#large afro

[ink-ling]

xx

[moonfirebrides]

Kinky Afro, photographed by Juergen Teller and styled by Judy Blame, December 1990

[magnoliamyrrh]

thats why it hurts my brain too when ppl have intense ass arguments abt what race specific "hard to classify" groups are

the balkans are just one example of this bc weve been considered a bunch of shit throughout history and we exist in a weird position always but. there are So Many ethnic groups and regions of the world which are like this

and ppl will go on entire things with the upmost seriousness trying to "race" whatever ethnicity when its like....... dude do you not understand.... does the entire argument itself not make you see.... this is all made up and this conversation makes no damn sense bc there isnt actually any sort of biological basis that this shit is based on ,, ,,, race is Largely some bullshit made up for the sake of oppression and youre trying So Hard to shove ppl into it instead of understanding the complexities of the situation...why..... pls stop

[selkies-and-cycles]

Ayete has strong black origins (relatively unknown) and inherited extremely coily hair. Flake (their forcibly adopted brother), meanwhile, is a latino boy with extremely long, straight hair.

Ayete does not know how to take care of their hair. Neither does Flake.

Flake: ... Ayete: something up? :3 Flake: what the fuck. i don't get the 3 different types of conditioner i stole. what's the difference between shea butter, castor oil... agave nectar?? do we even need the shampoo? Ayete: .........try them all? Flake: do you want your hair to fall out? Ayete: no? Flake: then shut up and hold this section. if your hair falls out, it's not my fault, okay? Ayete: okay. :3 Flake: Flake: Ayete why are there so many fucking leaves in your hair.

[dumbassv32]

idk why but i feel like paps would dye his ends blond

!!!!!! i actually was thinking of having his ends dyed yellow but decided to stick with natural hair but i might play around with more hairstyles for him :-) ty for the ask!

[singeratlarge]

SUNDAY MATINEE MUSIC VIDEO: “The Standard” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qNcfBR_Rm0k —Think Caribbean—Time is relaxed. Sun is friendly. Imagine singing this song on a colorful beach, birds swirling around, and waves lapping the sand. I’ve done several music gigs around the Caribbean, and I never dreamed I’d enjoy it there so much. This song takes my head into that zone. It’s from the Word2Soul Project, a gospel/neo-soul/pop assembly envisioned by lyricist Amy Mintzer. She hired me to produce demos with the goal of shopping a publishing deal. The demos turned out so well that DJs started airing them. People got excited! W2S became a series based on the templates of albums by Quincy Jones and the Alan Parsons Project—where producers created songs then used a panel of singers to interpret the songs. “The Standard” describe an immovable bottom line “standard”: A lifeline of God’s love and strength being there for me no matter how crazy I get or how life tests me. It has an upbeat island/Afro-pop vibe, and I was pleased with my keyboard work (mixed by Tim Breon). 

#standard #love #god #jesus #gospel #gospelpop #caribbean #islandmusic #soca #afropop #neosoul #quincyjones #alanparsonsproject #upbeat #beach #CCM #contemporarychristianmusic #keyboards #williamsport #williamsportpa #pennsylvaniamusic #word2soul #johnnyjblair #singeratlarge #amymintzer

[blossyossyossy]

Nawt the white people at my uni beginning to racially profile all the black people...

[herbgerblin]

Atlanta miku lol. Inspired by the looks I often see at the Underground or at streetwear festivals.

ID: A drawing of Hatsune Miku as a black woman with long, curly hair in braids and afro puffs. She's wearing a black, pink, grey, and blue ensemble that mixes athletic gear and hip-hip inspired street clothes. A large pink tote bag is slung over one shoulder. She appears to be waving one arm while jogging. End ID.

[luna-azzurra]

Describe your Main Character sheet

Skin

Tone: Pale, Rosy, Olive, Dark, Tanned, Alabaster, Ebony, Bronze, Golden, Fair

Texture: Smooth, Rough, Silky, Coarse, Flaky, Supple, Wrinkled, Calloused, Bumpy

Condition: Moles, Acne, Dry, Greasy, Freckled, Scars, Birthmarks, Bruised, Sunburned, Flawless

Complexion: Clear, Ruddy, Sallow, Glowing, Dull, Even-toned, Blotchy

Eyes

Size: Small, Large, Average, Tiny, Bulging, Narrow

Color: Grey, Brown, Blue, Violet, Pink, Green, Gold, Hazel, Crimson, Amber, Turquoise, Sapphire, Onyx

Shape: Doe-eyed, Almond, Close-set, Wide-set, Round, Oval, Hooded, Monolid

Expression: Deep-set, Squinty, Monolid, Heavy eyelids, Upturned, Downturned, Piercing, Gentle, Sparkling, Steely

Other: Glassy, Bloodshot, Tear-filled, Clear, Glinting, Shiny

Hair

Thickness: Thin, Thick, Fine, Normal

Texture: Greasy, Dry, Soft, Shiny, Curly, Frizzy, Wild, Unruly, Straight, Smooth, Wavy, Floppy

Length: Cropped, Pixie-cut, Afro, Shoulder length, Back length, Waist length, Past hip-length, Buzz cut, Bald

Styles: Weave, Hair extensions, Jaw length, Layered, Mohawk, Dreadlocks, Box braids, Faux locks, Braid, Ponytail, Bun, Updo

Color: White, Salt and pepper, Platinum blonde, Golden blonde, Dirty blonde, Blonde, Strawberry blonde, Ash brown, Mouse brown, Chestnut brown, Golden brown, Chocolate brown, Dark brown, Jet black, Ginger, Red, Auburn, Dyed, Highlights, Low-lights, Ombre

Eyebrows: Thin eyebrows, Average eyebrows, Thick eyebrows, Plucked eyebrows, Bushy eyebrows, Arched eyebrows, Straight eyebrows

Lips

Shape: Full, Thin, Heart-shaped, Bow-shaped, Wide, Small

Texture: Chapped, Smooth, Cracked, Soft, Rough

Color: Pale, Pink, Red, Crimson, Brown, Purple, Nude

Expression: Smiling, Frowning, Pursed, Pouting, Curved, Neutral, Tight-lipped, Parted

Nose

Shape: Button, Roman, Hooked, Aquiline, Flat, Pointed, Wide, Narrow, Crooked, Upturned, Snub

Size: Small, Large, Average, Long, Short

Condition: Freckled, Sunburned, Smooth, Bumpy

Build

Frame: Petite, Slim, Athletic, Muscular, Average, Stocky, Large, Lean, Stout, Bony, Broad-shouldered, Narrow-shouldered

Height: Short, Tall, Average, Petite, Giant

Posture: Upright, Slouched, Rigid, Relaxed, Graceful, Awkward, Stiff, Hunched

Hands

Size: Small, Large, Average, Delicate, Strong

Texture: Smooth, Rough, Calloused, Soft, Firm

Condition: Clean, Dirty, Manicured, Scarred, Wrinkled

Nails: Short, Long, Polished, Chipped, Clean, Dirty, Painted, Natural

Voice

Tone: Deep, High, Soft, Loud, Raspy, Melodic, Monotonous, Hoarse, Clear, Gentle

Volume: Loud, Soft, Whispery, Booming, Muted

Pace: Fast, Slow, Steady, Hasty, Measured

Expression: Cheerful, Sad, Angry, Calm, Anxious, Confident, Nervous, Excited, Bored

[literaryvein-reblogs]

what are some ways to describe people other than eye and hair color

I am assuming you are looking for physical descriptors. Here are some examples. I may just make a different post on psychological descriptors.

