#black weave hairstyles

[blackgirlsreverything]

[theblackfemininesociety]

Hairspo: Traditional Sew In’s 😍

Original post and hair details here 💋

[alexdrogers]

draya michele photographed by @alexdrogers

[theberrycolor]

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[creatingblackcharacters]

So I was thinking about more resources to show just how creative and unique Black hair can be in character design, and how much of an art style it really is. Then I remembered something:

Hair Shows and Competitions!

I assume other people have hair shows; I've never really thought about it. But yeah! You'll have to find social media of creators and stylists, but you can find a lot of cool things if you look 👀

[gepards-beloved]

playing with his hair

w/ blade, jing yuan, dan heng, gepard, luocha, sampo

" what are you doing?" a groggy voice calls from your lap. when you glance down, you are greeted with a crimson orb and a pair of pinched brows - the crease dissipates when you kiss BLADE on his forehead. " your hair is so long," you grin, playing a portion between your fingers; it had a faint waft of your shampoo. " do you want me to stop?" he blinks at you, handsome face unveiled when not having a curtain of black over his eyes. he looked cute like that— and it felt particularly special when he dropped his cold demeanor in favor of displaying a more vulnerable side; one you have been privy to on many occasions. if you hadn't known better, you'd say his face has gradually softened since you've locked eyes. " no," he whispers, screwing his eyes shut. " this is good." when you resume untangling his roots, he thinks he's found something even more comforting than your kisses. it surprises him, even as his body resumes to sink in your lap— but you continue to find ways to worm into his heart. the thought of complaining never crosses him.

oh, JING YUAN, elegant, refined, and adroit in both marksmanship and leadership. the great general can only fall pilant to one certain foe— you. your hands sift through his hair, locks of snow terribly soft and frizzy in all directions. " it's so soft," you pull the loose strands into makeshift hairstyles of sorts. he looked enchanting as ever, golden rays of light catching his locks in a replenishment shine; then again, he always looked picturesque. the room was quiet, save for his deep sighs that sent a flutter to your heart. jing yuan turns his head to glance at you, but you quickly usher him to sit still as you work out the knots. he couldn't help himself. he just wanted to see your cute face scrunch up in concentration and kiss your jutted lips. he finds appreciation in these details, signaling your endless care for him. he gently pries away one of your hands, placing kisses along the knuckles. " don't worry, my dear," he smiles, moving to kiss your wrist. " i'm all yours." (honestly, you wouldn't be surprised if you found a bird hiding deep within the roots. he merely chuckles, kissing your thigh in a show of tenderness. he's far too entranced with your hands tangling in his roots to concern himself with the actual nest he's housing.)

DAN HENG was reading a book, and his hair was just there; loosely tied together in a neat presentation. honestly, how could something taunt you so much, and how could he look so ethereal by just reading?? he notices see you in the corner of his eye, his curiosity already piqued before you even got his hair. " what trouble are you stirring up to this time," he blatantly inquires, serious as ever but deterred by a gentle tone he always speaks to you in. "oh nothing," you giggle. "carry on reading." he cocks a brow but remains quiet. despite himself, he couldn't stop the corners of his mouth from twitching when you start to weave your hands in the strands. you tended it with care, combing it out with your fingers and dan heng couldn't bring himself to foucs on the words anymore. he nearly shivers when you suddenly press a kiss to the nape of his neck, his sharp exhale occupying the silence. after a couple blissful moments, he pulls away, book long discarded on the table. you hardly got the chance to whine, not when he gently brings you to sit on his lap. " standing won't be necessary," his hand settles on your hips, pecking you on the cheek. " you will be more comfortable this way."

the skeptical look in GEPARD'S eye progressively falters the longer you curl your fingers in his roots. instead, a form of bliss comes to blend into his countenance, and his lips gape into an 'o' pair with a rosy blush in brew from the proximity. it was hard not to get butterflies in your chest when he rubbed his cheek into your palm. and his eyes went heavy when you scratched the area beneath his ear; he was almost like a puppy of sorts. " you're the most handsome man I know," your lips brush the corner of his mouth, the skin growing warm from your words. before you could pull away, his hand grabs your face and brings you in for a kiss proper - it's messy and hurried, still lacking experience but nonetheless effective in sending a wave of anticipation up your spine." can we stay like this forever?" he shuffles closer to you, nose bumping yours; your hands were still buried deep within his blonde hair and he nearly whines when you brush your thumb over his scalp. the sensation, coupled with your synchronized inhales and exhales was nearly numbing. without realizing it, gepard tucks a loose strand of your own behind your ear, a lovestruck grin finding his lips. when you nod, his smile reaches his eyes.

its no secret that LUOCHA adores your touch. you weren't sure how long he's been using your lap as a pillow, sleepily blinking at you as his hand stroked your thigh. a hum escapes him when you experimentally ran a nail down his head; the way his eyes fluttered shut was almost instantaneous, and he tilted his head to the side to grant you more access. he pushes back the temptation to squirm when you curl your hands on the back on his head, the baby hairs responding to your touch. luocha thinks he might just fall asleep like this, his grip turning lax against your clothes. it's only when you move to twirl his bangs around your pinky that it returns stubbornly. " are you teasing me?" he chooses to ignore the way his heart tickles when you cup his face, batting your eyelashes at him. " i'm just looking at you, you're handsome." he smiles against his own rationality, the expression warming you up far more than the sun's rays ever could. he pinches your chin gently, pulling you down until your lips meet in a sloppy movement, tasting like the jam you had fed him earlier. when his eyes fall shut you had the opportunity to fully admire his bliss expression, lopsided and bright. " thank you," he guides your hand back into his hair but not before pressing a kiss to the palm. " indulge me a little more, my love?"

