hi everyone! was stalking this subreddit for a bit and decided to ask for some advice.
I stopped relaxing my hair around 2018 or so which kicked off my natural hair journey but in recent years I’ve been feeling quite insecure about my natural hair and have pretty much given up on my hair health; I do back-to-back protective styles without breaks, stretching my hair with heat often, and using hair gel that is not the most healthy for my hair but styles my hair.
I think a lot of internalized racism is contributing to this and I’m just feeling overwhelmed. I feel less feminine and less confident when I wear my natural hair. I feel like I’ve tried every hairstyle that will work for my hair length but nothing ever works or feels right aside from getting braids with added hair. I don’t know how to begin feeling comfortable with my hair without it being hidden and how to begin the process of caring for my hair.
My question is, how did you start to accept your hair the way it is and how do I start clean with my natural hair journey?
For context, I have short-medium length hair, medium-low porosity ( still struggling to figure it out), and a university student so I do need styles that last longer than a couple of days. I don’t think I’m at the stage yet where I can just wear my hair out without some styling.
Thanks for any help that you may be able to provide!

So, box braids are the only style that’s truly help me retain length. The issue is every time I wear box braids, knotless braids, or faux locs. It always destroys my edges. No matter how long I have it in my hair. I’ve worked really hard to cultivate a routine for myself. At first, I was struggling with hair that was perpetually dry no matter what I did. I solved that. I have a routine that makes me very happy. The issue is, no matter what style I choose, it always causes my hair to break.
Ironic part is I feel like when my hair was dry I had less takedown breakage but more breakage when I was detangling in the shower. But now, I have less breakage while detangling because I use a leave in conditioner, and more breakage when I’m taking down my hairstyles.
I recently tried mini twist and I love it. The only issue is the takedown process. I feel like I lose all the length that I gain. because my issue isn’t growth it’s length attention.
Ironic part is I see a few split ends, but I don’t see a ton. My l main issue right now is fairy knots as well as two hair strands knotting together and then I have to cut it.
Which is an issue that recently occurred as I started to fix my moisture issue with my hair. At first, I couldn’t go a week without washing my hair, but I felt like the frequent washing was added to the breakage. So I worked really hard to cultivate my routine and now I wash my hair every three weeks. Without any itchiness and dryness. However, I feel like when I fix one issue I have another one. And I don’t know what to do.
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I have "4C Hair" and I finger detangle
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My routine consists of:
I take it out whatever style is in my hair and I take it out using my leave in conditioner.
After I do that, I wash my hair and I condition it. Because I wash my hair every three weeks, I deep conditioner every time I wash it.
Then, I take more leave in conditioner and use it to section off my hair.
Then, I oil my scalp and bring it along my hair strands, (hair growth oil that I made - it’s what regrew my edges after knot less braids completely destroyed them.)
Then, I take hair grease to seal it, and use the grease to style my hair. ( recently did four chunky braids)
Then I take a separate hair grease and put it on my scalp.

So, box braids are the only style that’s truly help me retain length. The issue is every time I wear box braids, knotless braids, or faux locs. It always destroys my edges. No matter how long I have it in my hair. I’ve worked really hard to cultivate a routine for myself. At first, I was struggling with hair that was perpetually dry no matter what I did. I solved that. I have a routine that makes me very happy. The issue is, no matter what style I choose, it always causes my hair to break.
Ironic part is I feel like when my hair was dry I had less takedown breakage but more breakage when I was detangling in the shower. But now, I have less breakage while detangling because I use a leave in conditioner, and more breakage when I’m taking down my hairstyles.
I recently tried mini twist and I love it. The only issue is the takedown process. I feel like I lose all the length that I gain. because my issue isn’t growth it’s length attention.
Ironic part is I see a few split ends, but I don’t see a ton. My l main issue right now is fairy knots as well as two hair strands knotting together and then I have to cut it.
Which is an issue that recently occurred as I started to fix my moisture issue with my hair. At first, I couldn’t go a week without washing my hair, but I felt like the frequent washing was added to the breakage. So I worked really hard to cultivate my routine and now I wash my hair every three weeks. Without any itchiness and dryness. However, I feel like when I fix one issue I have another one. And I don’t know what to do.
______________________________________________________________________
I have 4C Hair
_____________________________________________________________________
My routine consists of:
I take it out whatever style is in my hair and I take it out using my leave in conditioner.
After I do that, I wash my hair and I condition it. Because I wash my hair every three weeks, I deep conditioner every time I wash it.
Then, I take more leave in conditioner and use it to section off my hair.
Then, I oil my scalp and bring it along my hair strands, (hair growth oil that I made - it’s what regrew my edges after knot less braids completely destroyed them.)
Then, I take hair grease to seal it, and use the grease to style my hair. ( recently did four chunky braids)
Then I take a separate hair grease and put it on my scalp.