Arms: Long, Muscular, Pudgy, Short, Skinny, Thin

Back: Bent, Hunched, Ramrod Straight, Rounded

Build: Anorexic, Athletic, Beefy, Brawny, Burly, Chubby, Coltish, Compact, Fat, Gangly, Gaunt, Gawky, Haggard, Heavy-set, Herculean, Husky, Lanky, Lithe, Muscular, Obese, Overweight, Petite, Rangy, Reed-like, Scrawny, Skinny, Slender, Slight, Solid, Spindly, Statuesque, Stocky, Strapping, Sylphlike, Taut, Thickset, Thin, Trim, Underweight, Voluptuous, Well-built, Willowy, Withered

Cheeks: Blushing, Bold, Curved, Dimpled, Bold, Curved, Dimpled, Disturbed, Glorious, Glowing, Hairless, High (cheekbones), Hollow, Honey, Livid, Pale, Pallid, Pink, Plump, Puffy, Radiant, Reddened, Rosy, Rounded, Ruddy, Shining, Smooth, Soft, Sun-burnt, Sun-bronzed, Sunken, Sun-tanned, Tanned, Tearful, White

Chin: Angular, Bony, Bumpy, Chiseled, Defined, Doughy, Firm, Protruding, Round, Smooth, Soft, Square, Strong

Ears: Jug-like, Large, Protruding, Tiny

Eyebrows: Arching, Bushy, Emphasized, Near, Spaced, Thick, Thin

Eyelashes: Artificial, Beaded, Beautiful, Blinking, Dark, Dark-fringed, Dense, Dusky, Heavily-fringed, Long, Mascaraed, Sandy, Sooty, Sopping, Tear-drenched, Thick, Uplifted

Eyes: Almond-shaped, Bright, Bulging, Expressive, Frightened, Gentle, Languishing, Little, Luminous, Made-up, Round, Shining, Shortsighted, Smart, Stunned, Thin, Wide, Woeful

Face: Baby, Blood-stained, Bold, Chiseled, Contorted, Dead, Expressionless, Fair, Familiar, Fierce, Flat, Frightened, Furrowed, Honest, Indifferent, Little, Pale, Poker, Pretty, Radiant, Rough, Ruddy, Sallow, Square, Stained, Swollen, Trim, Weather-beaten, Wry

Feet: Athlete's, Big, Flat, Pigeon-toed, Small, Sore, Stinky, Stubby, Swollen

Fingers: Gnarled, Long, Short, Stubby

Finger Nails: Bitten, Broken, Claw-like, Dirty, Hooked, Long, Painted, Sharp, Talon-like

Hair: Afro, Bald, Beehive, Braided, Bristles, Bun, Chignon, Coiffure, Combed, Corkscrew, Corn rows, Cowlicked, Crew cut, Curly, Disarrayed, Disheveled, Dreadlocks, Dry, Flattop, Flecked, French braid, French twist, Fringe, Greasy, Grizzled, Knotted, Layered, Locks, Matted, Messed up, Mohawk, Mussy, Muttonchops, Neat, Oily, Page boy, Perm, Pigtails, Plait, Pompadour, Ponytail, Ragged, Receding, Ringlets, Ruffled, Shaggy, Shorn, Shoulder-length, Skinhead, Spiky, Split-ended, Straight, Tangled, Thick, Thinning, Tidy, Topknot, Tousled, Twisted, Uncombed, Unshorn, Untidy, Wavy, Wiry, Wisps

Hand: Big, Elegant, Small

Height: Big, Knee-high, Medium, Short, Shoulder-high, Sky-high, Small, Tall, Towering, Waist-high

Legs: Amputated, Bandy, Bony, Bowed, Brawny, Bulging, Fluted, Gartered, Gouty, Graceful, Hacked, Hairy, Jagged, Knotted, Leaden, Long, Lower, Muscular, Pitiful, Rickety, Shapely, Shivering, Short, Sinewy, Slender, Slim, Spindle, Stockinged, Sturdy, Thin, Thread-like, Tinder, Tiny, Toothsome, Tree trunks

Lips: Blue, Cracked, Cupid's Bow, Downturned, Dry, Fat, Full, Grim, Large, Luscious, Parched, Parted, Red, Ruby, Small, Smiling, Thin, Wet

Mouth: Arch, Ascetic, Baby, Cavernous, Churning, Compressed, Cooing, Coral, Cracked, Cruel, Delicate, Dumpled, Distended, Dry, Fine, Firm, Frothy, Full, Funnel-shaped, Gaping, Grim, Handsome, Hungry, Insistent, Irritable, Large, Luscious, Munching, Musty, Perilous, Puckered, Querulous, Relaxed, Resolute, Sardonic, Sensuous, Serious, Slobbering, Small, Sulky, Sweet, Tender, Thin, Wide, Winsome, Wrinkled, Yawning

Neck: Bullnecked, Elegant, Long, Short, Swan-like, Thick

Palm: Broad, Oval, Rectangular, Square

Skin: Acned, Alabaster, Albino, Apricot, Black, Blemished, Blistered, Blooming, Blotchy, Blushing, Bronzed, Cadaverous, Calloused, Caramel, Clear, Craggy, Cream, Ebony, Fair, Flush, Freckled, Glowing, Greasy, Ivory, Jaundiced, Leathery, Lily-white, Lined, Milky, Mottled, Nut-brown, Olive, Pale, Pallid, Pasty, Peeling, Pimpled, Pink, Pitted, Pockmarked, Red, Rosy, Rough, Ruddy, Russet, Sallow, Scabby, Scarred, Smooth, Splotchy, Spotty, Sun-burnt, Tan, Wan, Waxen, White, Wrinkled, Yellow

Stomach: Bulging, Distended, Empty, Firm, Flabby, Flat, Heroic, Hollow, Lean, Paunchy, Protruding, Unbounded

Teeth: Artificial, Black, Blunted, Buck, Canine, Chattering, Clenched, Clinched, Compressed, Crooked, Dagger-like, Dazzling, Decayed, Deciduous, Extracted, False teeth, Feeble, Ferocious, Filed, Flashing, Fluoridated, Foam-laced, Fractured, Gap-toothed, Gleaming, Glistening, Glittering, Gnashing, Goofy, Grinding, Hooked, Horrid, Ivory, Jagged, Lacquered, Large, Milky, Mottled, Neglected, Pearly, Perfect, Pretty, Protruding, Razor-like, Sharp, Shining, Short, Small, Snowy, Sore, Spaced, Straight, Sweet tooth, Tender, Tiny, Toothless, Toothy, Ugly, Unrelenting, White, Wisdom, Wolfish, Yellow

Hope this helps! If it does, do tag me or send me a link to your writing. I'd love to read your work.

