would finally be proud of her but other than that — she’s happy to be smaller and more petite. it means that she can wear high heels and still look beautiful while standing next to her tall husband. besides, she can always ask him to pick her up when she can’t reach something on the top shelf and what’s more fun than this ?

𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃’𝚂 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝙸𝚁 𝙷𝙰𝙸𝚁 𝙻𝙸𝙺𝙴?

well, it could be a separate headcanon because the way erin’s hair looks is constantly changing and there’s so many things that i want to include here. let’s start from the very beginning . . . she comes into this world, looking like a baby bird — almost completely bald, her downy hair is so faint and delicate that it’s barely visible from a distance, her forehead is a little too big and venetia insists on keeping a hat on her little head at all times ( she looks cuter with it than without it, it masks all the imperfections that mother’s eyes should not be able to see but somehow they do ). luckily, this phase ends fairly soon and she gets to celebrate her first birthday without a hat or a giant headband. just like her mother and older sister, during the first few years of her life, erin is a blonde. as months go by, her hair grows longer and fairer, and by the age of three, she finally has a head full of sandy locks. much to her mother’s displeasure, that’s also when erin discovers how scissors work and decides to give herself a haircut, which results in an emergency visit at a professional salon and getting her first bangs — it ends up being the perfect solution for her high forehead. at first, her hair is only slightly wavy at the very tips but as time goes, it becomes more and more curly and, to everyone’s surprise, after the summer of ’70, it slowly begins to get darker and darker. her family often jokes about venetia purposely dying her daughter’s hair but it’s not the case here — erin’s hair just keeps changing naturally. when she’s ten, her hair no longer resembles her mother’s but rather father’s. it’s chocolate brown and wavier. venetia makes sure to braid it and keep it at shoulder-length. at thirteen, erin repeats her mistake from when she was just a toddler and decides that her natural look isn’t good enough, she ends up getting a horrible ombre but strangely enough loves it, believes it’s the coolest thing on earth. she lets her hair get longer, reaching the middle of her back. unfortunately, the bangs remain a thing all up until she’s a young adult ( and even then she sometimes feels the need to cut it, whether out of self-consciousness or habit remains unknown ). from there, erin’s hair only gets darker and curlier. in early 20s, she rarely pulls it up in a ponytail or a bun but she does use bows and cute scrunchies occasionally. she likes it best when it cascades freely down her back ( keeps it either waist length or mid-back length ), she likes the feeling of gentle wind playing with her ringlets. at that point, they’re chocolate brown, thick, rich and deep, always soft and silky to touch. she uses a lot of hair products to keep it shiny, healthy-looking and nice smelling — conditioners, hair masks, shampoos ( her favorites being strawberry or pomegranate-infused ones — fresh, fruity and lovely ). then, when she’s in her 30s, she starts straightening her hair and later she uses box dye to make it look almost black. being as impulsive as she is, it would be no surprise if she had a meltdown and decided to randomly cut her hair one day — let’s wait and see, the best is yet to come.

𝙳𝙾 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚈 𝚂𝙿𝙴𝙽𝙳 𝙰 𝙻𝙾𝚃 𝙾𝙵 𝚃𝙸𝙼𝙴 𝙾𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝙸𝚁 𝙷𝙰𝙸𝚁 / 𝚂𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙸𝙽𝙶 / 𝙶𝚁𝙾𝙾𝙼𝙸𝙽𝙶?

YES ! unfortunately for axl, erin is one of those girls who always need to spend at least half an hour in the bathroom before heading out. maintaining her long curls isn’t an easy process and she’s learned it the hard way, accidentally brushing them and turning herself into chewbacca a few times. she wants to always look good and fresh, that’s why she washes her hair every two days and doesn’t really use hairdryers, she prefers to let her curls dry on their own as it makes them more bouncy, which again is not a quick process. as for shaving, she’s a girl and has no facial hair but when it comes to other parts of her body, she prefers to wax her legs and armpits because it leaves them smooth and doesn’t irritate her skin as much as blades but at the same time, it’s painful and takes more time and energy so if she’s in a rush or being lazy, she just settles for shaving them ( it may not be very hygienic but she sometimes steals axl’s razors rip ).

𝙷𝙾𝚆 𝙳𝙾 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚈 𝚃𝙰𝙺𝙴 𝙲𝙰𝚁𝙴 𝙾𝙵 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝙸𝚁 𝙱𝙾𝙳𝚈? 𝙶𝚁𝙾𝙾𝙼𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙸𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙿𝚄𝙱𝙸𝙲 𝙰𝚁𝙴𝙰, 𝙻𝙸𝙼𝙱𝚂, 𝙵𝙰𝙲𝙸𝙰𝙻 𝙰𝚁𝙴𝙰; 𝙴𝙲𝚃. 𝙼𝙾𝙸𝚂𝚃𝚄𝚁𝙸𝚉𝙸𝙽𝙶? 𝙾𝚁𝙰𝙻 𝙷𝚈𝙶𝙸𝙴𝙽𝙴?

same goes for erin — daily showers that last a little too long and are a little too hot. usually, after a shower, she uses a vanilla-scented lotion ( or johnson & johnson’s baby oil if it’s nighttime because she loves the smell of it and it leaves her skin smooth and soft, the grown-up stuff is overrated anyway ) and rubs it thoroughly from her head to her toes basically. she never forgets about her favorite lavender hand cream, uses face masks and has a plethora of moisturizing creams ( one of them is always on her nightstand ) that she puts on her face right before going to bed. as for her pubic area . . . again, it’s a complex thing, just like everything else in erin’s life. when she’s younger, she likes to go full brazilian and gets rid of it all, waxes rather than shaves, because it makes her feel fresh and clean. so, most of the time, her flower is bare but then ( especially when she’s a little older and more comfortable in her own skin, in her 30s / late 30s ) she sometimes grows it a little bit just because she’s curious, keeps it neatly trimmed, of course. when it comes to her teeth, erin is one of the few lucky people who have always had perfectly straight teeth and never needed braces. when she was little, she and her siblings visited the dentist every six months, just to get everything checked. she hates dentists almost as much as she hates gynecologists ( hate is a strong word, she’s simply afraid of them and feels uncomfortable in both of these awful chairs ) but she musters some much-needed courage and has her teeth whitened once a year, also gets them checked during those visits. she brushes them at least twice a day and makes sure to floss every time — it’s something her mother’s taught her now it’s more of a habit than anything else, she does it mechanically.

𝙳𝙾𝙴𝚂 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙼𝚄𝚂𝙴 𝙲𝙰𝚁𝙴 𝙰𝙱𝙾𝚄𝚃 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝙸𝚁 𝙰𝙿𝙿𝙴𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙽𝙲𝙴 / 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁𝚂 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙺?

yes, yes and yes . . . unfortunately, erin does care a lot about what other people think of her. too often she lets the irrelevant opinions of strangers get to her and seriously upset her. ever since she can remember, she’s always wanted to impress her friends and be liked by everyone. she’s always kind and polite and has a very hard time, trying to understand why certain people don’t want to be her friends, why they hate her without even knowing her. she’s very sensitive and even the smallest comments or insults can break her heart and make her cry into her pillow at night. so, yes, she does care about her appearance a lot. she doesn’t want anyone to make fun of her.

𝙿𝚁𝙴𝙵𝙴𝚁𝙴𝙽𝙲𝙴𝚂:

Indoors or outdoors?  both. Rain or sunshine?  sunshine. Forest or beach?  beach. Precious metals or gems? gems. Flowers or perfumes?  flowers. Personality or appearance?  personality. Being alone or being in a crowd? tough one ! being with the person she loves ? but if that doesn’t count then . . . crowds. loneliness is scary. Order or anarchy?  order. Painful truths or white lies?  white lies. Science or magic?  magic ! Peace or conflict?  erin wants me to say PEACE but we all know she’s lying — both. Night or day?  day. Dusk or dawn?  dawn. Warmth or cold?  warmth. Many acquaintances or a few close friends?  a few close friends but then she really wants to be adored and appreciated, have someone to talk to at all times so perhaps both. Reading or playing a game?  playing games for obvious reasons, unless axl is reading to her then it’s her favorite thing in the world.

Tagged By: ax-el the thief — @thornrosed

#headcanons. #jfknsafjdsf thank you for this I HAD SO MUCH FUN BUT ALSO ERIN IS EMBARRASSED BYE #SHE HAD TO ANSWER FLOWER QUESTIONS SMH

[anodyne-sunflower]

Eddie K. May RP- (Part 2)

A/N: Y'all can find these in my ML.