when I do my hair for work it LOOKS fine but by the time I come home I look like I’ve been run through a wind turbine… as you can see I work at starbucks so it’s not as if I’m running around a wind simulator but I’m really puzzled as to why my hair looks so bad and messy at the end or the day. My hair IS wavy and prone to frizziness, when styling outside of work I use leave in conditioner and hair oil to tame it but idk the secret to taming it at work. It looks like I rubbed a balloon all across the back of my head for hours but NOTHING even touches my head while I work so I don’t get how it becomes so unruly. Does anyone have any care or product suggestions to help it stay intact while at work?? It’s either in two pigtail braids, a ponytail, a claw clip, or one big braid and all hairstyles look this bad by the end of the day.
My bangs also look just as tussled by the end of the shift. I saw a tiktok of a girl using a pomade to keep her bangs in place as well as dry shampoo/volumizimg spray, is this something I should try? any advice is welcomed thank u 😭

Do you start the twists by braiding the roots or do you twist throughout? Do you stretch your hair before twisting or do you twist it in it's shrunken, natural state? Do you twist your hair dry or damp with product?

i have 3c hair and i like to keep it away from my eyes and face so i do a very loose braid. this stretches my curls and gives me so much frizz and knots. idk any other hairstyle that would work for my hair but i think this isn’t working and damaging my curls? how can i let my hair survive until the next wash without this many knots and frizz?

SOLD. Thank you Reddit community!
Timestamp https://imgur.com/a/mT76D0N
Brand new, Never got around to building this. PayPal G&S.
Only reason for selling, I have other projects that are taking priority.
This item contains a permanently pinned and welded muzzle device.
$1100 shipped. I will ship via UPS with tracking and signature required(if requested) the same day payment is made.
https://geissele.com/urg-i-complete-near-clone-14-5-5-56mm.html
OVERALL LENGTH: 24 1/4"
WEIGHT: 4 lbs 3 oz
CALIBER: 5.56MM
RECEIVER: Mil-Spec M4 Upper Receiver Assembly
BOLT CARRIER GROUP: Geissele Reliability Enhanced
RAIL: Geissele 13.5" SMR MK16, DDC
BARREL: Geissele 5.56MM 14.5" GOV profile, CHF, Chrome Lined, Mag Phos, ChromolyV, 1/7 Twist
GAS SYSTEM: Mid Length
GAS BLOCK: Geissele Super Gas Block .750 Low-Profile Gas Block
GAS PORT SIZE: .076"
CHARGING HANDLE: Geissele Airborne Charging Handle, DDC
BUFFER ASSEMBLY: Super 42 Braided Wire Buffer Spring and H1 Buffer Combo
MUZZLE: SureFire SF4P 4 Prong Flash Hider, Pinned & Welded

Basically I grew up with my mom braiding my hair she never ever taught me
So basically I can’t braid I can probably do random twist or random really bad braids
But like cornrows etc , I tried no joke 100 times I couldn’t and other reason my hands and back hurts fastly if I tried to braid the back section
I feel so stupid I just wanna know any black folks out there who can’t braid ? lol