More: On Character Development

[pansylair]

scanned in another sketchbook page to colour 💙

id: A digitally colored sketchbook page of a bust of a black character with a short afro and safety pin earring tenderly looking towards the viewer with a smile. The background is vivid blue and the illustration is coloured in with desaturated yellow-greens. A large star sits to the upper left of their face which is further framed by leafy plants. Wormy, serpent like creatures wind around them and the flora, all eyes staring and further observing the viewer.

[writingwithcolor]

A Careful Balance: Portraying a Black Character's Relationship with their Hair

@writingraccoon said:

My character is black in a dungeons and dragons-like fantasy world. His name is Kazuki Haile (pronounced hay-lee), and his mother is this world's equivalent of Japanese, which is where his first name is from, while his father is this world's equivalent of Ethiopian, which is where his last name is from. He looks much more like his father, and has hair type 4a. I plan to make his character very finnicky about his hair, both enjoying styling it, but also often being unsure how to style it (not in that he doesn't know how to, but has so many options for how to style it, he has trouble choosing). However, I know that there are some very harmful ways to write black hair, especially in regards to how the black character themselves feels about it. Kazuki does not hate his hair, in fact he takes joy in it, and I'm researching black hair and hair styles to be as accurate as possible. But I'm unsure if portraying a black character as occasionally overwhelmed by or vain about his hair is negative. How would you suggest either changing this or making it work? Does it need to be changed in the first place?

Black Character Overwhelmed by Curly Afro Hair

Your Black character wanting his hair to look its best and at times feeling overwhelmed seems reasonable and natural to me. It appears their challenge comes with how to style it. Not so much with struggling how it looks or how hard it is to manage. That is good, as this further helps avoid placing a strong negative focus on Black hair. 

Him caring a lot about how it is style should not be deemed vain or frivolous, either. In any case, hair care is self care. There’s nothing wrong with having pride with your hair, especially hair that mainstream society, historically and present, might say is not beautiful. This still matters, even in a fantasy world, since your readers still exist in this reality. It’s empowering and a welcome change to see someone who loves their afro hair, actually.

There are unique factors someone with coily afro hair would experience vs. straight, wavy, or looser curls, but people struggling with their hair (too frizzy, too flat, too limp, too thin, too thick!) is universal. 

There is a delicate balance to achieve.

Avoid Writing a Black Hair Journey Experience 

An overall negative Afro hair journey might be the reality for many, especially when society deems Afro hair as unacceptable and slaps so many uninvited opinions, laws and policies over its existence and on certain styles (again, historically and very much at present), but that’s the kind of story that is best handled by someone with the background. Someone willing to commit to the research might also be able to pull it off, although it’s truly not the kind of thing an escapism novel needs in my opinion. If the story is not meant to delve into “A Black /Black Hair Experience” then I'd avoid going that route. That is moving a bit towards a struggle narrative, depending on how much it defines your character’s story.

Add positive and neutral hair language and interactions

For your writing, I’d avoid using unchallenged negative language about his hair. Being overwhelmed at times and frustrated is one thing and expected. If his hair is constantly brought up, and is associated with uncontrollable, ugly, or too [insert struggle here], then rethink the direction you’re going. 

Add some positive or neutral terms, reactions, and interactions in the narrative towards afro hair, such as describing color and texture.

“His fine coils bounced in the wind.” 

“Hair black and shiny” 

“She wore her hair in two large, fluffy buns.”

“He admired his fresh, neat braids in the mirror, smiling at his reflection, before turning to leave.”

Another tip: It may have been for research purposes, but leave out any hair number categorizing in the story and rely on description. I’d say this goes for any story, as reading the number would feel off. 

“He had coily 4a hair.” Nahh! :P 

Also, I would suggest sending all passages that focus on his hair to a Black sensitivity reader for review.

More reading:

~Mod Colette

[choslut]

i spent all day fighting taking out and washing my hair so this is my little present to myself. for all the magical black girls out there who also have a tendency to fistfight their hair on washdays, this one’s for you <3

when you first ask geto to help you take out your braids, he’s admittedly a little confused. it takes you taking out half of your head for him to finally get the process, but when he finally does…

… he works miracles.

it may be because he himself is very well acquainted with the world of haircare given his own waist-length silky black locks, but when you explain the ins and outs of black haircare to him, he’s nothing short of intrigued. it’s comical really, watching your 6-foot-something of a boyfriend sit cross-legged on the floor next to you as you show him first how to remove the hair, then detangle the roots before spraying it with a little bit of water to rehydrate it.

“and you do this… with every one?”

“yes, sugu. it’s a pretty long process.”

“i’ll never take your hair for granted again.”

by the second time you ask him to help take out your hair a couple weeks later, you’re surprised he actually remembers how to do it. he sits next to you on the couch, pick and spray bottle in hand, concentration etched into his features as he delicately unravels the braid.

by the third time, months after the first, suguru is asking you if you need help taking out your hair. it turns out he actually enjoys the activity.

“it’s a good way for us to spend time together,” he muses quietly, purple irises fixed on untangling a certain knot. “plus, it gives me a chance to learn more about you.”

that small quip turns into a full blown conversation, and you tell him everything about your hair, from when you were a little girl sitting in between your mother’s legs, eyes watering as she combed at your scalp relentlessly, to the teenage struggles of fixing your edges just right. some of the stories make him laugh, some of them make him feel sad, but all of them give him a larger insight into who you are, what made you into the beautiful girl he’s willing to give his life to.

throughout all of it, all suguru can do is stare at you and listen on in wonder. it’s an amazing thing, the stories hair can carry, and after he’s finally finished helping you take it out, he kisses you on the forehead.

“you’re beautiful,” he whispers, large hands playing with the freshly detangled afro cradling your face. “teach me how to wash it next.”

a/n : STOPSTOPSTOPSTOPSTOP i love him ☹️☹️

© choslut — do not copy, repost or translate my works without permission.

[kumkaniudaku]

From Terrence, With Love

Summary: Terry goes out of his way for Patrice's Christmas gift.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: None.

Previous: TBT

MASTERLIST

"What about this one?" 

Terry paused his web search through pages of office accessories to look up at his mother-in-law as she pushed a stroller toward his spot in a winding line. Rosalyn held out her phone for him to examine what she thought was a perfect armchair selection, hoping that her seemingly endless pursuit could finally reach a conclusion.

He scanned the olive green item with a careful eye before ultimately shaking his head. "I like it, but she's into oranges and yellows for her creative spaces. That's too muted."