~Eddie/Nova~

“No, sweetheart. You were glaring at her.” He smirked, grabbing his cup of coffee and taking a huge chug before pointing at Nova again. “You gettin’ jealous?” He chuckled, leaning back into the booth as he finished the last bite of food. But, it was her question that caught him off guard. He stared at her, raising an eyebrow.

“Relationship, huh?”

He was never one to commit, in fact he made that pretty well known to the women he took to bed. Not that it stopped them from trying to reel his ass in to something more. But, no one ever seemed interesting enough to him. They were all hot, and good lays, but beyond that all they did was yap away about the most trivial things. He shrugged, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it before looking back at Nova.

“Haven’t found the right one yet.” To ease the serious tone that built between the two, Eddie rose from the booth, pointing his cig at the waitress. “But, I did find her so come on, let’s go get my truck,” he emphasized the last part, “and get the hell outta here.”

*************************************

Nova snorted. “Yeah darlin’ I am totally jealous of women who throw themselves at you.” She said dryly. They got up and made their way to Nova’s car. They both got in and she started the engine before getting on the road. They drove in silence for a while. The radio softly played some cheesy love song. Nova rolled down her window to let some air in. All it did was tangle her curly locks and make a mess out of her naturally looking sex hair. It was typically the reason why she usually kept it in a ponytail.

“You must get lonely.” She mused. She had a few boyfriends during her friendship with Eddie. They never lasted long. He was pretty impossible to get a long with sometimes and they didn’t like how close the best friends were.

"You know my last boyfriend? He, uh, he really didn’t like you.” Nova laughed slightly.

"Most of our arguments were about you.” She had a small smile. It was enough so her dimples stood out. She kept her eyes forward even when she pulled up at a stoplight.

*********************************

Eddie flicked his burnt out smoke out the window, fixing his hat upon his head as he turned to look at his friend. Her hair was wild at this point, the wind making it puff up and he couldn’t help but laugh. “Ya ever heard of a comb?” He joked, placing his boots up on the dash. He had to admit though, despite all his teasing he always found her appearance to be rather attractive. If he didn’t think of her as just a friend he probably would’ve hit that long ago.

��Greg? Fred, Jim, asshole? Or some shit like that, right?” He smirked, thinking of her last boyfriend. He didn’t care for the dick, he was some goody two shoes from the city that didn’t even seem to fit with Nova at all. “The hell did you date him for anyway? Didn’t peg ya for a city slicker.”

************************************

Nova looked at him briefly. “All the combs break.” She rolled her eyes. Her hair was too thick and it was hell in the summertime.

"James.” She corrected. “His name was James.” The light then turned green.

"For one, he didn’t put his dirty boots on my dash.” She eyed his feet.

"I really liked him. He treated me nice.” It was quite for a minute before she continued. “I never told you why we broke up. He cheated.” She exhaled and tapped her fingers on the steering wheel.

"He thought we were…” She trailed off and shook her head. She wished.

"Doesn’t matter anymore. He’s long gone.” She pulled up in front of Eddie’s house. She turned the car off and moved her body to face him. Nova put her elbow on the steering wheel and rested her head in her hand. She smiled slightly and reached over. She grabbed Eddie’s hat off her head and put it on hers. Despite her big hair, the hat was too big and it slid down on her head and a little over her eyes.

***************************************

Eddie wasn’t paying much attention, not until she said that jackass cheated. He sighed, looking over at her from under his hat. “Thought you said he was nice.” He rolled his eyes, as much as she bitched at him for rotating women, she was no better at choosing a guy. All her boyfriends annoyed the shit outta him.

“Thought we were fuckin’, huh?” He couldn’t help but laugh at that, finishing her sentence for her as she sat there silent. He didn’t understand why it bothered her to say it. As she stopped the car, he removed his boots from her dash, opening the door only to stop when she grabbed his hat. “What is it with you women and stealing my fuckin’ hat?” He chuckled, grabbing it off her head and dusting the top off.

“So whatcha think? We go to dinner tomorrow? My treat this time?” If he planned it well enough, he’d get rid of that waitress in the afternoon this time.

***************************************

"I get it Eddie. I’m shit at picking guys. This is why I didn’t tell you in the first place.” She exhaled through her nose and turned so she was once again facing forward. She didn’t like the way he laughed about the way her ex thought they were together. She frowned.

"The thought of being with me is really that laughable, huh?” Nova said bitterly. It was like a punch in the gut. Even if she didn’t have feelings for him, his comment would have still hurt. She cleared her throat and straightened up in her seat. She put on a fake smile and turned her head to look at Eddie.

"Sure Eddie. Whatever you want. I’ll meet you here tomorrow for dinner.” With that, she rolled up Eddie’s window, ending the conversation, and drove away.

***************************************

"Come on now, sweetheart. I didn’t-” But, Nova hardly seemed interested in his half assed apology. He sighed, backing off slightly as she rolled the window up. He knew that smile was fake, he’s known her long enough to tell. “The fuck is eatin’ her…?” He shrugged his shoulders, heading inside quickly and grabbing his truck keys before heading back to the diner for his current little conquest.

———

He slammed her against the wall of his hallway, smirking into the kiss as she moaned his name. It didn’t take long to get her here, save for the hand job in his truck, she all but begged to be taken.

“Damn, darlin’.” He chuckled, leaning his head back as she sucked on his neck, no doubt leaving a mark. He lifted her legs up, wrapping them around his waist as he led her into his bedroom where it wasn’t long before he had her bent over and screaming his name.

***************************************

It was around 4 in the afternoon when Nova pulled up to Eddie’s house. Although she knew it wasn’t a date, she couldn’t help but be a little excited. She wore a white lace dress that showed a decent amount of cleavage and went to about mid thigh instead of her typical shorts and t-shirt and her hair was down. She wore a little bit of makeup and overall, she thought she looked rather nice. She doubted Eddie would notice though. After all, it was laughable. She got out of the car, and straightened her dress. It was a quiet night and she could very faintly hear sounds from the other side of the door. She really hoped it wasn’t what she thought it was. She knocked on the door.

"Eddie,” She called, “I hope you’re ready cause i’m hungry!” She waited for a few minutes before the door was thrown open. Eddie, shirtless, was looking down at her and, surprise superise, the waitress was behind him. Both looking not too happy at the interruption. And once again, hurt and jealously crept its way into her veins.

***************************************

Eddie groaned, fingers tangling in her hair as she bobbed up and down in his lap. He was so close, and then someone fucking chose now to interrupt. “Fuckin’ shit.” He pulled on her hair, her mouth slipping off his length as he heard Nova’s voice. With an annoyed sigh, he pulled his jeans and boxers up, not bothering to Button them completely as he walked towards the door. He threw it open harshly, glaring down at his friend. He looked back at the waitress, shutting the door behind him as he walked onto the porch. “What the fuckin’ hell are you doing here?”

**********************************

Nova shrunk back at his glare. Her mouth opened and closed trying to get the words out. She swallowed and stared up at him.

"It’s 4 in the evening Eddie. Dinner time. You know like you said we would get dinner? Or have you forgotten all about me.” Nova said. She was angry and frustrated. She glared at him and breathed heavily.

"What the fuck is the matter with you? Am I less important than you’re little hook up, huh?” Her face grew hot and tears pricked the back of her eyes. She stepped forward and shoved him back although it didn’t do much. He was bigger than her.

***************************************

"The fuck is your problem?!” Eddie was growing annoyed with her behavior, she had been acting weird since yesterday. She never cared for his hook ups, but she never complained as much as she had been lately. He scoffed when she pushed at his chest, rubbing his face with his hand as he turned away in frustration. “Oh that’s fuckin’ great, hit me. Come on, darlin’.” He neared her, standing rather tall next to her. “Go ahead. You wanna pull this shit with me, huh? I’m tired of this little bitchy attitude of yours! I got a sweet piece of ass waitin’ inside, and I’m out here arguing with you!”

Eddie laughed in annoyance, running a hand through his hair as he grabbed he door, and flung it open. He threw the girl’s clothes at her, grabbing his own shirt and boots and dressing quickly. “Come on.” He motioned for the waitress to follow him, raising his voice when she stared at him in disbelief. “I said come on, get up.”

She followed behind him, shooting Nova a pissed look as she pulled her jacket on and went towards Eddie’s truck.

***************************************

Eddie and the waitress drove off and that’s when Nova’s tears began to fall. She sniffled and pushed her way inside his home, she was too angry to drive, and went straight to the bathroom. She looked in the mirror. Her eyes and nose were red, skin blotchy, her mascara started to run. She threw her hair up in a bun. ‘So much for feeling pretty.’ She thought to herself bitterly. She did her best to clean up the mascara around her eyes. It just looked smoked out now. She went back out and into the kitchen and straight to Eddie’s alcohol stash. Whiskey would do just fine. She grabbed a glass and poured about half way of the amber liquid. She downed it and then poured another, and another. She was quite buzzed and still miserable. She found a pack of cigarettes on the counter along with a lighter in the kitchen drawer. Hopefully it would calm her down. She took the bottle, glass, cigarettes and lighter into the living room and settled herself down on Eddie’s couch. She took a swig of whiskey and let up the cigarette. She coughed the first few puffs but eventually got used to the burn.