The Lesser Engine seemed to whimper, just before its animalistic head was crushed under the heavy heel of the Logos Armor. Petra was looking around, her armor covered in hellish grime, pieces of fiery cables, her hammerhead scraped in some places by the metal chitin of the warpforged abominations. A swing of her weapon decapitated a screaming techpriest, and she could see her sons advance behind her, focusing their fires onto the creatures that hadn’t come into her range.
She raised her arm and the bolter array built onto it sang four times, each bolt hitting and penetrating into the bronze hull of a monster. A movement in the side of her view immediately made her turn, and Petra placed herself right behind the Automata that was raising its shield to parry the volley of ammunition that a vomiting amalgamation of tin and steel was spewing out. The machine painted in the colors of the legion marched towards it, shield still forward as it was raising its hammer. Another Domitar joined in, and they started hammering down the bear, striking at the places that Petra indicated them to with her Logos.
Not even leaving them a moment of respite, a shriek echoed through the halls of the corrupted forgeworld, announcing the arrival of a new transformed machine, this time using the shape of a massive scorpion of brass, painted in red - probably actual blood. A True Daemon Engine.
“Stay behind”, Petra ordered her own troops. “Only the Iron Circle will engage with me. Provide cover fire”. Immediately her soldiers reorganized themselves, walking slightly back while she moved towards the warped machine. It was big, but not so much more than some beasts she had taken down during the Great Crusade.
The Logos Bolt Array roared in rapid succession, spitting explosive shells that burst on the thing’s pincer shell it was protecting itself with. The cannon on its tail aimed at the little group approaching, and fired in response. The bullets managed to pierced the shield of one of the Automata, bringing it to the ground in skittering motions as the Primarch ran to the machine.
The shell of the left pincer bent under the shock of her hammer, but could see the interior mechanisms and integrity were still completely fine. As the monster hissed, she growled and climbed onto it, before it could move its appendix. Her array fired again, aiming at the creature’s low head, and it was assailed by the other Automata. Alas, the legion’s machines could do little when even their Primarch’s strength was only sufficient to dent its exterior, their hammers clanging with sound but no damage. The Engine shrieked and spun on its feet, sweeping the footing of the Domitars with its armored tail, almost shaking Petra off of its great body.
The Breaker of Stone jumped, landing her hammer onto the machine’s head, keeping its optics away from herself. The Automata had started to stand up, some of them already trying again to impair the Daemon Engine. The Scorpion managed to snatch the shield arm of one of the Domitars into its pincers, immediately starting to grind it, then using its second arm to crush its body, neutralizing it into a cloud of sparks and noises of bent iron.
A volley of missiles exploded onto its body, making it stumble a step or two. Petra’s Tyrant Siege Terminator squad had established a perimeter around them, alongside three Devastation squads of Space Marines armed to the teeth. The Lady of Iron used the opportunity, clasping her two hands around her hammer, and smashed the face of it onto the mechanical head, cracking the glass of its baleful eye.
Letting one hand on her weapon go, she shoved her fist into the eye, fully shattering it and grasping at cables, opened fire eight times, before pulling the sparkling fiber out. The creature’s feet skittered and scraped onto the ground, flailing as well as it could with its weakening strength under the hands of the Primarch and the shields of the Automata pressing against its body.
Her soldiers approached slowly, step by step and always keeping their visors onto the fallen beast. It stopped moving. Petra allowed herself a breath, before turning to her sons. The Terminator and the Devastation squads were meticulously reloading their weapons, while her tactical squads surveyed the corridors they arrived through, one of them moving further in the dark halls of the Forge World.
When her Marines were ready, she nodded a signal to her soldiers, and they moved forward. Not even five steps were made when she turned on her heels, hearing a sound from behind her.
[The. Beast. Sings].
Three words that echoed into the large, empty hall. Her blood curled hearing it. This wasn’t normal speech. She had mechanically translated it, only understanding what the means of transmission was after hearing the full sentence.
[The. Beast. Sings].
Scrap-code.The Chaos speech reserved for the machines. An odious parody of the already-nonsensical Lingua Technis in usage within the Cult of Mars. And the carcass was speaking it. She activated the Logos’ system used to communicate orders to the Automata accompanying them.
“Killswitch protocol, immediate deactivation”. She commanded, not willing to even let a chance at her Automatas being corrupted. The Iron Warriors moved to surround the legion’s Iron Circle, carefully laying them down and locking their joints.
[The Beast sings]. It was continuously psalmoding, like a broken disc, accelerating. [The Beast sings The Beast sings The Beast sings The Beast sings]- until she put her hands on its neck, her fingers slowly bending the metal, and she pulled at it until the head was separated from the neck in a horrible noise of brass. Petra switched her comms to contact the scouting unit sent forward.
“Watch out for any signal of chaotic machines, warn us at any movement”. She turned to the corridors that had been used by some of the Techpriests that had ambushed them, eyeing the corpses with disgust.