"Oh Lord, Terry. I love how dedicated you are to this, but I'll be doggone if this ain't takin' years off my life. You trynna get rid of me?" 

"No, ma'am," he chuckled as he stepped forward to make space for her beside him. "I just want it to be perfect. She's been wanting a little spot just for her, and I want her to love it, you know?" 

"That's very thoughtful. It's driving me and my baby crazy, but thoughtful nonetheless. Ain't that right, Nyla Bee?" 

Raspy giggles and loud shrieks from the 16-month-old sitting in her reserved seat made both adults smile. A combination of watered-down juice and cinnamon roll crumbs coated her cherub cheeks in a way that would make her mother shake with frustration if she were present. Though her grandmothers found the sight adorable, Terry knew the consequences coming if Patrice ever found out how much junk he'd allowed Nyla to consume in only a few short hours. 

Terry lifted Nyla from her seat and used a large hand to dust off her face to the best of his ability before peppering her cheek with soft kisses. She leaned into her daddy's affection, using all her might to hug his head. 

He laughed before giving her a final kiss with a loud 'mwuah' to boot. "We gotta get you a nap before we get home, little one." He turned to Rosalyn. "Treece call while y'all were away?" 

"You know she did, but don't worry, we didn't give you up. Dee got her off the phone by asking if she had a minute to talk about the church bake sale." 

"Mama doesn't go to church."

"Exactly."

Terry laughed. "Telling a fib here and there is her hidden superpower. "Where is she anyway?" 

"She stopped into that little children's boutique downstairs when she saw they had a sale going on." 

"Another one of her superpowers. There's not a discount on this Earth that she won't find."

"A woman that speaks my language!" 

A swell of chatter at the front of the line pulled Rosalyn and Terry's attention away from their conversation to crane their necks for answers. After nearly an hour of waiting, the guest of honor had arrived. 

Her long, greying sister locs swung in a low ponytail against her multicolored caftan as she waved enthusiastically at the crowd of fans eager to have a 90-second conversation with her. Terry couldn't say he was familiar with Sarraya Wylie's work, but he slept next to her biggest fan every night. Each of her novels had a place on Patrice's bookshelf, all with worn pages that had seen numerous turns in their lifetime. From stories of hidden Black civilizations in distant lands to essays about the importance of Afro-Futurism in literature, she'd been a staple in his wife's love of science fiction. 

So, when he heard from an online community group that she'd been in town causing traffic near the mall as part of her most recent book tour, Terry jumped at the opportunity to schedule time away and spend any money necessary to have her write a personal message to love of his life as part of an elaborate Christmas gift. 

He schemed and planned, telling little lies about his whereabouts for the afternoon and roping others into his tales. Her mother and his mother agreed to tag along as alibis and babysitters in one while he sent Patrice on her way to enjoy brunch and a movie with her girls. He figured if all else failed and his plan fell through, at least she'd be tipsy and full when he got home. 

Rosalyn hummed in approval of Sarraya. "Never thought I'd see her in person after all the money I've spent on her. Pretty lady." 

"And that dress is fabulous. I think I could make one at home if I get close enough to see the pattern." 

Diedra admired the author's outfit from afar as she approached the others with her phone in the air to snap a picture. 

Terry rolled his eyes and gently pushed her wrists to lower the device. "Ma, that's weird. You can't take pictures of strangers."

"Terrence, I am grown," she advised, cutting her eyes toward him. "Plus, I can't see the damn thing from here anyway." 

"Language in front of the baby, Mama." 

Noticing her mistake, DeeDee mouthed a sorry at her son before poking at Nyla's belly. 

"Maman's sorry for saying bad words that you don't understand, Pumpkin. Don't repeat any of this at home. Wait until you're at least 16."

"Or never. Maman's gonna get you in trouble with your mommy," Terrence corrected, his voice inflections changing into silly baby talk. 

Though generally playful and kind with her baby girl, Patrice was strict about what influenced Nylah's development. If anything penetrated the wall of carefully selected baby books and enrichment activities, there would be hell to pay, and Terry wasn't interested in footing the bill. 

DeeDee kissed her teeth while Rosalyn chuckled in the background. "You hear that, Ros? They start getting a little older and want to tell you what to do. Crazy, ain't it?" 

"He acts just like Patrice. My mama ain't been gone but a few months, and the Lord already sent me another one."

"We just care about y'all. You rather we leave you out in the cold?" 

"I'm just sayin' that you only just started raisin' babies," DeeDee answered as she stuffed a clothing bag into the stroller's undercarriage. "I raised you plus two more. I'll be alright." 

"Tell him again."

"I will be alright. But I'll always love you, my sweet boy." 

His mother's way of cleaning up verbal messes with sweet words made Terry grin and shake his head. A few hours with the two women responsible for his current life had taught him two things: he and Patrice hadn't been able to hide a single thing from them, and if Nyla inherited even a fraction of their personalities, he was in for a treat come her pre-teen years.

As they stood in a line that moved at a snail's pace, Diedra and Rosalyn detailed all the times they'd noticed the beginning of love between their children and had spirited discussions about who would pay for the eventual wedding and contingency plans should an accident arise. Terry listened with a mixture of shock and amusement, laughing at each new revelation and Nyla's need to feel included with her mix of real words and toddler babble. 

"So you knew about the whole graduation thing," Terry asked his mother as they inched forward.

"We had an idea because both of you wear your emotions all over your face," DeeDee laughed. "You couldn't let go of her. She couldn't stop smiling at you. I was prepared to physically separate y'all."

"Then here Dee comes callin' me and Leon talkin' about a baby fund and makin' you propose. It was a whole thing," Rosalyn laughed. 

Terry shook his head and adjusted Nyla in his arms, getting a good look at her furrowed brow as she toyed with the buttons on her father's jacket. Perseverant and singularly focused like her mother. 

"Nah, you didn't have to worry about that. Treece had already told me she wasn't saying yes to any proposal and wasn't having a single one of my kids before she graduated. You know how she is." 

"Mhmm. Good for her. Miles better than the other options you had rollin' through my kitchen every other year."

Rosalyn's eyebrows rose in amusement. "Oh yeah? I gotta hear this."

"Mom!" 

"What?" Diedra playfully elbowed Rosalyn, knowing full well that she was annoying her oldest child. She persisted with a sneaky smile. "I'm just saying I've never seen so many beautiful yet…simple young ladies in my life. What was the last one's name? Monique? Gorgeous girl. Empty head." 

Simple was the tip of the iceberg. A desire to escape the pain of losing Patrice and the folly of youth sent Terry down a winding road of pretty and vapid women. Every few months, he'd try to replicate the exciting bond he shared with his first love, only to find that she was, indeed, one of a kind. And no matter how he'd try to coach Alexandria, Constance, or Monet into the mold that Patrice had left behind, they never quite fit the bill. There were plenty of Donners and Blitzens. There was only one Rudolph. 