***************************************

Eddie pulled up into his driveway, tires crunching over the gravel as he put it in park. He leaned back against the seat, licking his lips and shaking his head as he felt a bit guilty about his actions. He never meant to get that pissed at her, but she was driving him nuts.

He slammed his truck door closed, walking up the steps to his porch and heading inside. He stopped when he found Nova sitting on the couch, glass of whiskey in hand, and cigarette in the other. He rarely saw her like this, and to be perfectly honest it didn’t suit her.

“You nuts?”

He moved closer, grabbing the bottle of alcohol from the table and moving it back to the kitchen where he placed it high up on the shelf. “You drunk?”

***************************************

"Just a little bit” Nova said in answer to both his questions.

"Hey! I wasn’t finished with that!” She protested when he took away the bottle. Her voice was husky and her words slightly slurred. She glared at Eddie. She got on her knees on the couch and turned to face him.

"So you get to fuck women, use them, smoke, and get shit faced and I can’t? Fuck that.” She rolled her eyes and downed the rest of her glass and stuck the cigarette in her mouth, inhaled and let the smoke slowly leave her mouth through parted lips.

"But I guess I’m just laughable right? And I can’t choose men because all the ones I choose are dicks.” She sits back on the couch and stares blankly ahead, puffing away at her cigarette. Its almost gone so she extinguishes her cigarette and lights up a new one.

********************************

Eddie laughed at that, taking a seat on the armchair he had and staring straight at her. “Use them? They willingly come into my bed, darlin’. They know it ain’t serious shit, not my fault if they get their feelings hurt.” He snatched the smoke from her hand, placing it between his lips and taking a puff. It hung from his lip as he spoke, green eyes still set on her as she pathetically glared at him. “That shit supposed to scare me?”

He removed the cigarette, blowing out smoke and scratching at his brow. “Don’t take your attitude out on me because you pick the shittiest men.”

********************************

"And don’t take yours out on me just because you didn’t get fucked.” Nova frowned, her eyes angry.

"You said we were going to get dinner together. I get here on time to you screwing the waitress. Why is it almost every time I’m here I walk in on you fucking or had just fucked a woman?” She grabbed the cigarette back and inhaled deeply.

"Maybe if I had someone I wouldn’t hang around you as much. I wouldn’t be a bother to you getting laid. But I pick shitty guys. And they hurt me. And guys I do like don’t even like me back.” She buried her head in her hands. The tears had started again. She could feel them spilling out of her eyes. She looked up at him.

"What’s wrong with me Eddie?”

***************************************

His expression turned serious, and he rested his hand down on the arm of the chair, smoke drifting up from his smoke.

"You seriously pissed at me because of a waitress? What makes her so different from the rest?” He rolled his eyes, kicking his boots up on the coffee table as he took another drag. “Didn’t know I couldn’t fuck women anymore.” He waved his hand around, eyebrows raised in question.

But, when she broke down in front of him he finally stopped talking, a hint of concern now on his face as he leaned forward.

"Hey…?”

But she didn’t listen to him, she just sank back into the couch, and cried like he had never seen before from her. He stayed put for a moment, debating his next move before he got up and took a seat next to her. Eddie tugged her into his arms, cigarette still hanging from his mouth, as he hushed her. “Come on now, darlin’. Get your shit together. You cryin’ over assholes isn’t like you.”

***************************************

"And how would you know? When we aren’t hanging out you’re sleeping with women and when we do hang out you are picking up women to sleep with.” She sat up and moved slightly out of Eddie’s embrace. She loved the feeling of his arms around her but she didn’t want to get accustomed to that luxury. She turned to face him, not realizing how close their faces were. She looked into his eyes, quickly her eyes traveled down to his lips, but then flashed back up to his green orbs.

"How are you so oblivious?” She said quietly. It wasn’t even a whisper.

***************************************

He scoffed at her, crushing his cigarette in the ash tray nearby before looking at her.

“Didn’t realize you controlled my fuckin’ dick.” He was growing tired of her complaints of him and women, why was it such a big deal to her now? “Look, you pick shit men, big fuckin’ deal, get over it. We don’t always get what we fuckin’ want, and what the hell do you mean oblivious? I’m fully fuckin’ aware that you have a problem with my sleeping around. Again, get the fuck over it.”

He moved to get up from the couch, throwing his hat across the table as he gave her an annoyed look.

**********************************

Nova was getting really tired of his shit. She stood up, walked over to him, and grabbed him roughly by his shirt.

"Just shut the fuck up, Eddie.” She demanded and with that she crushed his mouth onto hers. It was everthing she had thought it would be. His lips were soft and warm and tasted like smoke and something distinctly him. His scent swirled around in her mind and made her feel dizzy. She broke the kiss and sobered up once she realized what she had just done.

"Oh god. I shouldn’t have- I didnt- I’m sorry I gotta go.” Her eyes grew wide and she bolted for the door grabbing her purse. Fear that she had ruined their friendship shook her to the core. She got to her car and dug around in her purse for her keys but it was too dark to see.

***************************************

Eddie stood shocked in the middle of his living room, eyes wide and mouth agape. He could hear her apologizing, but he was too distracted by the tingling in his lips. He never expected…he didn’t think she…he couldn’t even get his thoughts straight. He felt the air as she ran by, door shutting loudly, and it awoke him from his trance.

“Hey…hey!”

He turned on the heel of his boot, running out the door and reaching her in time as she shuffled through her purse. He grabbed her wrist, turning her around and pushing her against her car.

************************************

Nova gasped when she felt arms around her waist and the next thing she knew she had dropped her purse and she had her back against her car and Eddie in front of her. She brought her hands up to his chest trying to put some distance between them.

"Eddie, let me go. I’m so sorry I shouldn’t have kissed you. I am so sorry. Please let me go.” She rambled on and on as she looked up staring into his eyes.

***********************************

Eddie looked down at her, expression unreadable. It was like she had awakened something in him, a feeling he had suppressed long ago after he found a friend in her. Now, after that kiss…his mind was going a mile a minute.

“Shut up.”

He pushed her hands off his chest, and leaned down capturing her lips in another frenzied kiss.

***************************************

Nova’s eyes grew wide and she squeaked in surprise when Eddie kissed her. It took her a moment to register what was happening. Her eyes slid shut and her mouth moved with his. Nova ran her hands up his chest, over his shoulders, one hand cupping his face, and the other buried in his hair, her nails scratching his scalp. As she pulled away for air, a thought entered her mind and she pushed him away.

"I don’t need your pity Eddie.” She looked down at the ground, lips still tingling.

***************************************

Eddie stumbled back a bit, grabbing the top of the car door as he looked at her. He couldn’t help but chuckle at her anger, noticing how cute she actually looked scowling like that. “When have I ever given one flying fuck about pitying people?”

He inched closer, licking his lips as he now gazed at her, a different look in his eyes. One he gave all the women he suddenly had the desire for.

***************************************

Nova scoffed and turned her face away and bit her bottom lip.

"Eddie, you don’t like me like that.” She sighed out. Sadness pooled in her stomach.

"When have you ever felt something for me?” She leaned against her car and watched the leaves shake in the light wind. It was better for her now to get this out of the way rather than give herself false hope.

***************************************

Eddie gripped her chin, turning her to look at him as he leaned down, his nose brushed across hers and he gave her his signature smirk. “I ain’t gonna pretend to be madly in love, darlin’….but, I’m not lying when I say you’re possibly the perfect woman for me.” His lips brushed hers, and he whispered as she readied her hands to push him away again. “So, you gonna be dramatic again, or you gonna let me finish what you started?”

***************************************

Nova rolled her eyes. “Well jesus fuck, Eddie, I’m not in love with you either,” her voice came out a whisper against his lips, “But I suppose you could be the perfect man for me.” She laughed slightly at his last comment.

"Just shut the fuck up, Eddie.” and she pressed her lips to his. Nova brought her arms around his neck and pulled him in closer.

***************************************

Eddie wrapped his arm around her, shutting her car door and lifting her slightly off the ground as he walked them both up the steps of his porch. The kiss was getting heated, and he stumbled across the entrance as he opened his front door. He let her down gently enough, arm still around her as he closed his door and pushed her along into his bedroom.

“Get your ass in there.” He smiled, unbuttoning his shirt as he nudged her onto the bed.