They had all been chanting the same fucking thing. The Beast sings. What even was the beast? She had first encountered this name on another forge world, where some of her Warriors had been hunted by a strange Warp Machine. It had disappeared moments before she arrived on site herself, and she had stored it away in her memories, until it resurfaced some time later on another planet, another corrupted cult dedicated to the Dark Mechanicum. And another time, it had fled an hour before she had reached the deployment zone.
At first, the writings had been about “The Beast wakes”. Then, “The Beast writhes”. “The Beast forges”, all in Scrap-code, again and again. Until they came here, to the Forge Worlds of the moons of Cercantyle, themselves orbiting around a planet that had fallen to the corruption and whispers of the Warp.
Vibrations. Noises. Explosions.
She turned her head toward the sound, raising one of her Bolt array in overwatch, but didn’t see anything. She didn’t see anything other than her Marines, prudently observing the source of the noise.
“Squad Iota, what is your status?”
No answer came back. She motioned to her Terminators, who placed themselves forward and raised their weapons.
“Squad Iota, respond”. Her answer was the same as for her first question. “We probably lost them. Squad Alpha and Beta, watch over the corridor. Squad Gamma to Epsilon, survey the other entries. I don’t want any surprises”.
She accessed a cogitator, trying to see if she could garner any information from the eight-point covered machine, growling when she saw all was written in Scrap-code too. Fucking lunatics, even more annoying the the “normal” Mechanicum cultists.
Large arrivals of metal, used for weaponry and vehicle propulsors. Well, alongside daemons that were used by the warped tech priests to inhabit those machines. Copious amounts of fuel, menial slaves and engineers had been brought here. She felt a chill creep up her spine. Petra raised her eyes from the cogitator, definitely weirded out. Because it was a familiar feeling. But not the same. Unnatural.
Again, vibrations, noises, explosions. This time so much closer, almost detonating where her squads Alpha and Beta were standing. “Form up!”, “Ambush!” She could hear her soldiers shout, spreading out to avoid cluster explosions, and moving into covers behind ruined machines and skull-decorated wall fragments. The Tyrant Siege squad was the first line, having survived the blast with little to no injuries thanks to the more robust Cataphractii armors.
Her helmet’s visors didn’t show her any movement coming from the corridors. Petra ran diagnostics seeing the shapes of the explosions on the ground, approaching her troops. The screens showed her trajectory probabilities, drawing predictions and attempting to locate the enemy’s position. She raised her eyes, just before one of squad Delta’s marine shouted “Contact! Above!”
There it was. A massive construct of plasteel, ceramite, and armaplas, exiting from a higher-level hallway, reactors spewing out warp-fire.
It was pristine.
Unlike the Daemon Engines and chaos machines she had destroyed and taken apart, it showed no decorations in honor to the Chaos Gods, no brass or gold trims organized in spikes and curves. No, this one was slick, almost T’au like in appearance, but with definitive elements of Imperial structure. The silver metal of its hull was reflecting lights.
A humanoid body about twice her size made up the centerpiece of it, a large construct latched onto its back, and a large ring circled around the main body. Multiple cannons on the back, three-gatling guns onto each arm, and Petra could even see it was shielded by technology akin to Iron Halos. A weapon of war that saw no surrender, no end to its decimation. The blood-red shining eyes fixated solely upon her.
The Beast was hovering above them, imitating what Space Marines had been called, and Angel of Death. And the Beast sang.
It opened fire on her troops and her, six gatling guns rotating and ejecting shells by the hundreds in a few seconds, and five of her sons fell before they could put their shields in a carapace to protect themselves from the projectiles. Her Terminators responded in the same way, hardly bothered by the bullets raining down on them and shouldering Combi-Bolter, the deafening noise of their weapons adding to the cacophony that the Beast was already composing.
It was fast. When her Tyrant Siege squad added their missiles to the exchange, it seemed to reave through the air as a broadsword, moving out of the way of the projectiles, never ceasing to shoot, and worse, beginning to circle around the less protected Tactical Marines, pinning them down, its traits piercing through the gray ceramite, again and again. Petra’s Bolt Arrays were shooting non-stop, her Logos calculating and predicting the movements of the flying machine, but her munitions were crushed against the Force-Field deployed around it.
“Get to cover! Use the corridors to hide yourself!” Petra ordered her troops, placing herself away from the eyes of the machine while using the Logos’ systems to reboot the Automata. Even though they were mostly equipped for close quarter combat, she had conceived the Olympia Bolt Cannon to arm them in addition to their bodyguard abilities she now used as first battle ranks, shielding her soldiers.
Thanks to her Trinket, always one to bring any advantage to their side in negotiations, she had had far enough to experiment multiple formations, and was satisfied with the weaponry they were now using - if the Iron Warriors were able to bring the Beast to the ground, they would fall upon it with their Graviton mauls.