SAMPO was being oddly quiet. so much so, it was growing unnerving. rather than being met with cheesy one-liners or random kisses to your neck, you were greeted instead by silence and a sampo who laid at your lap unmoving. huh, it seems he's fallen asleep, you thought, taking the advantage to run your fingers through his unkempt hair. it was unruly, increasingly so as you meander your fingers along the roots. sampo forces back his grin when you cup the back of his head, baby hairs elevating to your touch. he does, however, release a sigh when you start to detangle it mindlessly, the outside world momentarily forgotton. your stupor is broken when a drawled "y/n~" intrudes the silence, punctuated by a pinch to your arm. you don't know what was more humiliating: your yelp or the way your body went taut. " were you faking this entire time?" you reeled back, frowning at the mirth glazed in his eyes; you don't get too far when he captures your hand, peppering kisses along the wrist. " don't be so surprised," sampo gives your pulse point a teasing nibble, relishing in the reaction it coaxes from you. " i have tricks up my sleeve too."

[loveforeren]

Could you do Jjk men see b!ack reader take her weave out for the first time

JJK men seeing black!fem reader take her weave out for the first time.

I decided to write this one for shits and giggles and at the end I did the text version 🫡 hope you enjoy lovely and sorry for any spelling mistakes it's 4:25 where I'm at and I had work today.

Gojo

This was the first time Gojo had ever dated a black girl. He wasn't familiar with it so when you asked him to come over while you did your hair he obliged.

"Y/N!! I'm here!!" He said as he scrambled into your apartment. He had also brought you some food.

"I'm in my room,Toru!" You yelled back.

Gojo walked into your room and set the bag down. Before turning to you, a startled expression etched his face.

"Your hair?!" He yelled in shock.

"What...about it?" You asked confused.

"It's falling out?! Why didn't you tell me?! Did that hair stylist you go to mess up your hair?!" He asked genuinely shocked and worried as he picked up the hair that did not know was weave from your braids.

"Toru! Calm downn it's not my hair" you laugh.

"Huh..?" He asked shocked.

You spent the next hour explaining how your hair is done as you also showed him how to take out your braids.

Nanami

Nanami was very well educated in your hair. I mean he paid for it how couldn't he. But he's never seen you taken it off until today.

"Ughh this stupid ass hair." You groan.

"What's wrong my love?" He asked rubbing your thigh.

"It's not cooperating.." you whine.

"Oh I'm sorry my l-" before Nanami could finish his sentence the words "fuck this." Left you mouth.

He watched as you took off your lace front in one quick swift motion. He tried to hide the expression on his face as you ripped it off. He's never seen you take off the wig nor take out braids so this was a first for him. He watched at you threw the now separate wig away from you on the end of the bed.

You look at him and begin to laugh.

"Did that scare ya, Nami?" You giggle.

"What...no...no love.." he said looking away.

Getou

Getou and you had just started dating and you'd invited him over. He knocked on the door and you unlocked it using the security website you had linked to your door. He opened the door and walked in. He saw a little hair on the floor and picked it up in shock.

"Y/N? are you okay?!" He asked loudly.

"Yeaa!! I'm in the living room!" You yelled back.

He came into the room and looked shocked.

"Your hair..?" He asked confused.

"Oh? Yea I hadda take it out!" You said untwisting your hair.

"Take it out?" He said tilting his head like a confused puppy.

"Suguru...sweetie did you think this was my real hair" you asked lightly.

"Yes..?" He said, kind of red.

You laughed as you had to explain what you did every time you went to your friend Nene's house with with a new hairstyle.

Toji

Toji decided to pay you and unexpected visit (he wanted to eat your food). He walked in the house with a hum as he saw hair in the trash..? He looked at the trash confused he picked the hair up with 2 fingers holding it away from him in confusion. He put it back in the trash bought a snack and went into your room to see you taking out your goddess braids. His mouth hung open.

"Uh...Y/N" He said.

"Hii toji!" You said tossing the hair into the bag you had.

"Hair...? Where..? Why..? Uhh" He said.

"I'm taking it out Toji, no I'm not balding, that was never my real hair, I told you this, and my hair isn't this short it's shrinkage which means my curls are so tight my hair looks shorter." You said quickly.

"Ohhhh, you know I'd still fuck you if you were bald-headed" He said with a grin.

"Gee thank you, baby." You said sarcasm lacing your voice.

Choso

Choso had fallen asleep when he woke up to you taking out your hair. He shrieked and it was almost... girl-like.

"Your hair!!" He yelled.

"Baby...it's my weave..You've seen my natural hair." You said gently.

"Oh yea...well..uh..that was scary still I thought your hair was falling out from when I fed you that tracking device" he said.

"YOU WHAT-"

Sukuna

Sukuna had walked into the bathroom to use it while you did your hair.

"What the fuck." He said eyes wide.

"Hmm..? I'm taking off my hair." You said.

"Humans can just peel...their hair off like skin to reveal a new layer...?" He asked confused.

"WHAT?" You ask.

"The hair.." he said about the wig you had just took off.

"Sukuna...no...no..that's no..oh my God what am I gonna do wit you" you laugh.

Text versions <3

[sp1der-wid0w]

this came in my head, because my oc’s facecard has such amazing hairstyles @birkinbabe on tiktok

how miguel would react seeing you with your natural hair ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

⋆˚࿔ 🍃🪮 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ when you and miguel dated, you had always had such versatile hairstyles. from blue wigs, to blonde quick weaves, to cute little sew ins, you always looked so good. and that’s what miguel loved about you. but one week, you decided to take a break from having so much glue ins and wigs in your hair, and decided to go natural. when miguel came home from work, you were watching jujitsu kaisen on the tv.

