Cass // Queer // Black Lives Matter // Pronouns: Don't care // I wish Tony Stark was my actual Dad // Wolfstar // Slytherin // 17
- you to text me first
- blowing up my phone bc you miss me
- forehead kisses
- back rubs
- hugs from behind
- calling me “your girl”
- sending me songs that make you think of me
- playing with my hair while I fall asleep
- “did you remember to…” texts
- holding my hand all the time
- morning sex
- reassurance that you love me
- dancing in the kitchen
- late night talks about life
- silly pictures
- breakfast dates
once upon a time, i fell in love with a storm. a flurry of static and thunder laughter; miss windswept hair and wild eyes. i remember the first time she smiled at me. i remember asking myself if this was what it felt like to be struck by lightning.
listen if you think someone is cool and you dig their energy you just have to tell them, because that’s the kind of stuff you remember a thousand times longer than somebody complimenting your hair or whatever. tonight I told a girl from my theory class that I like her analytical approach and she bounced back at me saying she digs my feminine energy and how she gets the vibe that, to my core, I exist to uplift women and I damn near cried. tell people what resonates about them. be real. help each other feel seen.
My mom refuses. She says I’m wasting my curly hair, she says that “as long as you live in this house you cannot cut your hair like that.” I need to prove her wrong. Please.
Just back in January I had long curly hair down to my waist and it got really hard to take care of, so I went to my mom and told her that I wanted to get a pixie cut, and she sighed. She told me that I’ve been wanting to get one since I was eight, but my father never aloud it. She told me that she would try her best to get my dad to let me cut my hair. It took her two weeks of asking and my dad still said no. Mom told me if she could drive she would take me to the hair dresser in an instant. The next day she told me that we were going to the hair dresser. She had told my dad that I was just going for a trim. I got the pixie cut that I wanted. When my dad came to pick us up, he got so mad, he started yelling at my mom in Arabic, until we got home. For the next month he would address me as son or boy, but I didn’t get mad. He’s used to it now but every so often he teases me for it.
aaah tomorrow i get a placement test in my english school and i’m not nervous about the test itself i’m nervous about GOING THERE ALL BY MYSELF AND POSSIBLY COMING BACK HOME ALL BY MYSELF
me: so i just take the bus in front of the school? which one takes me there? the 23?
parents: yes
me: how do i get back?
parents: walk to the supermarket and take the 23 back again
parents: or if we can we pick you up
me:
me:
me: but what if i get lost
parents: how will you get lost
me: I DON’T KNOW THERE ARE MANY ROADS AND I’M A VERY IGNORANT PERSON
i want people to start making Hamilton ocs like just iNVENT A FOUNDING FATHER just fUCKING MAKE UR OWN AMERICAN HISTORY self insert where u wrote part of the constitution
Hi my name is Abigayle Char'ity Rebecka “Becky” Livingston and I have long powdered white hair (that’s how I got my nickname) with natural honey blonde streaks that reaches my mid-back and handsome black eyes like obsidian mirrors and a lot of people tell me I look like Marie Antoinette (AN: if u don’t know who she is get da hell out of here!). I’m not related to Alexander Hamilton but I wish I was because he’s a major fucking hottie. I’m a Patriot but my clothes are all British-made. I have pale white skin. I’m also a politician, and I go to a place called the Constitutional Convention in Philadelphia where I’m a junior delegate (even though I’m a woman). I’m a Federalist (in case you couldn’t tell) and I wear mostly black. I love Hercules Mulligan and I buy all my clothes from him. For example today I was wearing floral stays with matching lace around it and a cotton petticoat, silk stockings and black heeled shoes. I was wearing pink rouge, white paint, and elderberry eyebrow darkener. I was walking outside the Pennsylvania State House. It was snowing and raining so there was no sun, which I was very happy about. A lot of Republicans stared at me. I bit my thumb at them.
Just got back from Moana with my Dad. And oh my god it was amazing.
But more importantly
There was one little girl next to us. Dark long curly hair, dark skin, adorable little flower in her hair. And when the credits came on, she was dancing to the music, doing a little hula. And she was so happy and so cute and oh my god all I could think was that representation matters. This movie was made for her. Moana is for her and all the little girls like her. And it was amazing.
You can’t shave your head. You’ll look mental.”
“I look worse than mental with this hair. I look evil.”
“There’s no such thing as evil hair,” Simon giggled. They were lying on the floor of the library between two rows of shelves. Baz on his back. Simon propped up on one shoulder.
“Look at me,” Baz said, pushing his chin-length hair back from his forehead. “Every famous vampire has a widow’s peak like this. I’m a cliché. It’s like I went to the barber and asked for ‘a Dracula.’”
Simon was laughing so hard, he nearly fell forward onto Baz. Baz shoved him up with his free hand.
“I mean, honestly,” Baz said, still holding back his hair, trying to keep a straight face. “It’s like an arrow on my face. This way to the vampire.
So I have this small headcanon
bulldykegf
dare-i-say-asexual
straight ppl dont get to call us pillow biters and rug munchers and ass bandits and sodomites and faggot and d*** and every other disgusting name you can think of for a lesbian or gay person—for literal decades—and then try to call themselves tops and bottoms just cuz they like pegging like. im not doing it. im not allowing it