***************************************

Nova gasped as he picked her up and carried her to the house and brought her into his bedroom. She moved to sit on the bed and pulled Eddie down and kissed him. She ran her hands up his naked torso, feeling his lean muscles. When they got to his shoulders she pushed his shirt off and onto the floor. Her hands continued their route where they buried themselves in Eddie’s hair and she gave it a tug.

"Just don’t make me leave in the morning.” She whispered against his lips before resuming their kiss.

**************************************

He chuckled at her joke, rolling his eyes as he kissed a trail down her neck and chest. He glanced up at her, winking before lifting her dress up. “I won’t make any promises.”

———

Eddie fell to the side, panting softly as he laid back against the pillows. He looked over at Nova, grinning as she too was in the same state as him.

***************************************

Nova could already tell that her natural sex hair was amplified and probably looked more like a lion’s mane. She turned over on her side and nuzzled her face into Eddie’s neck. She knew he wasn’t a cuddler but damn it she wanted to cuddle. She tangled their legs together and wrapped an arm around his middle.

"Just let it happen.” She said and kissed below his ear. She traced lazy patterns onto his chest. Nova laid there for a while basking in the scent of sex and Eddie. She felt sore but the good kind of sore and very happy. It almost seemed too good to be true.

"I don’t want to go to sleep,” She confessed, “I don’t want to wake up and have this all be a dream.” She wasn’t typically one for the mushy gushy bit of relationships but he made her feel like her insides were hot fudge.

************************************

Eddie made a disgusted sound, chuckling lightly as she cuddled into his side. “And you wonder why I make women leave the next morning.” He playfully said, resting an arm behind his head as she traced along his muscles. He hated cuddling, always did. Something about it just annoyed him, like he was being smothered. Not to mention most of the women he bedded tried to cling to him. But, he allowed her the moment, his arm wrapped around her as he tapped his fingers along her arm.

**********************************

Nova smacked him lightly and rolled off of him, giving Eddie some space.

"God you’re such a dick. Why do I like you again?” She sat up and the sheet pooled around her waist exposing her torso. She pulled a hair tie from off her wrist and blindly attempted to put it in a bun to tame it somewhat. She raised her hands up and arched her back, stretching her muscles and sighed at the feeling.

***************************************

"Because, you like my dick.” He smirked when she shot him a pissed off look. But, really getting on her nerves was one of his favorite pastimes. He watched her as she pulled her hair up, eyes roaming along her chest thinking back on their little session.

"Hey….how’s ‘bout round two, sweetheart?” He reached over, pulling her back to him, as she rolled her eyes.

***************************************

Nova hummed, “I guess.” She grinned coyly. She gave out a surprised yelp when Eddie pulled her back to him, one hand supported her weight on the mattress and the other went to lay on his chest to keep herself from crushing him. She looked down at Eddie with half lidded eyes and bent down to kiss him. After a while her need for oxygen became greater so she kissed along his jawline and under his ear.

"Whatever you want, Eddie.” Nova breathed. She nipped, sucked, and licked making a decent looking hickey while her hand was slowly traveling down his chest and abdomen, lower and lower.

***************************************

Eddie hummed in pleasure, closing his eyes as her hands trailed lower down his stomach. He had to wonder why he never tried hooking up with her before, seemed like a good time lost over the years. “You don’t waste fuckin’ time, sweetheart.” He chuckled, making her straddle his waist as he pulled her into another kiss. He only pulled away to flip them over, hovering above her as he admired her.

“We shoulda fucked a long time ago, darlin’.”

***************************************

Nova hummed and gently, using her left hand, scratched her nails up his back and into his hair. Her right hand cupped the side of his face and her thumb stroked his bottom lip softly. She gazed up at him with big, dark eyes. She frowned a little at the term ‘fucked.’ It made her feel like she was just another hookup. She stayed silent, not quite knowing what to say. After a little bit she hesitantly opened her mouth.

"I’m not another hook up, right?” She said quietly, nervous of his answer.

*************************************

Eddie leaned down, smiling against her lips as he kissed her. He was getting into it, happily enjoying her company, but her question caught him off guard. “What?” He couldn’t stop the smile on his face, and he ran a hand through his hair as he nipped along her jaw. “Don’t like being friends with benefits?” He chuckled, nuzzling into her neck as he moved her legs apart with his knee.

************************************

She pushed against his chest and stared at him,eyebrows furrowed. Her heart dropped into her stomach.

"Friends with benefits? I’m just a good fuck then? Is that it? You feel nothing for me?” She pushed him off of her and she threw on her undergarments, dress, and boots. Nova turned to look at him.

"So everything you said last night, about me possibly being the perfect woman for you was just to get me to fuck you? That even if we were friends with benefits you would be ok if I suddenly started seeing someone else?” She laughed bitterly.

"My mistake. I guess I was too stupid to think you genuinely had feelings for me.” Tears welled up in her eyes and she rushed out of Eddie’s room and out of his house. Her purse was still by her car where she dropped it last night, luckily no one had stolen it. She found her keys, got in the car, and Nova drove away. She got to her apartment when she let the tears begin to fall. She threw on comfy pajamas and crawled into bed. She felt like nothing.

***************************************

Eddie moved back when she shoved at his chest, rolling his eyes as she began to dress and shoot him those damn looks. The ones that scolded him, and basically spoke volumes of her attitude. He didn’t see what the big deal was, he obviously felt something for her, friend or lover. So whatever she was pouting about was beyond him.

“Darlin’…” he ruffled his hair, messy locks now sticking up higher as he watched her get up and head towards the door. “Nova, for fucks sake.”

He got out of the bed, shoving some jeans on and walking outside. He was at the door when she got into her car, and he leaned against it. “Jesus Christ. Goddamn women.”

~End Part 2~

[wayward-hell]

Just The Beginning Part 2

Just the beginning part 2

Pairings: Lucifer x Reader

Word count: 2185

Warning: Bit of wing kink, (and i think I’ve made Lucifer a bit out of character later on in the writing)

Note: (Reader is female) Part 1 Here 

Sam, Dean, Castiel, Chuck, and Crowley all talked. About what you had no idea, but thankfully neither you nor Lucifer spoke, so it made it easier on your nerves. You started to relax as you occasionally stole glances at everyone from over Lucifer’s shoulder. Lucifer seemed interested in you and any time you stole a glance at everyone you caught him looking at you. You would dip back behind him and cling to his shirt not wanting him to move.

Calming your mind a little you started to take in the little details about everyone as you stole glances. Sam, seemed tired, but too invested in the conversation to fall asleep, his brown eyes and soft features giving you the impression that if he ever gave you a puppy dog pout you would cave into whatever it was. Dean, although rough around the edges you could see that in his eyes, as you’d noticed before, he was conflicted inside, tortured even, but still caring. Dean had short hair compared to Sam. Dean’s eyes were green, the type of green you’d read about in fictional stories. Both the brothers were well built, tall, and handsome, but somehow you got the impression that Dean was the older brother.

Chuck was maybe a bit shorter than you, his curly brown hair was a bit tangled, but his beard was well kept. He had blue eyes when they weren’t glowing gold, but they were a soft grey-blue. Castiel had a bit of a baby face, soft looking, well rounded, but his eyes were heavy as if he’d seen too much, been though too much. Castiel was a bit shorter then Dean, but not by much his hair was a messy black, his eyes much like Chuck’s were blue eyes, but they were more of an ocean blue, again when they weren’t glowing. You started to notice that whenever they got overly emotional that’s when you saw them.

When Crowley’s eyes calmed down, from a literal demonic black to a solid brownish grey color, you were able to see the pain in his eyes and in his features. When he stood or moved around the room he moved as if he owned it all. Then there was Lucifer. Messy sandy blonde hair, Icy blue eyes that flashed red when he was angered, strong build much like the brothers, but not exactly as cut. He held himself as if he didn’t care, and quite frankly you really didn’t think he cared much for the situation at all.

Lucifer grinned as he caught you staring at him. You started to blush as you hid behind his back and put your head between his shoulder blades. He moved one of his wings to lightly hit your side making you bite back a giggle as it tickled your side. You came back up and looked over his shoulder casually as if you weren’t planning anything. He looked at you then went back to listening to the conversation. Your heart started racing realizing that your next planned moved could have a very bad outcome.

Without any more thought you did it. You lightly smacked the back of Lucifer’s head, messing up a section of hair. He turned his head to look at you with red eyes, but a massive grin on his face. You couldn’t help but smile into his shoulder. Your actions caught Chuck’s eye and you noticed before Lucifer did that Chuck saw so you disappeared behind Lucifer again.