“hey, quierda.” he said tiredly, stretching his back, and then going over to kiss you on the center of your hair. he was so tired from work, that it took him only a minute to realize that your hair felt different. “hey, baby.” you said to him, and then went back to watching the match between choso and itadori fight. he looks at your afro, and he thinks that it’s so cute. he clears your throat to get your attention. “your hair.” he says. “oh, yeah. i needed a break, besides i needed to let my roots grow. the glue from my last quick weave, was really fuckin’ my scalp up.” you chuckled, while pulling on some of your curls.

he simply nods. “it’s nice, cariño, you should wear your ‘fro more often.”

you began to gush. “awww, thank you baby.” he smiled a little, and he starts to cuddle with you on the couch, watching the moment when choso breaks down about learning the truth about his brother. his fingers gently brush through your curls, carefully trying not to mess it up. “miggy?” you asked, “do you think i should get a sew in next month? or should i just go natural?”

he shrugs. “it’s all on you, but i personally believe that you should wear your real hair. but, you’ll look beautiful either way." you look him with such love, and smile. he’s such a supportive boyfriend, you’re so lucky to have him. “miggy, eres tan dulce.” you gushed. he kisses you on the center of your forehead, and pulls you closer. his warm breath on your neck, makes you shiver, as it hits the perfect spot. “y eres tan guapa.” he chuckles.

miguel loves his black queens, and you’re no exception my lovelies <3🫶🏾

[culthermag]

BLACK HAIR-STORY: Embracing the power and beauty of Black women's hair this Black History Month, with Lil Kim , Mary J Blige , Nivea & JT of the City Girls. [ Eras from 1995-2023 ] #NotTheBAYANG !

For centuries, our hair has been an undeniable symbol of resilience, creativity, and self-expression. From ancient times to modern-day, it's been our crown, our canvas, our statement.

Yet, the journey to celebrate our natural hair hasn't always been easy. Despite the rich history of using wigs, weaves, and elaborate hairstyles as editorial expressions, and beauty tactics for everyday life we still face backlash for embracing our true selves.

JT, of the City Girls was the most recent topic of discussion just last year for her experimental “ MOWALOLA X BEATS BY DRE “ headphones y2k inspired campaign look. Social media warriors called her names and insulted her existence for telling a story with the look she was in…

People have always hated black women’s hair. Let's reclaim our narrative, honor our roots, and celebrate every strand as a testament to our strength and beauty. — [ x ]

[spaceshipellie]

ellie x masc reader?? 😋 luv u

love you too anon 🖤 thanks you for requesting! i didn’t know if you wanted smut or not so i did smut with a plot lol hope you enjoy babes

silver

ellie x masc!guitarist!reader

summary: ellie goes to see a band play and takes a liking to the guitarist.

warnings: flirting (gasp), smut with plot, smoking, eating out (e receiving), fingering (both receiving), switch vibes???, 18+ mdni

˚ · • . ° .

being a guitar player herself, ellie loved going to gigs. especially ones in tiny venues like this, to her it just felt more intimate. you could get a drink whenever you wanted and you could get up close and see the smiles on the band’s faces as they look out into the crowd. the band that were playing on this particular night had really caught her attention, more specifically, you had.

she could see just how immersed you were, ring clad fingers moving wildly on the strings, hips moving with the music, messy hair falling over your eyes occasionally. the mixture of watching you and the drink she had in her hand was intoxicating.

you were wearing a loose t-shirt that you had obviously cut the sleeves off and cropped slightly, meaning every once in a while ellie would see a slither of the skin above your boxers which poked out of your jeans. she watched how the muscles in your arms tensed during certain guitar riffs.

the current song then came to an end and the lead singer started talking into the microphone, asking how the crowd was and if they were having a good night. naturally, tipsy cheers followed. you and the rest of the band fiddled with your instruments and laughed about something together which no one else could hear. as the singer was introducing their next song, your eyes suddenly landed on ellie. a tiny smirk curved your lips as you noticed her already looking at you.

you thought she looked cool with her short, mullet type hairstyle and white tank, showing off her lean muscular arms which adorned a few tattoos. your eyes trailed down over her baggy black jeans that ended in beat up black converses. not to mention the silver chain she wore and silver rings similar to your own. she smirked herself before sipping her drink, not breaking eye contact with you.

you only looked away to start playing again. the intro of the next song required you to play a sustained note. your left fingers held the strings down and you shook your wrist slightly, your right hand hanging at your side after it had just strummed and the crowd was losing it.

throughout the song, you kept sneaking glances at ellie and noticed she didn’t hide the fact that she was looking at you too. you felt like yourself when you were up on stage and normally you dreaded the set coming to an end, but when a pretty girl was eyeing you up in the crowd, you actually couldn’t wait to finish.

you had a few more songs to play before your set was over. you and the rest of the band all said your good nights and started packing away your stuff. once that was done you all headed to the bar but you poked your head between two of your band mates who were leaning on the sticky bar mats, slapping your hands on their shoulders.

“i’m gonna maybe catch you later.”

“oh yeah, we all know what that means,” your drummer snickered.

“read me like a book, i don’t care, she’s hot,” you laughed, holding your hands up in defence as you started taking steps backwards.

you weaved through the crowd for a moment before you spotted her further down at the bar. walking over, she turned upon sensing your arrival and you were about to say hi when someone stopped you.

“sorry, are you in that band that just played?”

“h-oh, yeah, yeah i am,” you laughed awkwardly, aware that she was right there watching the encounter.

“i just wanted to say you sounded amazing!”

“oh cool, yeah thank you so much,” you smiled at them.

“that’s all i wanted to say, sorry to interrupt,”

“no no it’s fine, ‘ppreciate it,” you said as they gave you a little wave and left. you turned to her and she was grinning at you.

“ooh someone’s famous,” she teased.

“shut up,” you laughed. she drank the last bit of her beer.

“can i get you another?” you asked, head gesturing to her empty pint glass.

“sure,” she smiled, watching as your legs sat man spreading on the bar stool as you spoke to the bartender.

“you do this with all your fans?” she kept up the teasing tone. you both sat facing each other, each resting one arm in the bar.

“only the ones who look at me all night,” it was your turn to tease as you leant forward.

“oh yeah? you were looking at me too.” she also leant forward and her eyebrow raised for a second and you noticed the small scar in it.

“how’d you get that?” you quickly pointed to it before resting your hand back on your knee.

“slaying a dragon.”

“nice, that a regular hobby of yours or?”

“eh, just now and then, can’t over do it.”

“no, ‘cause that would be crazy.”

“yeah, much crazier than cutting your face in a skateboarding accident.”