For now, she unlocked the joints, and restarted their systems, the chest light flaring up green. One of the red eyes of the flying construct lowered to look at them, and immediately after, directed one of his arms in the same direction, the three gatlings starting to spin again, landing some hits that scratched their surfaces, resulting in one of the Domitar-Ferrum having a chestplate opened, and a pauldron bent under the heavy fire before it could raise its shield.
Did it have an unlimited amount of ammunition? Urgh, it had probably far enough to wage battle against them for hours on end, and they were currently engaged in a Forge-world. It could fly away any moment, and find some station to re-arm itself.
Petra opened her comms, directing her soldiers directly to always harass the Beast, forming into firing patterns as three squads gained altitude in the maze that was the architecture of the Forge-World. She counted. Eleven soldiers had been lost. Five were also injured - though not gravely enough that they had to stop fighting. A glance at the damaged automata let her know that it could still be pushed to fight, and could endure more damage. She opened cover fire to move herself, approaching her soldiers so that she would not be stuck in the middle of an open-space.
“Phase Four, Hammer Protocol”, she ordered on the Logos, and her soldiers moved as well as they could to accomplish their missions. Every single trigger belonging to a soldier under her command was pulled into a deafening noise that echoed into the large hall, lights of tracer fire producing a continued source of radiance that she wouldn’t even need the night vision provided by her helmet.
Even though the Conversion field around the Beast was sparkling, progressively advancing to the point where it would need to be deactivated to not overload, it was reaching it far too slowly for Petra’s taste. Frustration was building up faster in her.
Some movement in the construct made her change her focus, as she tried to identify why it was moving the way it did. The gatling guns on its right arm had folded back into the back construct part, and now it was a long, thin and rectangular armament that was attached to its arm. And aimed at her. A glance at it indicated her it was warped T’au technology, modified to be usable alongside those demonic systems. She felt a cold sweat immediately.
Mass launcher. Heavy Rail Cannon.
Petra stepped away in a blink, unsure even her armor would be perfectly safe from a weapon like that, a single instant later the place she had been in was shot at.
Light. Noise.
Silence.
A Warrior behind her had been less lucky, its upper body part simply erased by the projectile’s impact, which didn’t even explode.
It had penetrated into the metallic ground, dug deep until the meager warning lights of the hall couldn’t shed shine onto it. The body of her Marine fell onto the ground, blood finally flowing out as though it had briefly not realized it had been killed.
She processed it into the back of her mind, running to find some cover that would hide her from the weapon. It seemed however that the Daemon Engine didn’t have in mind to continue using its Rail Cannon, and started to rise, floating higher. She had another bad feeling. And she was rarely wrong on such occasions. It put away the arms that were latched onto its arms, and extended its hands forward.
Something started to roll on the horizontal ring, and exited the top of the back construct in the same way, stopping halfway, above the Beast’s head. Multiple dots of red upon light-gray surface, and Petra already knew it was multiple missile pod systems.
“Find cover!” she heard one of her soldiers scream out. Petra ordered the Domitars to defend the Marines that weren’t equipped with Boarding Shields like her Breacher Squads. Noises like pings emitted by the Machine started to rise, accelerating in tempo and volume.
It brought its hands downwards, a conductor's movement. The orchestra, a symphony of technological-brought death, began.
The Beast sings.
The sounds of their thrusters weren’t the one she was used to hearing from missiles in flight, no, it was far worse. Whispers, murmurs, talks, shouts, wails, screeches, howling. The noises each projectile was making were separate voices of pain and suffering, or shrieks of rage and anger.
A choir that the Beast was directing, the missiles following his hands, cues and downbeats, the screaming and bellows harmonizing to form a music that would be beautiful, if it weren’t so haunting, dangerous and in such an inopportune moment.
Petra locked her armor completely, focusing on defending against the missiles that were going for her. She recognized it. She crouched, protecting her head with her arms, and the noises of all missiles exploding at the same time, a fortississimo overbearing on her ears, and the shaking was the same as being just beside a Titan Ordnance weapon firing.
The instant she was safe, running diagnostic operations on the Logos integrity, she forced herself to move despite the shock she was feeling. Not just physical. The music It had imitated before the missiles exploded. She knew it perfectly. From its start, to the Da Capo, to its end and crescendo, with every single note in between.
Because she knew the composer. Because she was beside him when he composed. Because HE composed FOR HER. Because it was Trinket’s piece. A horrible, abominable parody, spitting on every musical pattern and expression he spent days and nights writing while she was drawing architectural blueprints and building dioramas of the multiple Olympia’s cities they oversaw reconstruction of.
The shared name of Elysia, the location of their planned Forever Home, and of the hymn they had decided on.
And nothing was making her more mad than the twisted parody of her favorite music, turned into something so… She didn’t even find the words for the utter disgust she was going through. Nor for her anger.