“Son is there something wrong?” Chuck spoke firmly to Lucifer. You saw the twitch in Lucifer’s wings as God addressed him.

“Nothing.” You could hear and almost feel the ice in his voice, he hated his father and you could clearly hear it in his voice.

“Alright, well it’s decided then. We’ll deal with [Y/N]’s sudden appearance later. Sam, Dean you know what to do.” You heard Sam and Dean agree with Chuck. “Crowley, you know how to get a hold of your mother, and you will relay the information back to her.” Chuck sounded indifferent towards Crowley.

“Of course.” Crowley’s thick accent sent a shiver of fear through you making you grip Lucifer’s shirt a little tighter.

“Castiel I trust you to gather the some of the angels and tell them.” You heard yet another sound of agreement. Then as you looked over Lucifer’s shoulder you noticed Crowley and Castiel were gone and you watched Sam and Dean leave the room. Leaving Chuck, Lucifer, and you.

“[Y/n]. I need you to do something for me.” You looked at him a little startled. The thought that God needed you to do something shocked you a little. You came to rest your chin on Lucifer’s shoulder looking at Chuck. “Yes Chuck?” Your smile formed a line as you waited for instructions. Chuck cleared his throat and looked at Lucifer. Who glared at his father and left the room. You were left standing there with Chuck.

“I need you to keep an eye on my son.” He smiled at you as if he was asking the world of you.

“Which one?” You laughed a little at the joke you’d made.

He came up to you and grabbed your shoulders, still smiling as he got the joke, “I need you to stay here and watch over Lucifer. He can’t hurt you, but that means he also can’t hurt anyone else and I don’t want him getting hurt. I need you to stay here at the bunker and watch over him.”

Your mouth hung open slightly at the seriousness of the situation.

“I know you only just met everyone, but we are on a tight schedule and I need you to watch over him. Please.” The thought that God had basically just begged you to watch over his son baffled you. However you gave in, even though you had no idea what the hell was happening you agreed silently. He thanked you and lightly hugged you.

“I owe you one. Thank you.” Then with the snap of his fingers he was gone. You took a moment to process what just happened then immediately ran your hands through your hair. You moved to the doorway of the hall that Lucifer had disappeared to.

“Lucifer!” You shouted as you came around the corner. You bumped into something solid and almost fell to the floor. A quick cold hand snaked around your waist and caught you.

“I’m right here, no need to shout.” His eyes flashed red as he pulled you upright, arm still around your waist.

“Oh-um so you heard that I have to watch you while they’re all gone?” You pulled out of his grasp and took a step back.

“Yeah I heard [Y/n].” The way he said your name it sent a shiver through you. There was a deep silence between you two as you thought and he looked over you, like a predator looks over its prey. You looked into his eyes and saw the hunger in them. To dispel the hungry look you grabbed his hand and pulled him back into the large room. He followed letting you guide him.

You sat down on the couch you hadn’t noticed before, pulling him down with you. He obliged and sat down next to you.

“I have a few questions.” He looked over you waiting for you to continue. “Is there any kind of etiquette I need to know about an angel’s wings?” You went right to the point, you’d been thinking about it for some time now. A look of shock crossed his face for a moment as if it was something everyone should know.

“Yes. Don’t touch them unless you have permission.” He paused letting it set in that he wasn’t happy you’d touched his wing. You could feel your face turn a little pink, “Sorry.” You whispered as you dropped you head to look at your hands in your lap. “An angel’s wings are extremely sensitive, and touching them can be either very painful or very intimate.” You could hear a smug expression grow on his face.

It turned out that Chuck and the others were taking a really long time, as it had been now a few hours since they all left. So as the night went on you kept asking questions and he kept giving you straight answers.

You tried to never ask anything personal so as to not get him angry. Even though Chuck said he couldn’t hurt you, you still didn’t want to take that chance. You’d started to create a fairly playful relationship with him, to the point where you would exchange playful flirts with each other. 

Lucifer got up and you jokingly stretched over the length of the couch effectively taking over his spot. When he came back he looked at you then at your legs and he moved to sit down. Not wanting him to sit on your legs you moved them to accommodate him. He turned his back to you spread his wings out and lay down on your chest. His feet hung over the end of the couch a little, and his head rest just below your breasts.

A little startled at what he decided to do you pulled your arms out from under his wings, careful not to touch them. “Um…” You started, but didn’t know what to say. He tilted his head up to look at you, raising his eyebrows a little.

“Yes?” He looked at you playfully curious. You realized that you just had to go with it because he was more than likely teasing you. You shook your head, “Nothin’.” You smiled and rested one arm across his chest while the other played with his soft hair. He moved his head back to a more comfortable position and let you play with his hair. You started to study his wings as you got used to having them there.

His wings were a gorgeous white, but they looked as if they’d been through a lot. Many of his feathers were out of place and you longed to just reach out and fix them. He took your hand from his chest and started to play, moving your fingers in different ways, pointing to things, inspecting each finger. It was cute how playful he was. You went back to looking at his wings as your other hand moved through his hair.

One wing was stretched over the top of couch and rested against the wall, the other lay spread out across the floor occasionally twitching or stretching. His wings were almost double the size of Castiel’s. Finally your need to straighten them took hold of you.

“Can I fix them?” You said looking down at Lucifer. He looked up at you curious. “You have some feathers out of place. Can I fix them?” He smiled a little, taking it as a yes you moved your hand out of his grasp and towards one wing. Without explanation he grabbed you wrist squeezing it tight.

“You sure you want to do that?” His voice was serious, and without even looking at his face you could tell he wasn’t being playful anymore.

“Mhm, I’m sure.” You replied mimicking the same seriousness in his voice. He let go and moved his wing off the floor towards your hand. At first you just fixed the feathers, but once you’d felt how soft they were you couldn’t help, but run your hand through as many feathers as you could reach. They were so soft, and fluffy too which you hadn’t expected.

You saw his wing twitch and fluff up slightly, then you looked down to see him biting his lower lip, eyes shut. You pulled your hand back to his chest and he let his wing relax onto the floor again. You switched hands. The one that had worked on his wing moved to his hair, while the one that had been in his hair moved to the other wing against the wall. This wing was easier to reach and he didn’t have to move it.

You fixed the out of place feathers then ran your fingers through the feathers making the wing twitch. Then out of curiosity you ran a finger down the bone of the wing to his shoulder blade. When you reached him you heard a faint groan of appreciation escape the devil’s lips. Then you remembered what he’d said about touching an angel’s wings, it either hurt or it was… your mind trailed off, racing, as you started blushing realizing what you’d just done to him.

You brought your hand back to his hair and started playing with his hair once more to try and distract yourself from what you’d just done. Still blushing you rested both of your hands on his chest and leaned your head back onto the arm of the couch. You started drifting asleep as you tried to clam your mind. Just when you thought you’d finally fall asleep it felt like he grabbed your hand and laced his fingers in yours. You were asleep before you could decide on what had happened.

#supernatural #supernatural x reader #lucifer x reader #lucifer x you #supernatural x you

[plushkiwi]

Sleepwalker (5/5)

If you have a nasty bruise, don’t use any ointment. Just suffer.

###

Alex looked down at Lena—or what was supposed to be Lena. The large wolf was sticking close to Kara’s side, looking much smaller in its cowed state. Alex had seen her shift with her own two eyes, but it was still hard to wrap her head around.

At the sound of a barely audible whine, Kara frowned, reaching out automatically to rest a hand on the wolf’s scruff. Her fingers dug into thick fur. “Alright, explain.”

Alex and Hank exchanged a look, an air of awkwardness hanging around them.

“I was suspicious of your friend here,” Hank said, talking to Kara and Alex like Lena wasn’t there. “I heard an undercurrent of thoughts that, under the circumstances, sounded like mind control.”

Both Kara and Alex shot Hank a similar surprised look.

Hank folded his arms, finally glanced down at Lena. In response, she pressed her snout against Kara’s skirt, partially hiding her face. “The wolf had a will of its own, based on instinct, but was interrupted at times by a foreign voice,” he explained. “I’ve seen it happen before. And to inform you, Supergirl, would put the animal on alert, possibly ruining the chance to intercept a hostile.”

Kara pressed her lips together, not happy with the kidnapping but unable to dispute the logic. “Ugh, logic,” she muttered under her breath, earning herself a glance from the wolf. Kara relented with a sigh. “I still think you owe her an apology, at the very least. You almost exposed her!”

Hank straightened, uncomfortable, but Kara stood firm, all but demanding the apology. He looked down at the animal. “I’m sorry, miss Luthor. It won’t happen again.”

“And I am, too, for what it’s worth,” Alex added. She’d been suspicious, yes, but the entire thing had felt wrong as soon as she saw the scared animal pacing in the cage. The least she could do was say sorry.