“oh, i didn’t know dragons could skateboard.”

she laughed, dropping her head before looking back up at you. you sipped your beer, not breaking eye contact, just like she had done earlier when you were on stage. your knees bumped together as she reached for her own beer. you talked some more and exchanged names. you asked her about her art. she asked about your music and you found out she played guitar too. your beers were virtually empty now when she dug out a packet of marlboro cigarettes, opening them and placing one behind her ear.

“want one?”

“thanks,” you said, taking one from the packet before she shoved them back in her back pocket.

“lead the way,” she said and followed you outside. it was dark out, only street lamps lighting up the space. you leaned against the wall, crossing your feet and putting one hand in your pocket, holding the cigarette in the other. you placed it between your lips and she cupped her hands around the end, lighting it for you before lighting her own. you took a few drags, blowing the smoke away from each other before your eyes settled on her face.

“what?” she scrunched her face a little, smirking.

“was trying to weigh up if this was a good time to kiss you or not,” you snickered, taking another drag. she let out a small laugh as more grey smoke escaped her lips.

“well, what’s your verdict?”

you pulled your hand out of your pocket and uncrossed your feet, standing up properly but still leaning your back on the wall. you hooked a finger in her belt loop and pulled her into you, letting your lips ghost over hers for a moment before kissing her.

it started off soft and simple, but deepened after a couple of seconds. you moved your finger from her belt loop and spread your palm over her hip. she rested hers on your waist, her little finger touching your skin as it dipped under the loose hem of your top. your other hands still occupied with your cigarettes. after you pulled away, you flicked off the built up ash and took another drag.

“that answer your question?”

she bit her lip and squeezed your waist. she stubbed her cigarette out on the wall and flicked it in the general direction of the bin before pulling you into her more and kissing you again. your tongues fought for dominance and you stubbed your cigarette out too, bringing your now free hand to her other hip. her other hand slipped into your back pocket, groping your ass.

“wanna get out of here?” she breathed against your lips.

“my place is just round the corner,” you suggested and felt her nod.

you grabbed her hand and pulled her in that direction, giggling as you fumbled down the street.

when you got to yours, you knew your roommate/band member wouldn’t be home as they were still going to be at the bar for ages. you grabbed ellie’s ass as you got through the door and she grabbed your wrist, kissing you sloppily.

“where’s your room?”

“this way.”

you continued your kiss as you staggered your way through the already open door. you both collapsed on the bed but you quickly asserted yourself by grabbing her wrists and pinning them either side of her head, your leg flung over her hips, straddling her. leaning over her, your silver necklace dangled and you hovered your lips over hers. her hips tried to lift underneath you and you smiled before closing the gap between you again.

you began kissing down her neck, removing one of your hands from her wrist to push her top up until it exposed her braless tits. you cupped one and pinched her nipple lightly making her squirm a little. you latched your lips onto the other, scattering a few kissing across her chest before kissing down to the waistband of her boxers. undoing her jeans with one hand she helped you shuffle them off before you utilised both your hands in pushing her further up the bed so you had more room.

nestling in between her hips you pulled her boxers off and bit your lip at the sight of her. bring a finger to her hole, you collected some of the wetness and swirled it around her clit. your eyes found hers whilst you laid your tongue flat against her, lapping at her clit.

“fuck,” she groaned and her slender fingers groped at her boobs.

you slipped a finger in, pumping it in and out a few times before adding another. your free hand squeezed her waist. you moaned against her cunt, sending vibrations up through her body.

“so fucking hot,” you mumbled.

you kept fucking her until you felt her clench around you and shift her hips. she let out a mini string of hushed curses as she came and you slipped your fingers out. she then quickly sat up and pulled your face up to kiss her, tongues swirling together. she tangled one hand in your hair and the other started undoing your jeans as you knelt on the bed. you pushed them down and kicked them off along with your boxers and she pulled you to straddle her lap. her hand then dragged along your thigh, fingertips digging into the flesh and it made you buck your hips into her slightly.

your hands fumbled around at her boobs for a bit before breaking the kiss to peel her pushed up tank top right off. you also took the chance to throw yours off too, leaving you both completely naked. she trailed her hand along your thigh until it reached your folds. she circled a finger over your clit, emitting a moan from you. she played with your clit a little longer before dipping two of her fingers into you. she pumped and curled them, feeling your cum dripping slowly down her hand.

your head went back, exposing your neck for her to leave sloppy kisses on. her free hand aided your hips in grinding on her.

“fucking ride my fingers, baby.”

you brought a hand down to start rubbing circles on your clit and the sight of it made ellie gasp. your head then fell and buried itself in her neck, open lips brushing her skin. she grazed her teeth on your shoulder, practically biting it when your other hand tightened it’s grip on her bicep. the mix of slight pain and pleasure brought you to orgasm as you rode it out in her lap. when you were done she removed her hand and held your hips. you were both panting and took a minute to catch your breath. she looked up at you, giving you a lazy smile as she let out a short laugh.

“wanna give me an encore?”

[icyg4l]

Pick-A-Poet: How Can You Heal Your Ancestral Trauma?

Paid Readings

Hello people, thank you for your patience. In honor of Black History Month, I am dedicating a series to Black American icons. This post is dedicated to Black American poets. Below, there will be a quote that was chosen from one of their poems to go along with the reading. The deck that will be used in this series is the Hoodoo Tarot deck. Without further ado, please pick the poet that stands out to you.

***Disclaimer: Some topics may be triggering to whomever is viewing.

Left-to-Right (1-3): Maya Angelou, Countee Cullen, Reneé Watson.

“Love strikes away the chains of fear from our souls” - Maya Angelou, Touched by an Angel.

Cards Used: Three of Coins, Dr. Buzzard, Dem Bones (RX), Mother of Baskets, Ten of Coins, Strength.