"Monique was not her name, but none of that matters. My baby is a scholar, and that's my favorite thing about her. That's why I'm standing in line with all these strange kids now."

Diedra and Rosalyn let Terry's comment pass without a response as they shuffled forward in line. For close to an hour, fanboys and girls alike filed up to the small black table to participate in the same sequence of events: quick hello, incoherent personal story, photo, repeat. 

Terry watched each interaction as he split his attention between his ladies and the action around them. He noticed every chat forcibly cut short by nearby security and every time Sarraya subtly rolled her eyes at an overzealous reader telling her about the "hidden" themes in work she poured over alone. He saw her begin to get agitated at the hour mark and ask for a break that was never granted. As time crept by and his accomplices took off in search of rest for weary feet and more interesting surroundings, he wondered how much longer he could entertain a toddler inside a bland bookstore. 

Against his better judgment, he gave in to the device demon and handed over his cell phone for animated Christmas videos to stretch the last bits of peace Nyla would allow. 

"Mommy!" Her voice penetrated Terry's thoughts as he rubbed his aching temples. 

He sighed before answering. "Not yet, baby. We should be home soon. I don't know why I'm sayin' that to you. It's not true, and you don't know what soon means." 

Nyla remained undeterred, continuing to chant for her mother until Terry opened his eyes to get a good look at what was causing the disturbance. In her hand, Patrice's smiling face took up his phone's entire screen as an incoming call caused the device to buzz against the drink tray attached to her stroller. He rushed to answer, hoping that she couldn't hear the commotion in the immediate area. 

"Hey, TJ," Patrice greeted, the words becoming muffled in the background noise pumping through her receiver. "You busy?" 

Her soft and small voice was a welcomed relief from the chaos and a clear sign of what she'd been up to in her afternoon absence. Terry smiled and matched her energy.

"Never too busy for you, baby. Everything okay?"

"Yeah. I just called to say I miss you and I love you. Do you still love me even though I'm gone?"

"Of course, baby. I love you all the time. Mean it," He answered, trying to bite back his smile and remain sincere. "Treece, you been drinkin'? Be honest with me." 

A long pause and a sniffle preceded her answer. "A little." 

A lot. 

On too many occasions, Terry found himself on the other end of a slurred phone call with Patrice, trying to decipher what was driving her into tearful confessions about nothing or full-on lyric screaming with her two friends as hype women. Today, she was fighting an emotional rollercoaster and the desire to sob in a restaurant bathroom.

"Oh, don't cry, baby. You're too pretty to cry off all the makeup you worked so hard on."

"Okay," Patrice answered, the pout still evident in her tone. "Why are you at the mall?" 

The sugar-sweet moment quickly took a wrong turn into blinding anxiety as Terry searched his brain for an answer. For all his careful preparation, turning off his location had seeped through the cracks. A lie would suffice. She was tipsy enough to believe him. But he hated lying to Patrice, especially after all the lying he'd done to shake free for the afternoon. He scrambled for an answer. 

"Uh, I stopped by to grab some lunch. Had to get away from the boys because I didn't wanna get hungry and mean." 

Patrice squealed at his mention of being near the food court, completely ignoring Terry's tale's shakiness in search of her own wish fulfillment. 

"Ohmygosh! Babe, can you get a picture of Sarraya if you walk by the bookstore? I heard she was there and I really need to see her. Please, please, please."

Terry chuckled at her excitement running head-on into his surprise and fought every urge to spill the beans. "I'll do what I can, okay? You be safe for me. Tell Vicky and Phee to bring you back home in one piece, or we gon' have a problem."

"Boy, ain't nobody worried about you!" 

"At all. You just big."

"Don't be worried about me. Be worried about my wife," He answered with a laugh just as an announcement from the front of the line caught his attention. 

The sudden screech of a microphone startled Nyla into a short scream that snuck past the safety measures Terry had put in place. Patrice threw herself into a tizzy at the sound.

"Is that a baby? Have you talked to Ny? Do I need to check on her again?"

Patrice's inebriated panicking forced Terry back into stress-induced sweating and an uncharacteristic stutter. "She - she's okay. I gotta go, baby. I'll call you back. Love you." 

Terry was sure he'd pay for hanging up so abruptly, but desperate times and a scared toddler required quick thinking. He rushed to lift Nyla from her seat and soothe her discomfort while craning his neck to hear the tail end of the announcement. 

"Sorry for the inconvenience, everyone. She should be back in about an hour. Someone is coming through the line to hand out numbers. We'll honor them when things resume. Thanks for your patience."

"An hour," Terry questioned as a young woman with red tickets approached. "Yo, I don't have an hour. We've already been here for a long time. What can I do?"

She shrugged and tore a piece from her roll. "Nothing really, dude. She said she needed a break, and I just work here during the holidays. You want this or not?"

The frustration boiling inside every cavity of his chest threatened to send Terry into a tailspin. He forced back his misguided desire to escalate the situation and pulled the scrap of paper from the young woman's hands with a huff. 

A look at solemn faces filing out of line gave him some hope that things might move faster when the time came while he considered his options. His fingers typed away at his phone screen, searching for the right mix of sob story and bribery to convince his conspirators to take Nyla and afford him another 60 grueling minutes of waiting, completely unaware of the tired woman and small entourage passing him by on the way to the back of the store. 

"Bye-bye!" Nyla's farewell was enough to grab her father's attention, but it resonated over the mixture of sounds in the immediate area to make Sarraya stop in her tracks and search for the source. Nyla made her presence known with her newest waving skill and a smile featuring only a few teeth. 

Sarraya waved back with equal enthusiasm. "No, this is hello, beautiful. Are you not the cutest little thing in the world?" 

With renewed energy, the author pushed her way past the large men flanking her to meet the only person who had excited her all day. Her approach and Nyla's enthusiastic wiggling finally earned Terry's attention just as Sarraya was close enough to speak. 

"What's her name?" she asked with a thick Philadelphia accent, her knees bent to get eye-level with Nyla.

Terry smiled. "This is Nyla Naomi. Say hi, baby."

Nyla didn't need the prompting. Ever the people person, she greeted and babbled for all to see, garnering a heartfelt chorus of 'oohs' and 'ahhs.' Sarraya seemed to melt at the excited greeting as she spoke back to Nyla as if she were old enough to carry a conversation. 

"And what brings you here to see me? Can you read already? I can tell you're so smart!" 

"She does love your books during storytime with her mama. We like to mix up the baby books with some more complex stuff every once in a while. Between Two Worlds is her favorite. The one where Malachi and Toriah try to communicate between Earth and the New World, right?" 

Maybe Terry had been listening to Patrice read more than he thought. His recollection of her third book's plot made Sarraya look up at him with a smile.

"Wow, a house full of fans. That's a first for me."

"All thanks to my wife," he chuckled as Nyla attempted to play peekaboo with her new friend. "She has your whole collection. Been a fan since our senior year of high school and now she's passing it down." 

