#hi sesame meet alma c:

[aguilareye]

what if sesame got his overdue besitos, huh

A girl of six and blazing red hair has to hold the large cowboy hat on her head in order to keep it from falling over her eyes. She sees the barn cat waiting down expectantly by her feet and she giggles. 

“Michi! Wanna help me find pa?” Alma bends down to pick Sesame up, her father's hat falling over her eyes as she lifts Sesame. She can barely hold his … wide size and his feet dangle. The young girl pets Sesame and smooches his fuzzy head. 

“Michi, yer so fluffy. I love you michi.” 

[thecorteztwins]

[I’ve been writing Fabian and Haven at an RP board for like eight months now, and of course they haven’t met because they’re both MY characters, I’m not going to thread with MYSELF, I don’t think I’d be allowed. But you can write “oneshots” that aren’t threads, more like single-post fics, and I had this idea for one cuz look, I need to get something wholesome out of Fabian sometimes and Haven is my fix for that. So I did this. If you are hoping for Fabian being a hilarious asshat, that’s not here, he helps Haven out and they discuss hair routines, it’s very pure.] “A Hair-Raising Encounter” Probably the most physically distinctive thing about Haven was her hair. It was almost an entity unto itself, so long and huge it was. It did not thin as it got longer, but remained incredibly thick and wavy all the way through. Unless occasion called for otherwise, she generally wore it utterly without restraint. And generally speaking, there was no problem with this. It looked like quite the hazard, but aside from little hands pulling on it or getting it sticky, Haven had learned to navigate life without her locks either being ruined or getting her killed. Generally, anyway. Today was the exception. She’d been on a walk in Central Park, and suddenly found herself unable to go forward, and suffering a tugging pain on her scalp every time she tried. It was quite easy to figure out that a large strand of her voluminous tresses had gotten ensnared around a stray branch that had grown out too far on the path where she’d been admiring the greenery. Easy to figure out, not so easy to fix. “Oh, oh, oh,” Haven made small sounds of pain and frustration as she tried to get around to unknot her locks from the branches, but it was a difficult angle to get to. Behind her she heard the sound of running footsteps, and the yipping of a dog. “Stay calm!” a tall young man with red hair and a tiny dog was approaching tall man in tow with a tiny dog. “Lord C---I will help you!”

He got by her side, and reached over to the branch to start the de-tangling job. “I understand the perils of long hair well,” he said, and he indeed had quite the ponytail. “As do I,” said Haven, allowing the assistance, “Which is why this is so embarrassing---one would think I would have learned to better avoid this after a lifetime with these locks.” “It happens to the best of us,” said the man as he worked, “Think of it this way---when was the last time this happened? Every day between then and now was a success!” “What a splendid way of thinking about it---oh!” Haven cut herself off in surprise. The little dog was jumping at her sari skirt, barking at her vehemently. “Is he...is he angry with me?” Haven was not afraid of dogs per se but she didn’t know much about animals or how to read their behavior. She had no idea if the little sausage was being hostile or not. “What?”, the man paused as if in surprise at the question. “Oh no, no, don’t be afraid, he likes you! He is VERY excited to meet you. He just wants you to pet him.” “I’m pleased to meet you as well, little one,” Haven smiled down at the dog. “I promise to pet you as soon as I can bend down.” That came soon enough. “There we are, all undone,” the man said in an assuring tone as he stepped back from Haven, “Step forward, m’lady, you are free!” She indeed could step forward, and so she crouched down as promised to try to pet excited pooch. As she did, she looked up at her benefactor. “Oh, he is very friendly indeed! Thank you so much, that was very kind of you, Mr...?” “Fabian Cortez!” he said proudly, drawing himself up, “You may call me Fabian, Ms...?” “Haven. Or Radha Dastoor but I go by Haven.” “If you don’t mind my saying, Ms. Haven, you have incredible hair. It’s so...thick and long. I’ve never seen anyone with hair that long. Is it...is it a cultural thing?” he asked this last bit timidly, as though worried it was an offensive question, then followed up with a very interested,  “What do you use on it?” “It’s something of a cultural norm in my country, yes,” said Haven, her tone assuring that the question wasn’t inappropriate at all, “It’s nothing enforced by law, but you’ll never see a Bollywood actress with one of the lovely pixie cuts like Mia Farrow and Audrey Hepburn sported. Well, I say never---I meant never so far. Things are always changing though. I simply like mine, however. To answer your other question, I use sesame oil before washing with homemade shampoo made from reetha , the soapnut. You can substitute chickpea flour or lentil flour to make the shampoo, and other oils–coconut, almond, bhringhraj, alma –all work just as well too .I mix mine with brahmi powder or other herbs like dried hibiscus and marigold flowers.” “How often?” “Two to three times a week.” Fabian nodded very thoughtfully, fingers curling around his chin. Then he asked something else, “I don’t meet many people who go by another moniker. Why Haven? Is it just that Americans can’t pronounce Radha?” “Oh, no. It’s, well...” And she explained the reason, how it came from the children’s hospital that she had funded, how the little ones there had started calling her that and she’d kept it. It was always very hard not to make that sound like a brag. Fabian in turn told her about own philanthropic activities. Apparently he had worked with nuns and orphans quite a lot. The longer he spoke on it---and he did speak a rather long time---the more Haven got the inkling that he was probably not being wholly truthful, particularly when he got to the part about about single-handedly disarming a terrorist who had been threatening said nuns and orphans with a...she didn’t quite get what he said, but she assumed it to be a very large gun. Which he then explained that it was, apparently sensing she had no idea what he meant by the letters and numbers he had listed, without her having to ask. He didn’t seem to be lying out of malice---if he was lying at all, Haven hated to assume, she just couldn’t turn off her intuition for these things---he just seemed earnest to impress. She’d met children like that before. So she reacted as she would with a child, being duly impressed in all the right places, just as if he was telling the truth. Which, he might have been, she didn’t know! They spent awhile walking along together as he described his compassionate exploits to her, and himself in general. Haven didn’t mind; she liked hearing about other people. But at last, her phone beeped, and when she looked at it, she saw she had an engagement to get to quite swiftly. “Oh dear”, she said, “I’m so sorry to cut you off, Fabian, but I have an appointment to keep. My apologies, and thank you so much for your help---and for keeping me company on my walk. You were a very extraordinary person to speak with.” “I know!”,  Fabian said perkily, then amended, “I mean, thank you! You’re welcome! Have a good day, Haven---and feel free to call on me should you ever need rescue again!”