Pile One: For those of you that resonated with the quote from Maya Angelou, I have a question for you. You do know that you don’t have to be anyone’s ride or die, right? You are loyal to a fault. But it’s literally within your bloodline to be that way. There could be someone in your family who was scapegoated, falsely accused of a crime or could have went to jail for something that was easily avoidable. I heard, “Make it right. Do what’s best for you.” You could be in the process of making a life changing decision right now but the air is foggy. It’s okay to be selfish, if it means you’ll be led down the right path. You don’t need to follow what everyone else is doing. Your ancestors want you to know that you don’t need to be so hard on yourself either. Compassionate TLC is what you need to give yourself. I keep seeing images of quick weave hairstyles in my head & my head got itchy while I was doing this reading. I think you need to take a break from these & let your scalp breathe. Let yourself breathe in general. For those of you that are darker skinned, there is a female ancestor (grandmother or aunt) that wants you to know it’s okay to experiment with your personal style. I’m channeling Doechii’s energy. You don’t seem to be conventional, they respect it. So don’t be scared to look different. People will always have something to say but your beauty is admired by all.

“Death cut the strings that gave me life, and handed me to sorrow” - Countee Cullen, Saturday’s Child.

Cards Used: Black Herman, Ace of Knives, Nine of Knives, Eight of Coins, Aunt Caroline, Daughter of Knives, Three of Knives, Six of Baskets.

Pile Two: You do know that you don’t have much to worry about, right? Throughout American history, we have seen the documented struggles of Black Americans. With each generation, the next would have one less thing to worry about. Your ancestors want to tell you that you are more privileged than you think you are. You tend to worry about things that are out of your control. I feel that a lot of you could have dealt with unexpected death a lot in the past couple of years, specifically dealing with the lungs/heart. Your ancestors could have a history of heart disease/lung disease. This could have been a family member that you drifted apart from & you feel guilty for it. But there’s nothing that you can do to change the past, my love! What you can do is take care of your physical body. Join the gym. Drink lemon water. Eat when you feel like it & don’t label any foods are ‘good’ or ‘bad’. I heard someone coughing; you should avoid smoking cigarettes & weed as well or really any substance intake. Eat bananas too! You can only control what goes on with I also feel that some of your ancestors could have been hypochondriacs, had OCD or suffered from religious delusions. I would considering talking to a therapist if you feel that you’re headed down that path. Make decisions that are beneficial to your freedom but remember to count your blessings.

“Our bodies, a mosaic of languages forgotten, of freedom songs and moaned prayers” - Black Girls Rising, Reneé Watson.

Cards Used: Big Mama, Miss Ida, Ace of Sticks, Mother of Sticks, Six of Knives and Three of Sticks.

Pile Three: You’ve been saying you’re going to move out of the city you’re in for too long. Get out and stop talking about your plans to relocate. Your ancestors don’t think that there is anything there for you anymore. Your family could have lived in this city for decades but it’s changed so much that you don’t even recognize it anymore. Some of you could be from the East Coast, specifically Philly or Baltimore. You need to get out before you talk yourself into circles again. Some of y’all could be in school about to finish up a degree; keep going. A grandmother spirit is so so so proud of you. Before you relocate, take some days off to visit so that you can see what this new city is like. Many of your ancestors were not able to make plans and go through with them because of unfortunate life situations. Teen/unexpected pregnancy, severe mental illness and/or murder could have been factors that prevented them from following their dreams. If teen pregnancy runs in the family, you should acknowledge this as a fear of yours so that you can make smart decisions in regard to sex rather than making costly choices. Also, practice safe sex with a partner that is equally as conscious as you. Your ancestors want you to know that you can accomplish anything you put your mind to. You have bright ideas and you should share them with the world. Be confident in your spotlight. You deserve to take up space.

[smallgodseries]

[image description: A portrait of a tattooed woman standing in profile, but twisting toward us. Her eyes flash a rich green and her scarlet lipstick is on point. She wears 2 rings – an emerald and a skull – on her left hand, which rests upon her right tricep. Her bright multicolored hair flows everywhere. She has a thin nose ring, Celtic knot designs tattooed on her stomach, her name on her side, wings on her back, and a ’Non-Compliant’ Bitch Planet NC on her shoulder. Her earring also shows bright red lips. Her lace top is black, her pants are checkered Magenta and green. Text reads, “36, Polly Chrome, The Small God of Dye Hards”]

____________________________________________________________

People assume she and Tesla Jefferson are in some way connected, and those people are not entirely wrong.  But they spin miracle romances from a bottle of bleach, or they weave familial relationships out of half-forgotten hairstyles, they sing songs of peace and harmony, and they couldn’t be more wrong.

Polly and Tesla hate each other.  Always have and always will, and Polly sees no reason she should change her position, any more than she should change her hairstyle.

Hers is the hyperpigmentation, the penetration of cuticles and the improvement of dye formulations, moving the transitory ever closer to the permanent.

Hers are the girls who gaze into their mirrors and know, without question, that their hair is purple streaked with green, shaggy and chin-length, and will never change.  Hers are the women in their fifties and still fireplug red or blonde as a summer morning.  Hers are the brave boys who dream of iguana spikes atop their heads, green and pointed and glorious, until the day their courage leads them to the salon and matches their outsides to what they know is true, and hers are the men who hide the graying of their temples with sweeps of black.

Some people experiment with their identities.  Others simply know, or find their way to her, one failed experiment at a time.  And once they are hers, they never leave her again.  Fades and ombres, colors meant to be reflected in static mirrors, people painting their bodies in their own true colors until what they see is finally correct, all these things are her domain.

Polly isn’t here for your experiments, not here for your petty, pretty science.

She’s here for your faith.

That doesn’t mean she hasn’t taken Tesla for a few drunken tumbles in the alley behind the salon when both of them were amenable to the idea.  She’s only divine, after all, and the fabulous Miss Jefferson has an amazing ass.

But that wasn’t an experiment either.

____________________________________________________________

Artist Lee Moyer (Trident of Aurelia, 13th Age) and author Seanan McGuire (Wayward Children, October Daye & InCryptid series) sincerely thank to each and every one of you who share Small Gods!