Sarraya beamed at the information. "That is incredible. I'm glad to have you here today. May I?" 

Terry happily granted her request to hold Nyla, carefully transferring her between adults until she was comfortably in Sarraya's arms. When she was safe, Nyla gingerly laid her head on Sarraya's shoulder and popped her thumb into her mouth to self-soothe. Sarraya instantly hugged her tighter and pretended to cry. 

"This is the best thing to happen to me in weeks. She makes me miss when my babies were little."

"It's an amazing experience, right? She's our first." 

"You all are incredibly blessed." She smiled down at Nyla before dancing her fingers across her small belly to induce giggles. "I'd love to say hi to mom. It's the least I could do for all this trouble."

"Are you sure? I don't wanna hold you up from your break." 

"Oh, nonsense. Y'all are the first folks I've met all day who look like me and haven't tried to tell me what I meant with my words. Please, allow me to say thank you." 

Fifteen minutes of photos, videos, and a heartfelt message neatly written in script inside the book's front cover quickly became the most extravagant 'thank you' Terry had ever received. One day, when she was old enough, he'd tell Nyla about how her mere existence secured a gift for her mother. For now, she'd have to live with a forbidden taste of tart frozen yogurt from Terry, a flurry of kisses on her sticky face, and another talking stuffed animal for her services. 

By Christmas morning weeks later, Nyla was less interested in meeting a renowned artist and more concerned with the shrill music emanating from the brand new mini grand piano her Aunt Zorah had purchased. 

Heaps upon heaps of toys, clothes, and the like covered their living room floor to celebrate her first real Christmas and the family's first opportunity to see the day through the eyes of a small child. Junior sat on the floor beside her, comically rapping the ABCs into a small mic while Nyla plunked away at the keys to back him up. Both sets of grandparents searched for the perfect recording angle to grab sentimental momentos to show friends and coworkers in the new year. Her aunts and Imani happily put together outfits and folded clothes to help with the clean-up process. 

Terry and Patrice worked together in the kitchen to prepare for Christmas breakfast as they watched controlled chaos unfold in the next room. Terry tore his eyes away from the family to glance at Patrice, who leaned against the counter in a pajama set that matched his and Nyla's. She smiled at nothing in particular. 

He slowly wrapped an arm around her waist to pull her in for a kiss on the temple. "Sneak away with me right quick. I wanna show you something." 

An excited squeeze to her sides made Patrice turn in Terry's arms to get a better look at his smiling face. "I thought we were waiting until tonight for gifts together." 

"I'm callin' an audible." 

"You act like I know what that means." 

"C'mon, girl," he chuckled, lacing their fingers together to lead them out of the kitchen. "It'll be quick. Promise."

With all eyes on the superstar of the family, Patrice and Terry snuck past the commotion and down the hallway to their second spare bedroom. Terry's gentle instruction to close and cover her eyes was surprisingly met with no pushback and an excited wiggle from Patrice. No amount of carefully planned theatrics could hide the fact that she'd snooped long and hard to discover a secret Terry wasn't trying to hide. He was always a few steps ahead of his exceptionally nosey lover.

Patrice allowed Terry to gently push her into the room while she danced on her tiptoes. She listened for the soft click of the door closing and Terry's deep voice relaying directions. 

"You peekin'," He asked, a smile evident in his voice as he tapped her backside on his way to the other side of the room. 

"No, but I'm about to. Hurry!" 

Terry gripped her from behind and rested his chin on her shoulder. "Let me give you my speech first. Act like we've been doin' this for a while." He listened to Patrice groan in impatient agony while he chuckled in her ear, purposefully drawing out the moment to get her back for sneaking behind his back. "I have always loved how much you love words and books. That's where we met. That's where I've seen you the happiest. And now, this is where I hope you'll wanna take your breaks and share the gift of reading with our little girl. Go ahead and look at your library, baby." 

Patrice voiced her excitement through a quiet squeal just as she lowered her hand to get a look at her new surroundings. Three floor-to-ceiling bookcases teaming with her favorite souvenirs and enough room to add more pressed against walls covered in beautiful wallpaper made the room look like a photo from Architectural Digest. She could tell where her mother-in-law had spent time arranging the pillows and blanket in her new reading chair and that some combination of her mother and Terry had chosen the perfect orange tone as a nod to her favorite color. 

A gallery wall above the guest day bed featured the faces of all her favorite people, with her husband and daughter from Nyla's first birthday party beaming in the center. A new record player and all her favorite records rested on a small console table fashioned into a bar to satisfy her craving for a secret cocktail or two on the weekends. She regarded it all with childlike wonder, bouncing from section to section as Terry watched from her armchair with a proud smile. 

"This is amazing, baby. Thank you so much," she finally complimented while bracing herself on his shoulders to settle in his lap. Terry's warm hand took a slow journey up the side of her thigh to rest on her backside with a gentle grip as she spoke against his mouth. "I promise to let you in here at least twice a week. Three times if you ask nice." 

"Mm, you just like to see me beg."

"No, baby, I love to see you beg. I hope I got that for Christmas, too."

Slow kisses, equally sweet and sensual, preceded another trickle of information. Terry pulled away first to speak. "Can I tell you a secret?"

"You know you can," she answered between small pecks to the corner of his mouth while she cradled his head, unwilling to part with his affection.

"This isn't the real gift." Patrice paused her worship to give Terry's wide grin a skeptical eyebrow raise. "I got you something else."

He watched the slow shift from confusion to joy as he dramatically lifted the carefully hidden collector's edition hardcover book from beneath their shared seat. 

"Honey," she cooed, her jaw dropping to make room for a loud gasp while she examined the front cover. "You got it! Did I tell you how much I wanted her new book or was this a guess?" 

"You might've said something over the phone once, but we don't have to rehash that. Take a look at the inside."

Eager fingers pried open fresh pages and an untouched book spine, introducing her to a handwritten message in beautiful cursive that she read aloud.

"Patrice - thank you for keeping the transformative power of literature alive with the next generation. I'm sorry we didn't get the chance to meet, but Nyla told me so much about you. Until next time, I pray The Creator becomes a new staple in your library. From Sarraya, Nyla, and Terrence with love."

"I'll save the video for tonight so we can cry together," Terry spoke before kissing Patrice's cheek. "She loved Ny. I think they have a coffee date scheduled for next week. I don't know if we're invited." 

Patrice laughed while flipping through the pages. "I'm gonna crash it, I don't care. They'll understand." 

Terry chuckled and squeezed tighter.

"Everything to your liking? I wanna make sure you're happy."

His usual search for praise and approval came with puppy-dog eyes that scanned Patrice's face for any sign of discontent. He found none - only the beginnings of a tearful smile conveying more than words ever could.

"You make me happy, Pooh. Sometimes, I don't do a worthwhile job of letting you know how much I appreciate you. Not for what you do, but for just being Terrence." 