The wolf moved away from Kara enough so it could see them properly, appearing a bit taller than it was a second ago.

Kara smiled at the small change in demeanor. That was as much of an acceptance they were going to get from Lena in that form. When she looked up again, she saw two pairs of curious eyes on her. “What?”

Alex gestured between Kara and Lena. “Can you communicate like this?”

“No?” she answered hesitantly, and of course it was then that Kara and Lena turned towards each other to share a look in perfect sync. At the sight of equally curious green eyes, Kara breathed an, “Oh.”

The wolf tilted its head.

A bright smile snuck up on Kara as she straightened up again. “I guess we can!”

The mood must have been infectious because the wolf started wagging its tail, chest puffing out slightly with pride.

Despite herself, Alex couldn’t resist the small smile tugging at her lips.

###

“So, uh, I might have seen something that I shouldn’t have,” Kara said, loud enough for Lena to hear in the other room. Really, she’d meant to leave after dropping her off at her apartment, but she didn’t just want to disappear without—she wasn’t sure what. She’d already said her goodbye.

A moment of silence went by, and Kara had already started kicking herself on her way to the balcony, before Lena appeared in the doorway wearing a thick, fluffy robe. She had her arms crossed across her chest, face set in something between concern and confusion. “What do you mean?”

Kara froze, tried to play off her escape attempt as lazy pacing. Lena’s hair was wild and curly directly after shifting, it seemed, and Kara couldn’t help but think that maybe she had a hand in that. It made her stomach flutter, and it took a moment for her to find her words again. “When you shifted,” she said quickly, closing the distance between them until they were standing at human speaking distance. “I—I didn’t mean to look, but you have a bruise on your back.”

The air of distrust melted away like snow in the sun as Lena’s facial features slackened with relief. Instead, she smiled a tiny lopsided smile. “That was actually from when my wolf played hero the other night.”

Kara’s brows rose slightly. “For me?”

“Maybe.” Lena shrugged a shoulder, looking much smaller in the large robe.

That is, until Kara realized she was actually smaller than her without heels. Her entire appearance was strangely endearing to her at the moment. Which was probably what pushed her to blurt, “Wait right here!” before zooming off to fetch her secret weapon.

###

Lena had barely decided to sit down before Kara was back, holding a small, round plastic container.

“I don’t bruise, but Alex does. She says this cuts recovery time in half,” Kara said, approaching Lena to stand within an arm’s length.

Lena didn’t need to inhale particularly deeply to smell that whatever was inside smelled medicinal and, to be honest, kind of vile. But Kara looked so proud of herself for being able to help that Lena couldn’t say no. “I’ll need some help applying it.”

And that is how she ended up holding a towel to her chest, robe undone and hanging around her waist. It was strange to expose herself like this to anyone, but the fact that it was Kara put her at ease.

A moment passed.

Lena glanced over her shoulder, wondering if she had catastrophically misinterpreted the situation and Kara had left her to struggle with the ointment herself. Yet she could see Kara sitting behind her from the corner of her eye. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes!” Kara jolted slightly, uncapping the lid. “Oh God, this smells,” she muttered to herself.

Lena chuckled, secretly pleased that her sense of smell was better than that of Supergirl. Still, it didn’t bother her that she was going to reek the rest of the night. It was much too nice to have someone caring for her in this way.

“I’m—I’m gonna move your hair,” Kara said, swiping long hair over her shoulder.

Lena was grateful she was facing away from Kara, as that gave her the opportunity to hide her smile. The night may not have been the best one, but this more than made up for it.

“I think this is going to feel nice? I’m not sure. Here goes.”

Before Lena could even speculate about what that meant, warm fingers spread a slippery substance onto her back. The warm hand was nice, despite the twinge of pain she felt whenever Kara pressed a little too firmly, but the ointment didn’t do much besides lubricate the–oh.

It tingled.

She suddenly wasn’t so sure whether it was a good thing she couldn’t see Kara, because she was focusing on every sensation but sight and smell (it was a good thing the ointment drowned out everything, especially Kara’s scent). It brought sounds to her attention that she would’ve otherwise ignored, like Kara’s shaky breathing and stuttering heart.

Kara was nervous.

Lena felt her face warm at the implications, despite telling herself it was definitely nothing.

“Oh wow,” Kara muttered, removing her hand.

“What?” Lena asked, grateful for the interruption. She turned her head, saw that Kara was staring at her back in amazement. “What is it?” she repeated with an edge of worry.

“Um.” Kara glanced up at Lena’s face, greasy hand hovering mid air. “The bruise is disappearing?”

Lena turned her torso as if that’d help her get a better view of her back, but all it did was push her into Kara’s personal space. When their eyes clashed once again, Lena suddenly understood.

If kindness fuelled her supernatural side, love would send it into overdrive.

And Lena desperately hoped that she wasn’t the only one hovering closer, that when soft, soft lips met her own, she hadn’t misread her look. That was why she kept the kiss oh so short, leaned back slightly to peg Kara’s reaction. Though that was a mission in itself because Kara followed after her, trying to capture another kiss.

She smiled into the second kiss, drawing it out as long as she could. And it was great. It healed aches she didn’t realize she had, calmed her down to a point she’d never experienced before, and cleared her skin—

Okay, maybe that one was a little embellishing.

“Kara,” she whispered against her lips, pressing another lazy kiss there.

“Hmn?” Kara hummed, too busy responding to the kiss to say much else.

“I thought I could take it, but if I smell that ointment one more second, I may become unwell.”

Kara snorted, then promptly apologized for laughing in Lena’s face like that.

Lena shook her head with a smile, tugged her robe back in position before standing up.

Kara put the lid on the container and followed suit, looking around for something to wipe her hand on.

Lena stepped into Kara, took her hand and cleaned it with the towel she had previously been using to protect her modesty. “I’m going to take a shower,” she said softly, feeling Kara’s eyes on her. She looked up to find that she did, indeed, have her undivided attention. “Don’t be a stranger.” And she bid her goodnight with one last kiss, leaving a happily dazed Kara behind.

### bonus?? ###

“What is that smell?” Alex asked, looking around the kitchen.

Kara, back in her civilian clothing, did her best to be as inconspicuous as possible when she turned on the tap and began washing her hands for the third time. “What smell?”

Alex honed in on Kara, immediately suspicious at the fact that Kara practically claimed her senses were less sharp than hers. “It smells like—like… oh my God, Kara, you didn’t,” she deadpanned.

Not suspecting such an answer, Kara shot her a strange look. “What?”

“You used the regeneration salve on Lena. With your hands,” she added, eyes widening as if that explained everything.

“What makes you say I used my hands—you know what? That doesn’t matter,” she caught herself before she dug her own grave, turning off the water and drying her hands with a nearby towel. “Why does it matter that I helped her?”

Alex opened her mouth, but instead of sounds coming out, she just frowned, and eventually closed it again.

“Ah-hah!” Kara exclaimed victoriously, making her way into the living room.

Alex followed, disgruntled. “No, no, this conversation isn’t over. Just give me a minute.”

When she didn’t have a good reason that wasn’t based on bias ten minutes later, Kara claimed her victory. Again.

#supercorp #shapeshifter!AU #sleepwalker

[ellenlucasonlinedatingblog]

Making My Hair Mine

Katie Klabusich

My adoptive mom’s hangups convinced me I was an ugly duckling with noticeable imperfections. Turns out, it was about her, not me, and certainly not about my hair, which isn't the enemy she -- or I -- thought it was, either.

I have a bit of an obsession with the Instagram feeds of my friends who parent. All those pics and videos of their kids being… well, kids! At 39, my inner child’s heart bursts with appreciation for all that praise of their uniqueness, the silly moments alongside them, and even encouragement for them to experiment with whatever clothing and hairstyles feel right to their personalities, genders, and whims.

A few years ago, my good friend and fellow writer Avital Norman Nathman wrote about why she “lets” her son — who inherited her whimsically curly, often multicolored locks — grow his hair past his shoulders. She’d fielded comments from self-professed, well-meaning bystanders who worried he’d be confused with a girl. As both a fierce feminist and loving mom, she rejected the false gender binary — which taught her son that he’s unique and valuable just as he is, however he is.

My own experience growing up was different.

Parents (and guardians of all titles) are people. They have their own emotional baggage, insecurities, habits, and idiosyncrasies that are part of their personalities. Because they have authority over us, it is naturally hard to see them that way when we’re growing up. Their words and actions have power long before we’re able to see themselves outside their role as the chief influencers in our lives.

Meanwhile, they incorporate those insecurities and habits into their relationships with us. In my house, my adoptive mom’s primary obsession was my hair — all of it: the length, the color, the style, and the amount of curl. And most importantly: how much it made us alike or different.