Tumblr: https://smallgodseries.tumblr.com/

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/smallgodseries/

Homepage: http://www.smallgodseries.com/

Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

[propheticeve]

Once upon ʌ time,

Putting someone’s hat on your head without prayer was ʌ bad thing.

In the realm of Hoodoo, our hair is more than just an adornment—it's our crown, symbolizing both our heritage and our connection to The Most High (TMH). While some may argue that illnesses or genetics are at play, it's important to recognize that Hoodoo also acknowledges generational curses, which can manifest as health issues.

But let’s shift the focus to something vital: the products we use in our hair and on our children’s heads. Our kids should not have to deal with the negative mental and physical impacts of using hair products, whether they are human hair weaves or synthetic materials laden with harmful chemicals. These substances can seep into their scalps, affecting their brain chemistry and spiritual well-being.

It’s crucial to be mindful of how modern trends influence our choices. We should avoid spiritually neglecting our children by prioritizing conformity over health and authenticity. There are stylish and protective hairstyles available that are both safe and age-appropriate for our kids.

Our hairstyles are not just fashion statements—they carry cultural significance for Black Americans. From the straight parts and shapes to the colors of the bows, every detail has meaning. Historically, our ancestors braided maps into their hair during slavery to guide us toward freedom. In Hoodoo, everything serves as a reminder and a call to awaken dormant knowledge.

Let’s ensure that modern trends do not overshadow the cultural and spiritual values that need to be preserved.

[whovianofmidgard]

Summary:

Maeglin and Celebrimbor have a little Noldor-Sindar cultural exchange and do each other's hair, and then do each other.

For @silmsmutweek, Day 2, Prompts used: Cross-cultural relationships, Seduction (maybe?)

Snippet:

Maeglin trailed the tips of his fingers over the braids adorning his hair as he studied his reflection in the vanity's mirror. He could feel several floral shaped clips securing the smaller weaves to his scalp, though he'd have to ask Celebrimbor what kind of flowers he had seen fit to craft for him. There were also various beads of gold, mithril and onyx placed in his hair, some of which he could discern the significance of based on what little he knew of dwarven custom. Finally, he could see a braid on each side framing his face decorated with silver ribbons that shone against the deep black of his hair.

The elf in the mirror looked like a Noldorin prince through and through.

Maeglin's gaze caught on Celebrimbor standing behind that prince, watching him with a fond smile and a soft flush blooming on his cheeks.

"What do you think?" Celebrimbor asked, tucking a loose-hanging beaded braid behind his cousin's sharp pointed ear.

It wasn't only Maeglin's glance that was sharp. From the shape of his chin to the point of his nose, and in his lean muscles and tall, gangly physique with the hard set of his shoulders and lethal elbows, everything about Maeglin was sharper than that of other elves. The hairstyle Celebrimbor had meticulously created for him did not shy away from his sharpness; with his hair pulled back like so all of his face was revealed, chiselled cheekbones and almond cut eyes that would usually hide behind a curtain of dark locks.

"I look..." he began, contemplating his reflection.

And yet, something about having his face so openly on display, it made Maeglin appear approachable, more...

"...vulnerable."

Celebrimbor bit his lip. Usually, Maeglin could easily discern the emotion behind such a gesture, but perhaps with his distraction with his own reflection, it eluded him this time. Lust or guilt, it seemed to blend together in front of his eyes.

"You need not wear it outside for all the city to see," the Fëanorian said, stepping close enough that Maeglin could feel the heat of his body against his back. A work roughened hand cupped a sharp cut jaw, and Maeglin's pulse picked up under the warm touch.

Read the rest on Ao3

[onyx666]

☽◯☾ let the moon settle you ☽◯☾

chapter 1

pairing : finnick odair x black fem!reader

warnings : none

don’t hesitate to click on the links （＾ν＾）(underline text)

In the dimly lit room, the air was heavy with the scent of incense and the echo of distant memories. Reclined on a worn leather chair, the cold sensation of the tattoo artist's gloves on her neck is sending shivers down her spine. The walls were adorned with faded tapestries depicting scenes of both despair and triumph, a visual testament to the haunting stories etched into the skin of those who sought solace here. The steady buzz of the tattoo machine hummed in the background, filling the room with an ominous soundtrack as she braced herself for the ritual about to unfold.

The inker, a silent figure with eyes that held the weight of countless stories, prepared the ink that would soon be embedded into her skin.

As the needle met flesh, the pain mingled with a strange sense of catharsis. The molnija, a symbol of the life she took in the arena, began to emerge on her skin like a dark omen. Each stroke of the needle echoed the haunting memory of that fateful moment, the arena's unforgiving atmosphere, and the desperation that had led to the kill.

The room seemed to absorb the shadows, amplifying the somber mood as she thought about that soul she had annihilated on that battleground. The flashing ghost that lingered in the recesses of her mind, its presence intensified by the ink weaving its way into her skin. The pain and regret converged in a melancholic dance, leaving an indelible mark not only on her body but also on her soul.

The lodge became a sanctuary of shadows, the only illumination emanating from the dim glow of the artist's lamp. The mark, now etched into her skin, seemed to pulse with a life of its own, a macabre testimony to the harsh reality of the Games.

Near the end of the process, a heavy silence settled in the room. She, marked by the indigo ink that told a story of survival stained with sorrow, rose from the chair. The molnija on her skin was a permanent scar, a visual echo of the arena's brutality and the darkness that had seeped into her soul.

In the mirror, she confronted her reflection—a visage altered by the weight of her choices. That mark is going to stand as a haunting emblem, a constant reminder that, in the pursuit of life, one will have to confront the shadows that cling to the edges of survival.

Capitol - [17 - 19]

As she stepped into the grandeur of her victor's party in the Capitol, the contrast between her humble origins and the extravagance surrounding her was stark. Winning the 69th edition of the Hunger Games became real. The venue, adorned with opulent fabrics and sparkling lights, gleamed with a decadence foreign to the simplicity of her home District. The air was filled with the lively hum of Capitol citizens, their colorful attire and extravagant hairstyles creating a spectacle that seemed to defy gravity.