“Cover me! Switch back to Phase three, Protocol Nemea!”
Petra exited the smoke left by the detonation after shouting her order, and went straight for the broken corpse of the Brass Scorpion, teeth clenched. Hearing the weapons of her sons firing behind her, she swore she would destroy that thing, and free Trinket from its grasp. She had not a single doubt he was in it. Being the core of the Beast. She caught the tail of the machine monster, and dragged it to turn the Demolisher cannon that formed its parody of a mouth in the direction of Trinket’s prison.
Using the commanding functions of the Logos, she connected to the machine’s body, bluntly deleting every piece of Scrap-Code that she could, as the chaotic construct was off for now, and when she was done, she booted the firing systems up.
She was hearing the roaring of the Beast’s gatling guns, firing ceaselessly to kill her sons, the crackling noise of Boarding Shields and Karceri Shields as the hailing rain of bullets was caught against their power fields.
Petra’s will, translated into cybernetics commands, made the legs of the Scorpion skitter and rise, angling its maw at the flier. After a few seconds loading, and preparing the weapon, the Scorpion opened fire, crossing the distance between source and target in barely a breath. The noise of the detonation echoed the same as the missiles the Beast had previously fired in its orchestral volleys.
The flying machine trembled, the iron halo’s field crackling, turning on and off until it finally shut down.
“Now!” Petra shouted to her Warriors. “Engage Phase five, suppressing fire!” Exiting their covers, most of her Marines aimed and opened fire at the Engine. She aimed at its reactors when it showed its back to her, shooting with all eight of her shrapnel bolt array. As it lowered slightly, she calculated her odds. Satisfied, she started running toward it, accelerating to some of the fastest speeds she had reached on her feet, motivation and desperation both pumping fire into her veins of iron.
Using the ruined machinery that strewed the ground, she gained elevation, and fully jumped to catch on the ring surrounding the core construct. Its three eyes looked at her, and Petra could swear she could see them burning in hatred. It tried to aim its gatling at her, but she moved faster, opening fire without restraint straight at its arm, a barrage of bolts that started to tear through the weaknesses in the metal that she saw.
Unable to fly correctly anymore, the Beast lowered even more, to the point where the Automata, coming running at it, could extend their hammers to latch on the ring and body, pinning it down. Petra let go of the outer ring, and walked straight toward the core unit, ignoring the warnings that one of her sergeants was directing to her.
She couldn’t hear anything over a ringing in her ears suspiciously resembling the melody of Elysia.
She finally reached it, extending her hand toward its head, and ripped it off without a care, watching with satisfaction as the three-eyed lights faded from the optics. She tossed it aside. Under her awaiting hands was the gesticulating body of an iron maiden that jailed the person she wanted to see most.
Weaknesses.
In the frame, in the ossature, in the hull. She reached and grasped, and bent, and pulled, and tore, destroying the malignant thing bit by bit, piece by piece, seeing her soldiers in the corner of her eyes, but not registering anything other than the slowly opening torso of the machine.
Finally.
Finally.
Finally, she ripped open the cockpit, to be met with such a cherished and such a haunted sight. Her Velvet Glove. Her Trinket.
Finally.
“FeFe…” she whispered. She could feel her eyes water behind the iron skull of her helmet.
It was an abominable sight. Everything was him. Nothing was his. As the song, it was a parody of who he was.
It was his hair: white and in long locks. It wasn’t: oily, greasy and unkempt.
It was his body: olive skin and the same scars as she remembered. It wasn’t: skeletal, gaunt, emaciated and hollow. Ribs almost piercing out from under his naked dry skin.
It was his eyes, the same turquoise, the same golden decoration he had asked her to graft under the left one to mask one scar he had there. It wasn’t: there were no lights in those glassy and foggy balls, and the gold was tarnished, rusted.
His lips were parched and scarred, his eyelids scratched, and she was trembling seeing the sight.
He was missing an arm, cables and wires directly plugged into his torn flesh.
A ruined enveloppe.
A single terminal was held in his sickly thin fingers, showing characters writing on a loop. Two words. It wasn’t Scrap-Code, nor was it Lingua-Technis, nor even was it Gothic, be it low or high. No, it was their native tongue of Olympia.
Two words, repeating on a loop like a mad chant line after line.
Σκότωσέ με.
Kill me.
Kill me.
Kill me.
Kill me.
Kill me.
Petra slowly reached to her helmet, its hissing pops signaling the depressurization. She removed it, her braided lock falling onto her shoulder as she put it aside.
“No”.
She reached toward him, cupping his cheek in her gauntlet, as large as his head, not applying any bit of force. Her hand was trembling. She pulled his body from the machine’s carcass, carefully disconnecting the cables thanks to the Logos’ programming properties. She cradled his broken, shattered form in her arms like carrying a newborn. She could barely feel his heartbeat. Her vision of him was riddled in weaknesses that usually inhabited her vision, so, so many onto his form.
She tilted to whisper in his ear.
“I’m bringing you back home. We’ll go together. Do you remember, FeFe? To Elysia”.
She almost broke down when she saw a sign of recognition on his part when he heard that name. Just slightly, almost imperceptible, his eyes widened.
A Spark.