When a parent has and expresses a particular and constant attentiveness to your appearance — be it praise or criticism -- that constant feedback takes root. When I had light blond hair and soft baby ringlets through age four or five, she LOVED my hair. She played with it like I was a doll. I remember wanting to run around, but having to sit still while she brushed or braided it.

As I got older and let my hair grow, it got thicker, browner and straighter. I hit a couple of growth spurts and lost my chubby baby cheeks, too. Overall, I started looking less and less like her — triggering her insecurities about having had to adopt a child rather than being able to carry and give birth to one. At a glance, anyone who cared to take notice and didn’t know I was adopted would've simply assumed I was going through a phase where I just looked more like my darker, Hungarian father.

But people stopped commenting about how remarkably alike we looked. For her, every new trait pushed us further apart and made me less hers. I’m positive this would've been true even without a birthmark on my scalp for her to focus intently on.

Since reuniting with my birth mother last year I learned that my delivery was long. Like, so long she wasn’t particularly sure which date she’d given birth on. I was born after almost forty hours of labor, and that makes the birthmark — a dime-sized bald spot with a small bump in the middle — likely a result of the doctor using forceps to help me along. It’s always been there, just left of center midway down my skull in the back. My hair has always been thick, so it’s always been covered. But the fear that it could be seen — what if I did a cartwheel? or the wind blew at recess? — pushed my mom to cater hairstyles around it, narrating her thought-process as she did.

At some point she noticed that the hair around the bald spot was curlier than the rest of my hair. It was also darker (probably because it was covered and never got bleached by the sun like the top layer). With a furrowed brow, she sat me down in front of a movie and cut the curlier hair down to half an inch, creating — of course — a larger bald spot. Three times the size of the original, in fact. I couldn’t leave it alone because it was new and felt weird. And thus, an almost thirty-year-long tick was born. Beating it would take therapy, meds, and an intense desire to cast off all the insecurities I have that are tied to her.

In the ten or so years between the first time my mom excised the “extra” curly hair and when I won the battle to control what was done to my head just before my senior year of high school, she went through various phases — which meant I had to go through them with her. At one point she was so grossed out by this thing that made me weird and different and ugly (or at least that’s how it made me feel) that she leaned down and, in a giggle-whisper voice like we were both ten years old, said: “It’s almost like ya got pubic hair back here!”

What kid wouldn’t get a complex? I think that now, but I would never have asked a peer for validation or their opinion. I was terrified of just the idea that someone would see it.

She’d also been frosting my hair at home for what felt like forever. For those who don’t know, frosting was a do-it-yourself highlighting kit from the olden days (the 70’s). It was something my friend’s moms usually did for themselves while we kids played with less permanent homemade concoctions for our hair made from different Kool-Aid flavors.

Frosting first required brushing your hair to within an inch of your poor scalp’s life, and then squeezing a plastic cover, like a swimming cap, over your head, eyebrows, and ears. Then, a tool that should only be used for crocheting is poked through the cap 75-200 times, to pul a few hairs through at a time. Once you look like a potato that’s been allowed to sprout, all those pulled-through hairs are brushed again (OUCH!) and a packet of chemicals is mixed using a mask. Why a mask, you say? Because the fumes are f’ing toxic. My hair usually took half an hour to get tugged, completely stripped of color, super dry, and extra frizzy.

It is perhaps unsurprising that I did not undergo this process willingly.

By the time I got to middle school, I’d completely adopted my mom’s paranoia about the hair around the spot and the spot itself. The popular hairstyle in my peer group was “The Rachel” (from “Friends” — flat, straight, with just one or two playful layers in the front to fall in the face). My hair was never going to be flat, but it hadn’t totally transitioned to curly, so I was still trying to wrangle it smooth. That two-or-so-inch ring of trimmed down hair was making most of the hair near the crown of my head poof out noticeably. I was willing to do something more time and money intensive.

Lye had already gone out of fashion as a chemical in hair straighteners because it burns like hell. It feels like your scalp is being literally fried. I — voluntarily, this time — let my mom take me to a stylist who applied the old-school formula and brushed it in, dragging a comb over the skin of my bald spot. The back of my head hurt for days afterward. We repeated this every three or four months.

Eventually, I told her I was tired of messing with it. I’d never picked up her love of a two-hour morning make-up and hair routine. I was going to be taking a “zero-hour” class at 6:50am before the regular school day started the following Fall. I was smartly looking to cut out things I didn’t need (or want) to spend time on. I must have sounded sensible enough (I often cited my academic goals when I needed something), because I got to drop all the extras, and so I also got to see what my actual hair looked like. Luckily, the 90’s had loosened up a bit (or I had) and my curly hair was either a non-issue (better than being bullied!) or people liked it because it was different.

Even though it felt like a HUGE victory to have wrested control over my hair back from my mom at 17 (and without a fight!), it would be another two decades before I was truly comfortable with it. Appearance is about our features, and my often waist-length curly hair was my most distinguishing one. I’d let Mom talk me into cutting it the month before I went to college and it’s the only decision I regret. So I let it grow. And grow. And the more I heard how cute it was short, the more I grew it out of spite.

More than seven years after disowning me the first time (just before Christmas in 2011), when I looked in the mirror I still saw the result of choices that have been about defiance.

Why was anything this toxic person had ever said about my hair to me or anyone else still defining what I did with it?

I think about my hair every day, even if it’s just to pull it back out of my face. So every day a tiny piece of that trauma plays out in the back of my head — right underneath that damn spot causing all the trouble, LOLsob — even if I don’t consciously notice.

Then I thought: what if I just cut it?

I realized I didn’t care if it was perfectly even (a big step for someone with even my mild form of obsessive-compulsive disorder). I didn’t care if my current partners would like it. I popped by a drug store and grabbed decent scissors. I flipped my head upside down over a towel and started chopping!

I didn’t expect to feel so lightweight and fancy free.

I brushed it. I washed it. I ran my fingers through it. I posted a selfie three full days after washing it, sleeping on it, putting it up and taking it down for work, and otherwise playing with it because it was new. As people popped up to say how great it looks, I didn’t feel my typical trepidation and immediately launch into rejecting or mitigating the compliments. I thought, “Yeah. It does!” By the next day, it’d been elevated to my favorite haircut EVER.

I had a date with my primary partner/boyfriend who I’d been with for almost two years. This is someone who has seen my body at various weights and shapes as my health fluctuated, different versions of my hair, with and without makeup. I've never been perfectly comfortable naked in front of a partner; like most of us, I have an insecurity or two. But I believe him when he says he loves my body — including my hair, which I always wear up when we have sex.

Every time my hair got in the way during a sexual situation and a partner groaned (not in the good way, but usually not intentionally) I had a jolt of mood-killing insecurity. Which lead to me automatically pulling it back. I didn’t realize it until very recently, but those unintentional disapproving sounds definitely triggered memories of my Mom’s judgemental noises as she snipped the tight curls around my birthmark.

Even though my current boyfriend has said it isn’t/wouldn’t be in the way, and I believe him about that too, I never wanted my hair down. I just didn’t want to have to manage it — or be distracted by it, or think about it at all — during an enjoyable, but admittedly often messy, activity. Even though wearing it up was a long-standing habit, it hadn’t ever occurred to me that it was affecting my overall body image.

Well. Two weeks ago I found myself unconsciously taking my hair tie OUT OF MY HAIR as things were heating up with Current BF! When I realized it — I realized it felt GOOD. That I felt good! I didn’t feel any kind of insecurity. An hour later when I was all blissed-out I didn’t even try and picture what I looked like — what my hair might look like. I didn’t care. It was just part of the rest of me.

Of course it was. It is! IT’S MY HAIR. It always has been, but now it feels like it is.

body image

self image

self esteem

family

growing up

identity

comfort

hair

appearance

parents

adoption

sex

relationships

working it out

empowerment

Bodies

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[ellenlucasonlinedatingblog]

Making My Hair Mine

Katie Klabusich

My adoptive mom’s hangups convinced me I was an ugly duckling with noticeable imperfections. Turns out, it was about her, not me, and certainly not about my hair, which isn't the enemy she -- or I -- thought it was, either.

I have a bit of an obsession with the Instagram feeds of my friends who parent. All those pics and videos of their kids being… well, kids! At 39, my inner child’s heart bursts with appreciation for all that praise of their uniqueness, the silly moments alongside them, and even encouragement for them to experiment with whatever clothing and hairstyles feel right to their personalities, genders, and whims.