Finding herself in a world where excess was the norm. The walls were draped in cascades of silk, shimmering in every hue imaginable. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting prismatic patterns across the room. The Capitol's eccentricity was on full display, with citizens dressed in outfits that defied logic and science—feathers, metallic fabrics, and avant-garde designs that hinted at a creativity untamed by the constraints of practicality.

A live band played a lively tune in the garden, the music pulsating through the space and drawing Capitol attendees to the dance floor. Still adjusting to the splendor around her, she couldn’t help but observe the vibrant dance of colors, both in the attire of the people and the kaleidoscope of lights that danced above them. Waiters glided through the crowd, bearing trays of delicacies that she had never imagined.

The exotic scents of Capitol cuisine wafted through the air, tempting her senses with a richness she hadn't known in District Eleven. Golden platters held bite-sized treats adorned with edible gold leaf, and glasses filled with effervescent drinks bubbled enticingly.

Despite the festive atmosphere, she felt a pang of homesickness. Her gaze lingered on the holographic displays showcasing scenes from Eleven, a stark reminder of the life she had left behind. The Capitol's citizens, however, seemed oblivious to the disparities between the districts, lost in their own world of excess.

The eccentricity of the Capitol population was a spectacle in itself—each person striving to outshine the other in a display of flamboyance that bordered on the surreal.

As she navigated the party, she encountered Capitol citizens eager to engage with the new victor. They complimented her on her triumph, but their words felt like a distant murmur amid the overwhelming opulence. The Capitol's fascination with the Games manifested in their insatiable curiosity about the victors, turning her into a temporary celebrity in this glittering world.

She exchanged bitter pleasantries with Capitol officials, their polished manners contrasting sharply with her straightforward sincerity. The conversations were a delicate dance between the genuine and the superficial, as she struggled to navigate the unfamiliar terrain of political niceties.

In the midst of the celebration, her eyes met those of a fellow victor from a previous Hunger Games. A mentor now, they approached her with a knowing smile filled with sadness. Their eyes held a shared understanding of the harrowing journey she had undertaken, a journey that went beyond the glitz of the Capitol.

One Capitolite, a woman, with an elaborate headdress that seemed to defy gravity, giggled and remarked, “You must have had quite the adventure! I can’t imagine living without all the luxuries we have here.” The implication hung in the air—her life in Eleven was inconceivable, a distant and inferior existence compared to the opulence of the Capitol.

Despite the glittering surroundings, she felt an undercurrent of isolation. The Capitol citizens, in their pursuit of entertainment, had forgotten the humanity behind the victor. It was as if her struggles and victories were reduced to a theatrical performance, a diversion for their amusement.

The conversation fading in the back of her mind, her eyes met those of the fellow victor who had approached her earlier. There was a silent acknowledgment between them, a shared understanding of the dichotomy they faced—the duality of being celebrated and yet diminished to mere entertainment.

As the night unfolded, She found herself torn between the allure of the Capitol's extravagance and the memories of District Eleven. The party was a swirl of colors, music, and laughter, but amidst the celebration, she couldn't escape the shadows of the arena that lingered in her mind.

In this juxtaposition of luxury and survival, her, the young victor from Eleven, stood as a living testament to the resilience that could emerge from the darkest corners of Panem.

In the midst of the discomforting conversations, she felt a rather presumptuous touch on her shoulder. Turning, she found Finnick Odair, the charismatic victor from District Four, wearing a smug smile that hinted at both arrogance and mischief.

His tanned, sun-kissed and golden skin provided a striking contrast to his sea-green eyes, a captivating blend that reflected both warmth and depth.

He seamlessly interrupted the group, his presence demanding attention.

“Care for a dance?” Finnick’s request was accompanied by a challenging smirk, and he extended his hand, as if daring her to refuse. With a mix of reluctance and annoyance, she accepted the offer, escaping from the scrutinizing gazes and disconcerting questions.

The sudden shift from interrogation to an invitation to dance was met with a collective pause from the attendees. Finnick's effortless arrogance had transformed the atmosphere, turning an uncomfortable spotlight into an impromptu moment of forced celebration.

As she took his hand and joined him on the dance floor, the live band adjusted its tune to a rhythm that matched the graceful movements of the two victors. Finnick's skilled steps and her stoic expression turned the dance into an unexpected spectacle, a blend of tension and compliance.

Their dance, devoid of any genuine warmth, became a symbol of reluctant participation, a forced interlude against the Capitol's tendency to objectify victors. Finnick's cocky banter and her occasional biting remarks created a dance that mirrored the power dynamics of their world. The Capitol citizens, momentarily intrigued by the unexpected turn of events, witnessed a performance that teetered on the edge of social discomfort.

As they twirled and moved across the dance floor, Finnick maintained his smug demeanor, enjoying the discomfort he had thrust upon her. Yet, she refused to let his arrogance go unchallenged.

"So why did you accept? Was it my pretty smile or the infamous reputation that lured you into this dance?" Finnick's voice carried a mocking tone, attempting to unravel her composure.

A wry smile played on her lips. "Oh, Finnick, don't mistake my acceptance for admiration. I merely thought a dance might provide a more tolerable alternative to your insufferable conversation."

Finnick's attempts to steer the conversation away from personal matters met with her sharp retorts, turning the dance into a verbal battleground.

Undeterred, he leaned in with a sly grin. "You can't deny there's a certain charm to this it. Perhaps you'll find it more enjoyable than you anticipated."

Her gaze remained unwavering. "Your charm may dazzle those pigs you occasionally call your friends, Finnick, but it holds little sway over me. This dance is a strategic maneuver, nothing more."

He chuckled, a low, confident sound that reverberated through her. "A strategic maneuver? You give this dance far too much credit. Perhaps you're not as immune as you'd like to believe."

The response was swift. "Charm is a fleeting illusion, Finnick. It holds no power over substance. This dance is a calculated choice, not a surrender to you."

Finnick's eyes gleamed with amusement. "Most would have succumbed to the allure of the Capitol by now. Yet here you are, dancing on your own terms."

