Modern Ragnar Haircut Novels & Stories

Always the charmer, that one. “I’ve got a paper to do tonight, I won’t be at practice. Want to order some pizzas or something for dinner?” Ron asked as he sat back in his chair and looked at me. I looked back at my mirror image, different only in hairstyle. Archie’s black hair was a mop of long hair on top, boyish and flirty like some of the soccer athletes from Europe wore theirs. Ron’s was cut in a sensible style, short back and sides, a little longer on top. Mine was a little long all over, mostly because I didn’t care about bi-weekly haircuts and styling gel. I just wanted it to grow long enough that I could tie it back and be done with it.

I said, pointing at her shirt. She rolled her eyes before answering me, "I have a date after work." "And you didn't tell me?" I asked, pouting. I grabbed her small comb and tidied my hair a bit, although I knew my hair would be messed up again by the wind when we left the restaurant. Three days ago, Lana made me cut my hair; she found my previous hair too boring. So now, my auburn hair, which is ten times better than before, is three centimeters shorter, layered, and has a few highlights.

And the hairdresser assured me it would be, in his words, stunning! I sat in the chair and let them do what they wanted. My hair was washed, cut, styled, and when it was done, I could barely recognize myself. It was a modern cut, with the front strands at chin level and shorter in the back, the bangs seemed to fall in layers, and according to what the hairdresser explained, it was very easy to maintain. They said the cut was called a "short bob." "Wow, you look like a powerful woman!" Melissa stared at me through the mirror. "What do you think?"

I replied. They both looked at each other like this was an amusing game. I can already tell that even though they seem like mean fighting machines they are nothing but jokesters underneath it all. "I was going to cut my hair today, that's what we usually do so that people can tell us apart but, we have crazed elders on the loose so that got put on hold." One replied. A haircut? I could do that. I mean how hard could it be? "How do you usually cut it?" I asked. "I usually buzz cut the sides but leave the top a little longer to style it." He replied. Now that I look I can see that his hair is shorter than his brothers. "Okay, let's do it then." I replied smiling. His smile dropped from his fac

“What the fuck did you do to your hair?” She flops into the chair with a huff. “I knew you’d hate it.” Reaching over, I run my fingers through the rough cut. A natural blonde like me, Heather has butchered her long locks into a terrible above-the-shoulders bob with streaks of black and red throughout. “It looks like a prison haircut.”

“You’re supposed to be in bed.” Lance ignored that and stepped closer, standing right behind him. He was taller, so Ragnar could see him clearly in the mirror behind him. “Move,” Lance said gently. Ragnar raised an eyebrow slightly. “Why?” “Just move,” Lance repeated. Ragnar stepped a little to the side, and Lance reached forward, taking the hair tie from his hand. For a moment, Ragnar just watched him through the mirror. Lance carefully gathered Ragnar’s hair, his movements surprisingly gentle for someone who fought like he did. His fingers brushed lightly against the back of Ragnar’s neck as he tied the hair properly.

"Frankly, I'm tired of hearing you say 'I'm sorry,' 'excuse me,' 'forgive me.' Instead of that, you should try not to be so clumsy and naive, but above all, be careful when entering a place that isn't yours." Katrina nods and gets off the sink, even more ashamed than before. Only now does Ragnar notice her new haircut. He's speechless seeing her with wavy hair and some highlights that illuminate her face even more. Only his mother could make these things happen. Katrina retreats to her own room and stays there until dinner time, while Ragnar goes downstairs and takes care of some errands in his office.

Ragnar sat in the corner, cloaked in silence. His back was slouched in the armchair, forearms braced on his knees, blood dried along his jaw, hair wild and shadowed. His tunic hung open, exposing a brutal constellation of cuts across his chest, some fresh, some long-healed. Her throat dried up at the sight of his bare chest. His claws were retracted now, but the tension in his body remained a restrained predator, breathing like he’d fought a war and lost something far more precious than his pride.

It may be because I'm exhausted, or because it's the first time I'll ever be seen in public as an attendant, but I can't bring myself to move. Red hovers over me, giving my hair some final touches. It flows down my neck in silky waves, very unlike the straight, boring look I've been carrying on my head for months. I had no money to go to the salon to get it cut or styled, and now Red has brought life back into it. "Are you sure you don't want the fake lashes?" she says, looking at my reflection in the mirror. "I'm fine, thank you." I smile at her and she smiles back, though her smile doesn't reach her eyes.

Ragnar growls, elbowing him in the nose. I close my eyes when something crunches. Power surges from all sides and everyone’s on edge again as silence follows. Evelyn giggles, covering her mouth with her hand, being the only one not bound. “Stop it!” Ziahra growls. “Ragnar.” I warn. He rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck, a shudder rolling through his body, and his eyes blaze red as he carries on walking. “Don’t touch me if you don’t want to lose those hands.” He warns Blade.