"You do. And I love you the same. Always," he answered. His hold on her waist kept Patrice steady long enough for a short, tender kiss before her jittering in his lap was too much to tame. He used his thumb to swipe the bottom of her lip clean and smiled. "I know you can't wait to show Imani. Go ahead. Make sure you brag on me a little. It feels good." 

"Oh my God, finally! Moanie, girl, Sarraya, and I are besties! Look what my man got me!"

While Patrice rushed to talk a mile a minute about her favorite gift to date, Terry carefully reset the pillows in her chair to return her sanctuary to mint condition. He took a long look around the room, smiling at the work he'd accomplished until he stopped short at the door for a final once-over. 

His fingers flipped the switch as he mumbled an affirmation to himself. "Yeah, that's definitely enough for three visits a week. I don't know what the hell she talkin' about."

-------

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[genderqueerdykes]

"Why is it called coming out?"

George Chauncey, a renowned professor of American queer history at Columbia University who has worked as an expert witness on many key US gay rights cases explains that in the period before World War II, gay people "did not speak of coming out what we call 'the gay closet' but rather of coming out into what they called homosexual society or the gay world, a world neither so small nor so isolated, often so hidden as the closet implies."

Chauncey draws on an example from a 1931 headline in the newspaper the Baltimore Afro-American, which announced the "coming out of new debutantes into homosexual society" at a ball referred to as a "frolic of the pansies." Apparently large drag balls were popular at the time and were a classic place for men to come out into gay society in America. These were not underground affairs; instead some drew thousands of spectators. Chauncey writes that, by 1931, "this aspect of gay culture was entering mainstream parlance."

-- "Bi: The hidden culture, history, and science of bisexuality" by Dr. Julia Shaw.

[keyaho]

summary: kyra returns to her hometown after ten years away. she ends up braiding the hair of the one man that had and still has her heart.

authors note: he was supposed to be breaking her in half like a glow stick. idk what happened. he's all soft and shit. sometimes I write and the characters will lead the way. terry was not with me bending kyra over so he could fuck......

wordcount: 2600

warnings: none

Kyra was home this time for good. Fontaine Street was lit up as her father hosted a block party in her honor. She had just finished her nursing program and was currently a registered nurse at the main hospital. It gave her a forty-five minute commute twice a day, but the pay was worth it. Plus, her father had given her his house as a gift, having moved to another closer to his ailing mother three months ago. Markus Fields was known around the block back in the day, having run the entire Fontaine block with his crew. Remnants of that still lingered with up and coming young men wanting to emulate him. 

She slipped in and out of the crowd, hugging older men and women who had watched her grow up over the years. Some neighborhood friends commended her on making it out the hood. She brushed them off, telling them she just wanted to be a nurse. Boasting around here led to rumors and the last thing she wanted was her hometown to think she had outgrown them in a way she thought she was better than them. 

Kyra moved towards her front porch, a few people lingered there, but she slipped into the house unnoticed just to get a break from socializing. The party was going to drag on for a few more house and if it wasn’t the weekend, she’d be sneaking to a hotel to get sleep. 

“Are you running from him,’ Markus sat at the kitchen table, eating a plate of ribs and baked beans. 

“Dad,’ Kyra sighed. “I haven’t even seen him. I just came in to get a break.” 

“Well, he’s been asking about you. He came in a few months ago. Retired from the Marines, some shit went down in some place called Rebel Ridge with his cousin,’ he rambled an Kyra grew concerned. “He passed. Terry showed up here a mess.” Markus sighs. 

“Oh,’ she replies, unsure of what to say.

“He asked if you still braid hair.” 

Kyra looked to her father and slowly folded her arms over her chest. “Dad…’ 

“He’ll be by here tomorrow morning.” 

“I don’t have anything to do his hair with,’ she admitted, slapping her thighs after throwing her hands up. 

“You hair box is still in the bathroom. Combs and shit still down there.” 

“Dad,’

“Braid his hair and talk to him. He needs it.” Markus watched his daughter grab a drink from the fridge. As she left he thought, he needs you. A man in love was easy to spot and Terry long had been in love with his daughter. 

Back outside, she popped the tab on her Coke and walked towards the end of the street where the ice cream truck had parked. She needed something cold to ice out her nerves. Terry had been her first. Everything. They had fumbled one night in bed and though the sex was awkward and rushed, neither knew what they were doing, the intimacy with him could never be matched. Leaving for school had been the hardest decision of her life. She’s glad he found himself a way out too. 

Kyra saw him before he saw her. Standing next to the spades table, red solo cup held between his full lips as he pulled up his slightly large black sweats. MARINE was embellished on his shirt, the material old and faded. His hair had grown out and it framed his face in a way that Narcissus himself would fall in love. The afro was very different than the low cut cesar he had when they were kids. When she last saw him it was fresh and he came right to her house to show off. She remembered her father swatting him off the porch because she couldn’t come out once the street lights were on. From the porch she had waved, laughed and secretly pointed to her bedroom window. 

Now he was a grown man. She was a grown woman and the butterflies were still there. 

Stepping up to the truck she eyed the vintage flavors not found in commercial stores anymore. The buttercup shaped popsicle called her name and she reached into her back pocket when a hand reached over her shoulder, two ones and the two quarters held against his palm by his ring and pinky finger. 

“Aye Terry!” The seller greeted. “What you doing back here bruh? Heard you was out with them Marines and shit.” 

Maybe it was another Terry. She didn’t turn around and when the popsicle was passed to her. She ripped off the paper. 

“I got out,’ his rich baritone filled her ears. “Did my ten years.” 

That’s how long it had been since they last seen each other? 

“It’s good seein’ yall two.” He said, eyeing the way Terry stood behind Kyra. 

The whole block knew how they felt about each other. 

“Are you going to turn around?” He asked, still standing close to her. 

He moved them from the line and towards the sidewalk, people giving them way with knowing looks on their faces. She ignored them. They stood on the side of someone’s house, her back to the old wood. The ice cream tucked between her lips as she sucked on the smooth creamy treat. 

“Hey,’ she replied, unsure of what to say to him. 

“How you been, Ky?” 

“Good, um,’ 

He placed his hands beneath her chin, forcing her to look up at him. There was no hesitation in his next move. His hands slid up her cheeks to the curls at the nape of her neck. His lips were soft and he kissed her slow, tasting the ice cream, her strawberry lip gloss, and her. She dropped the ice cream and grabbed his waist. He took the initiate and stepped forward and pushed her up against the house. 

“Two deployments and I would do another one if it mean coming back home to kiss you.” 

He held her face in his hands, thumbs brushing her warm cheeks. He always said the most loving and romantic shit. Her knees weakened just a little and he smiled as she looked away from him. 

“Are you still shy?” He asked. “Can’t be if you’re coming out the house in those shorts.” 

The denim shorts were high waisted with ripped holes along the thighs and one in a particular place on her ass, showing just a sliver of cheek. 

“You put them on for me,’ he says, his lips dangerously close to hers. This was not the Terry she had grown up with. This was grown Terry.