A flicker of something unreadable crossed her eyes. “If you gaze long enough into an abyss-”

"The abyss also gazes into you" Finnick finished her sentence, intrigued by the cryptic response.

The party, once an uncomfortable ordeal, had transformed into a nuanced dance of social dynamics, where she navigated the Capitol's expectations with a mixture of defiance and composure. Meanwhile, he, though seemingly victorious, couldn't deny the unexpected complexity that had unfolded beneath the surface of that interaction.

As the dance concluded and the crowd rejoined them on the dance floor, they slipped away, finding solace in the secluded beauty of the garden. She couldn't shake off the resentment for what he represented – the embodiment of the Capitol's playboy image, a pawn in their elaborate game.

He noticed the lingering tension and attempted to break the ice. "You know, not all of us chose this life. We're just pieces in their twisted puzzle."

She shot him a skeptical glance. "You seem to be enjoying it quite a bit, playing the part they want you to play."

Finnick sighed, his eyes momentarily betraying a hint of weariness. "It's all about survival. You play the hand you're dealt."

She scoffed. "Survival? You seem to be doing pretty good from what all Panem and I can see."

He paused, his gaze meeting hers with a flicker of sincerity. "Not everyone is as free as they appear. There are strings attached, and cutting them comes at a cost."

They strolled amidst the vibrant blooms, the moonlight casting a delicate glow on their conversation. She couldn't deny the complexity of his existence, even if she resented the role he played.

"I've navigated shadows, walked paths I'd shield from the sun," Finnick admitted, his voice a delicate unveiling of vulnerabilities veiled by his charming facade. "But survival, that's the currency they demand from us."

Her skepticism softened into a momentary understanding. "Surviving at what cost, Finnick? Your fucking soul?"

He chuckled bitterly. "The Capitol doesn't leave much room for souls, darling. They don’t even care for it"

She sighed, the weight of the Capitol's influence pressing down on them.

He met her gaze, his eyes revealing a complex blend of defiance and resignation. "Did Snow spoke to you?" he asked dodging the look in her eyes.

"Not yet. Why?" she replied, searching for understanding in his guarded expression.

Finnick shrugged nonchalantly, a slight smile playing on his lips. "Just curious. The Capitol tends to play its games, and Snow is the puppet master. Always worth knowing whose strings you're tangled up in, especially after a victory."

She frowned, a knot of unease forming in her stomach. The mention of President Snow brought back memories of his looming presence in the Capitol, a figure synonymous with control and manipulation.

"What does Snow want with me?" she questioned, her voice tinged with actual concern.

Finnick chuckled, a wry edge to his laughter. "Who knows what goes on in that twisted mind of his? Just be cautious. Capitolites love to weave narratives, and we're all characters in their grand spectacle."

He deftly shifted the conversation, steering it away from the enigmatic dealings of the so called regent.

“What was the anchor that kept you going in the arena ?” he asked.

A pensive silence hung in the air before she began, “It’s not a memory; it’s a feeling—the warmth of the sun on my face as I worked in the orchards, the rustling of leaves, and the quiet whispers shared between workers.” Her voice carried a nostalgic lilt, a reflection of the simple and rarejoys she had known in District Eleven.

Finnick listened attentively, the subtle dance of moonlight casting shifting patterns on the garden floor. “But in the arena, that warmth turned into the cold steel of weapons, and the whispers became the screams of those who fell.”

Her words bore the weight of the transformation, a metamorphosis from the familiar embrace of home to the unforgiving arena.

As she spoke, the moon’s glow accentuated the contours of her face, revealing a tapestry of emotions etched in every expression. Finnick, still standing in the shadows, observed with a silent intensity. The night seemed to unfold like a novel, each sentence adding depth to the narrative they were constructing.

“What about you, playboy ?”

He painted the scene with his words, “It was during the calm before the storm. The sun was setting, casting a warm glow over the district. The waves gently lapped against the shore, and for a moment, the air was filled with tranquility. I stood at the edge of the fishing docks, surrounded by the familiar scent of the sea. In that brief respite, I found a seashell on the beach. It wasn’t much you know, but it was enough. Just a simple reminder of a world beyond the brutality that was awaiting. Holding that seashell, I felt a connection to something pure, something untouched by the darkness that we were immersed in. It was a moment of quiet pride, watching the boats return with their bounties. I believed in a future where I could contribute to our district, make it better.”

Finnick’s gaze held a mix of nostalgia and sorrow. “But dreams have a way of shattering. The hollowness set in after the celebration, and the silence in my heart matched the quietude of the sea after the cheers faded away. I faced the reality that awaited me, all of us, as a victor, and it just became a distant echo of the life I had hoped for.”

"Live fast, die young, be wild and have fun....they say." she expressed with a bitter laugh slipping off her lips still cringing at the mantra.

As the gloomy moonbeam reflected on the side of her face in the moonlit night, she spoke with a grace that caught the peacock's attention, still standing in the shadows. The moonlight painted her face with a soft glow, revealing a tapestry of emotions in every expression. As strands of her hair danced in the gentle breeze, Finnick observed in silence.

The night, wrapped in the luminous embrace of the moon, held the promise of a new narrative written in the language of stardust and whispered confessions.

"I believed in the country Panem used to be." she said, still holding hope for the person she wanted to become.

In this moment, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight, she became Moon, a celestial muse -a constellation of emotions and experiences that left an indelible mark on his heart, even him not noticing it.

Their conversation meandered through the intricacies of their existence, touching on the compromises they made to survive in a world that thrived on spectacle. Finnick, typically a master of charm, revealed fragments of a soul that yearned for freedom beyond the Capitol's whims.

As they continued to wander through the garden, the dichotomy between them softened. She glimpsed the cracks in his playboy facade as he caught a glimpse of the fire that fueled her resistance.

a/n : i keep seeing ppl do the ai voice cloning thing for a more immersive reading so why not try it

1) Finnick and Moon are 19 and 17

2) since the majority of Eleven’s population is predominantly Black and Native American/Indigenous, it seemed logical to me that Moon came from this District.