A few years ago, my good friend and fellow writer Avital Norman Nathman wrote about why she “lets” her son — who inherited her whimsically curly, often multicolored locks — grow his hair past his shoulders. She’d fielded comments from self-professed, well-meaning bystanders who worried he’d be confused with a girl. As both a fierce feminist and loving mom, she rejected the false gender binary — which taught her son that he’s unique and valuable just as he is, however he is.

My own experience growing up was different.

Parents (and guardians of all titles) are people. They have their own emotional baggage, insecurities, habits, and idiosyncrasies that are part of their personalities. Because they have authority over us, it is naturally hard to see them that way when we’re growing up. Their words and actions have power long before we’re able to see themselves outside their role as the chief influencers in our lives.

Meanwhile, they incorporate those insecurities and habits into their relationships with us. In my house, my adoptive mom’s primary obsession was my hair — all of it: the length, the color, the style, and the amount of curl. And most importantly: how much it made us alike or different.

When a parent has and expresses a particular and constant attentiveness to your appearance — be it praise or criticism -- that constant feedback takes root. When I had light blond hair and soft baby ringlets through age four or five, she LOVED my hair. She played with it like I was a doll. I remember wanting to run around, but having to sit still while she brushed or braided it.

As I got older and let my hair grow, it got thicker, browner and straighter. I hit a couple of growth spurts and lost my chubby baby cheeks, too. Overall, I started looking less and less like her — triggering her insecurities about having had to adopt a child rather than being able to carry and give birth to one. At a glance, anyone who cared to take notice and didn’t know I was adopted would've simply assumed I was going through a phase where I just looked more like my darker, Hungarian father.

But people stopped commenting about how remarkably alike we looked. For her, every new trait pushed us further apart and made me less hers. I’m positive this would've been true even without a birthmark on my scalp for her to focus intently on.

Since reuniting with my birth mother last year I learned that my delivery was long. Like, so long she wasn’t particularly sure which date she’d given birth on. I was born after almost forty hours of labor, and that makes the birthmark — a dime-sized bald spot with a small bump in the middle — likely a result of the doctor using forceps to help me along. It’s always been there, just left of center midway down my skull in the back. My hair has always been thick, so it’s always been covered. But the fear that it could be seen — what if I did a cartwheel? or the wind blew at recess? — pushed my mom to cater hairstyles around it, narrating her thought-process as she did.

At some point she noticed that the hair around the bald spot was curlier than the rest of my hair. It was also darker (probably because it was covered and never got bleached by the sun like the top layer). With a furrowed brow, she sat me down in front of a movie and cut the curlier hair down to half an inch, creating — of course — a larger bald spot. Three times the size of the original, in fact. I couldn’t leave it alone because it was new and felt weird. And thus, an almost thirty-year-long tick was born. Beating it would take therapy, meds, and an intense desire to cast off all the insecurities I have that are tied to her.

In the ten or so years between the first time my mom excised the “extra” curly hair and when I won the battle to control what was done to my head just before my senior year of high school, she went through various phases — which meant I had to go through them with her. At one point she was so grossed out by this thing that made me weird and different and ugly (or at least that’s how it made me feel) that she leaned down and, in a giggle-whisper voice like we were both ten years old, said: “It’s almost like ya got pubic hair back here!”

What kid wouldn’t get a complex? I think that now, but I would never have asked a peer for validation or their opinion. I was terrified of just the idea that someone would see it.

She’d also been frosting my hair at home for what felt like forever. For those who don’t know, frosting was a do-it-yourself highlighting kit from the olden days (the 70’s). It was something my friend’s moms usually did for themselves while we kids played with less permanent homemade concoctions for our hair made from different Kool-Aid flavors.

Frosting first required brushing your hair to within an inch of your poor scalp’s life, and then squeezing a plastic cover, like a swimming cap, over your head, eyebrows, and ears. Then, a tool that should only be used for crocheting is poked through the cap 75-200 times, to pul a few hairs through at a time. Once you look like a potato that’s been allowed to sprout, all those pulled-through hairs are brushed again (OUCH!) and a packet of chemicals is mixed using a mask. Why a mask, you say? Because the fumes are f’ing toxic. My hair usually took half an hour to get tugged, completely stripped of color, super dry, and extra frizzy.

It is perhaps unsurprising that I did not undergo this process willingly.

By the time I got to middle school, I’d completely adopted my mom’s paranoia about the hair around the spot and the spot itself. The popular hairstyle in my peer group was “The Rachel” (from “Friends” — flat, straight, with just one or two playful layers in the front to fall in the face). My hair was never going to be flat, but it hadn’t totally transitioned to curly, so I was still trying to wrangle it smooth. That two-or-so-inch ring of trimmed down hair was making most of the hair near the crown of my head poof out noticeably. I was willing to do something more time and money intensive.

Lye had already gone out of fashion as a chemical in hair straighteners because it burns like hell. It feels like your scalp is being literally fried. I — voluntarily, this time — let my mom take me to a stylist who applied the old-school formula and brushed it in, dragging a comb over the skin of my bald spot. The back of my head hurt for days afterward. We repeated this every three or four months.

Eventually, I told her I was tired of messing with it. I’d never picked up her love of a two-hour morning make-up and hair routine. I was going to be taking a “zero-hour” class at 6:50am before the regular school day started the following Fall. I was smartly looking to cut out things I didn’t need (or want) to spend time on. I must have sounded sensible enough (I often cited my academic goals when I needed something), because I got to drop all the extras, and so I also got to see what my actual hair looked like. Luckily, the 90’s had loosened up a bit (or I had) and my curly hair was either a non-issue (better than being bullied!) or people liked it because it was different.

Even though it felt like a HUGE victory to have wrested control over my hair back from my mom at 17 (and without a fight!), it would be another two decades before I was truly comfortable with it. Appearance is about our features, and my often waist-length curly hair was my most distinguishing one. I’d let Mom talk me into cutting it the month before I went to college and it’s the only decision I regret. So I let it grow. And grow. And the more I heard how cute it was short, the more I grew it out of spite.

More than seven years after disowning me the first time (just before Christmas in 2011), when I looked in the mirror I still saw the result of choices that have been about defiance.

Why was anything this toxic person had ever said about my hair to me or anyone else still defining what I did with it?

I think about my hair every day, even if it’s just to pull it back out of my face. So every day a tiny piece of that trauma plays out in the back of my head — right underneath that damn spot causing all the trouble, LOLsob — even if I don’t consciously notice.

Then I thought: what if I just cut it?

I realized I didn’t care if it was perfectly even (a big step for someone with even my mild form of obsessive-compulsive disorder). I didn’t care if my current partners would like it. I popped by a drug store and grabbed decent scissors. I flipped my head upside down over a towel and started chopping!

I didn’t expect to feel so lightweight and fancy free.

I brushed it. I washed it. I ran my fingers through it. I posted a selfie three full days after washing it, sleeping on it, putting it up and taking it down for work, and otherwise playing with it because it was new. As people popped up to say how great it looks, I didn’t feel my typical trepidation and immediately launch into rejecting or mitigating the compliments. I thought, “Yeah. It does!” By the next day, it’d been elevated to my favorite haircut EVER.

I had a date with my primary partner/boyfriend who I’d been with for almost two years. This is someone who has seen my body at various weights and shapes as my health fluctuated, different versions of my hair, with and without makeup. I've never been perfectly comfortable naked in front of a partner; like most of us, I have an insecurity or two. But I believe him when he says he loves my body — including my hair, which I always wear up when we have sex.

Every time my hair got in the way during a sexual situation and a partner groaned (not in the good way, but usually not intentionally) I had a jolt of mood-killing insecurity. Which lead to me automatically pulling it back. I didn’t realize it until very recently, but those unintentional disapproving sounds definitely triggered memories of my Mom’s judgemental noises as she snipped the tight curls around my birthmark.

Even though my current boyfriend has said it isn’t/wouldn’t be in the way, and I believe him about that too, I never wanted my hair down. I just didn’t want to have to manage it — or be distracted by it, or think about it at all — during an enjoyable, but admittedly often messy, activity. Even though wearing it up was a long-standing habit, it hadn’t ever occurred to me that it was affecting my overall body image.

Well. Two weeks ago I found myself unconsciously taking my hair tie OUT OF MY HAIR as things were heating up with Current BF! When I realized it — I realized it felt GOOD. That I felt good! I didn’t feel any kind of insecurity. An hour later when I was all blissed-out I didn’t even try and picture what I looked like — what my hair might look like. I didn’t care. It was just part of the rest of me.

Of course it was. It is! IT’S MY HAIR. It always has been, but now it feels like it is.

body image

self image

self esteem

family

growing up

identity

comfort

hair

appearance

parents

adoption

sex

relationships

working it out

empowerment

Bodies

Pregnancy & Parenting

Etc

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