“Fuck,’ she says, pushing him back to get some space to breath. 

He caught her hands and brought them to his lips. He wore a big smile, all 32 teeth exposed as his green eyes looked her over. He stepped back up to her and hooked his finger into the belt hook of her shorts. 

“I’ll be over in the morning to see you.” 

“Your hair.” She says, remembering what her Dad had told her. “I’m braiding your hair. $250.” 

Terry laughed, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. “Nah, how about head for head?” 

“Terry!” Kyra hissed. That was the Terry she remembered, shit talking. Only this time, she knew he could back it up.

He placed his hand on her stomach and pushed her back against the house. 

“You’ve been the source of all my dreams, my nightmares, Kyra.” He sighed. “All I’ve thought about was you for ten years. Hoping that when I saw you again there wasn’t a ring on your finger.” 

It was getting too heavy. His confession of his feelings were too much. She might have shared them, wondered where had been and doing, but hearing them aloud sent her mind into a free fall. 

“Tell me I’m not too late, Ky Ky.” 

Before she could respond he kissed her forehead. The sky had darkened and the music was louder, people yelling and enjoying themselves in the background. 

“You’re never too late,’ she admitted. 

Terry’s shoulders slumped and the tension between them snapped. 

“Kyra?” 

The pair looked up and Terry took a step away from Kyra.

“Yeah,’ she says, addressing one of her friends from college that had stopped by. 

“Your dad is looking for you.” Her eyes drifted to Terry and she made the connection. Kyra had talked about Terry plenty of times over bottles of wine and ice cream while they were in college. “I’ll tell him your busy,’ 

Kyra shook her head. “No no, I’m coming.” 

Her friend nodded, a knowing smile on her face. “Okay.” 

When they were alone again, Terry pulled her in for another kiss. He held her head back and she rose on her toes to meet his retreating lips. 

“We can finish this tomorrow.”

Up at seven thirty, Kyra grabbed her hair supplies from the bathroom. She sifted through the box for her rattail comb and rubber bands. True to form, she had some blue magic grease and pink lotion. She kept up with braiding and didn’t need all that edge control and gel. Just the basics. Her side hustle on campus kept her afloat. She walked into the kitchen where a pot of coffee was brewing. She had ingredients for breakfast, but knew she didn’t have time to cook and eat before he came over. Terry was punctual and she had a hunch he was going to be early. 

She wore a pink robe over her pajama bottoms and shirt. The old sleepwear was loose and worn in from constant wear. She had bought it on a trip to Italy a few years ago and the soft material still held up. Her slippers were somewhere under her bed and her long polka dot socks came up to her thighs. If Terry wasn’t coming over to get his hair braided one would think she was about to go back to bed, which she probably would once he left. 

As Kyra set up the area she was going to use in her kitchen, facing the tv, she heard the doorbell ring and three hard knocks followed. Of course he was early. Taking her time, she flipped on the foyer light and unlatched the two locks. The deadbolt clicked back and she opened the door to see Terry in a black hoodie and another pair of sweat pants. His hair was picked out and she noticed his beard for the first time. He looked rough. 

“Goodmorning,’ she said through the screen door while reaching to unlock the tiny lock inside the handle. 

“Morning,’ he hummed, stepping inside as soon as he could. He brought her lips to his while dipping his tongue into her mouth. “Where you want me,’ he asked. 

“The be-uh, table, shit, there’s a chair at the table.” Kyra stepped around him so flustered she almost stubbed her toe on the table as she walked past. 

She could feel him behind her. The last time they were in this house they were saying goodbye to each other. Horizontality. Their fingers fumbled over each other as they clung to one another. 

Terry smiled and pulled off his hoodie, a fitted black tank top clung to his muscular frame. He plopped down in the chair, legs spread as if he was waiting for her to sit in his lap. She moved behind him after checking on her coffee.

“How many braids?” She asked, her fingers reaching into his hair. She was surprised his hair was freshly washed. 

Reaching behind her, she pour pink lotion into her hair and rubbed them together before sinking them into his head. She pulled the lotion through his hair, grabbing oil to apply to his ends. 

“Do what you want, baby,’ he replied. 

She hadn’t braided men’s hair in a long time so she decided to have a bit of fun. Making the first zig-zag part, she used the comb to hold his hair to the side. She applied a little ore oil to her fingers and placed her hands at the top of his hair line, gripping the hair firmly as she started to braid. 

“Is that too tight,’ she asked. 

“No, feels good.” 

Thirty minutes passed when her stomach started growling. Terry tiled his head back. 

“I can order something,’ he says. 

“You heard that?” 

“It’s been grumbling for the past ten minutes. I just didn’t want to say nothing.” 

She smacked a hand over his chest as he stands up, half his head braided. He reaches into his hoodie for his phone, pulling up a menu from a diner a few blocks over. 

“Why didn’t you say anything,’ she folds her arms over her chest at his smile. 

“You already popped me with the comb!” He laughs. “I wasn’t trying to get beat up.” 

When he sat back down, he let her work for a few more minutes as he worked up the courage to start the conversation they needed to have. 

“I was serious last night,’ he began. “There’s never been anyone else….long term for me.” Terry sighed, his hand coming to rub the back of his neck. “No one was you.” 

On braid six, with two to go, Kyra listened to him. He poured his heart out to her, telling her about Rebel Ridge, losing his cousin, the hate in that town and how it almost killed him. She noticed a scar on his back and when he mentioned getting shot she glanced down at it. Her fingers touched over the raised scar. Kyra smoothed her hands up his arms and rested them on his shoulders. 

“There’s a lot I want to tell you,’ she admitted. 

He was numerous entries in her journal. Her thoughts and feelings were all on paper and it was much easier to have him read it than say it aloud, but she’d get to that later. She could at least admit to one thing. 

“Terry,’ she says, wanting him to look at her. 

He tilted his head back and his hazel eyes stared into her brown ones. His full lips were slightly parted and she leaned down, kissing him upside down while she whispered her deepest feelings against his mouth. 

I love you. 

Terry jerked up, almost flying out of the seat. Kyra jumped back as he turned around and pushed her into the fridge. Hand on her belly, he propped the other on top of the fridge. 

“Say it again,’ he begged, lips wet after licking them twice. “Say that shit again.” 

“I love me some you.” She looks down for a moment. “When I went off to school I had hoped you would stop me and beg me to stay.” 

“I wouldn’t keep you from your dreams Kyra. I knew how much you wanted to be a nurse. I would have hated myself if I kept you here.” 

“I know. I would walk around campus hoping you were there, but we both needed to find out way out of Fontaine before we could find each other again, I guess.” 

“You don’t have to wonder where I am anymore.” 

Kyra glanced up at him. His eyes were hooded and low. The emotions swirling between them was overwhelming. He bent his knees so they were eye level. 

“As long as you’re at 345 E Fontaine Street I’m here with you. And if you leave, baby, I’m right behind you.”

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