I wanted to get locs but my hair is short. And I really don’t wanna pay for the extensions to be installed the usual way. I was thinking of twisting or braiding my hair with human hair and seeing if that’ll eventually become loc’d together. Any clues?
P.s if you’re one of those ‘trust the process’ people pls stfu and leave me alone, this post isn’t for you and you don’t know my life or what I’m going through atm. Thanks 🙏🏾

I’ve been getting long twists done for a bit and I love them so much! However, I also have a water park season pass I’d like to fully utilize. Last year, I got a swim cap, that hardly held up and ended up letting in water. Are there any ways to fully waterproof my hair? Or should I just go natural for the summer?

My (27f) boyfriend (28m) and I have been together for nearly 5 years and have a 8 month old daughter. Shortly before she was born, my boyfriend got his haircut and mentioned he wasn’t going to cut his hair until our daughter got her first haircut. She is now 8 months and has 1 inch of fuzziness atop her head… first haircut nowhere in sight.
My boyfriend has pretty good style, but has some interesting quirky things he does occasionally in terms of style. I don’t always like his style choices, but generally keep quiet (unless it’s a fedora, sorry fedora lovers).
To get to the point, I was NOT feeling excited thinking about him with long, luscious hair. I mentioned that my mom didn’t cut my hair til I cut it myself at 4 because it grew in curly and didn’t need to be cut, and asked if he would wait that long. At another point I mentioned the long hair (probably saying something hinting as disapproval) he got emotional asking if I wouldn’t find him attractive with long hair.
Now he’s started to braid it every once in a while, which is fine, do what you want. But then he takes the braids out and has crazy hair, then leaves it like that for days. It literally looks like a clown wig. He also started getting dandruff, so it’s like a dandruff-filled clown wig. I think it also has to do with the length, which is approaching lord-farquad length.
I try to say things to hint about hairstyles that don’t look this terrible, but I don’t want to hurt his feelings. He is doing stuff for the dandruff, but it doesn’t seem to work. TBH, I do find myself less attracted to him since the hair shape and style are regularly so visually unappealing.
Would I be an asshole for suggesting he not wear it in that style? Or for suggesting a way he could trim it to look more flattering? Am I an asshole for not finding him as attractive with this hair?

I feel so dumb haha. I used to buy into the hand flapping stereotype and I used to think oh I don’t stim! Because black and white thinking (lol) I don’t LITERALLY flap my hands or rock forward and back…
Except:

• twisty wrist thing 24/7
  
• can’t stop biting nails/skin/cheeks/lips
  
• touching all my fingers to my thumb in a pattern
  
• the nose twitch thing
  
• rocking side to side (rather than back and forth so I assumed it wasn’t the same thing 🤦‍♀️)
  
• pulling, twisting, braiding and unbraiding hair
  
• legs constantly bouncing and can’t sit properly in a seat
  
• walking on the sides of my feet rather than on tip toe
  

The list goes on and on. What non-stereotypical stims did you only realize later counted as stimming?