Ugly People With Braids Novels & Stories

“He’s part of a group called The Losers. He’s the head Loser.” “That’s not what we’re called.” No one was listening to me. “A Visitor? Him? Are you sure?” The tallest of the women removed her helmet, I guess to take a better look at me. She had a square jaw with a dimple in it, which always looks odd on women. She had very blue, very unimpressed eyes. Her mousey blonde hair was pulled back and tied into a plait. I’m guessing it was a French braid, but I’m not up on my hairstyles and French is the only braid variant I’ve ever heard of. Other countries don’t seem to get a look in.

It seemed that all eyes were on her. What the hell were they looking at? She glared at anyone that met her eyes until they quickly looked away. Some of these people looked straight up tacky so why weren't people staring at the old lady with the twisted wig and plastic white clunky heeled sandals? Juicy knew she looked good. Her dreadlocks had been done up in twists and corkscrews that decorated her scalp. She had applied the gold dye herself and knew that it looked slamming. If Juicy knew anything she knew how to do hair.

Exclaimed Amara as she pulled the net off her head, her long braids tumbling down her shoulders and waist, the colour of the braids mixed sexily, the tip of the braids, a bright pink colour, while the rest, a colour black. "Me too." I replied before adding. "I love your hair, it's so pretty and long." I gushed out before running my fingers over my still very neat cornrows, feeling slightly jealous of the hair. But then I remembered how I hate making my hair and how carrying that kind of braids can be stressful, so I shook the bubbling longing out of my head. "Aw, thank you, it's actually longer." She replied as she bended her head before whipping it back, the braids flying in sync before lan

I would go down a branch, then stop and listen. Finally, I made it where I could see the rouge. They looked like they are teenagers. Maybe 15 years old? One had what I thinking is suppose to be blondish hair but he was so dirty. He looked like he was maybe around 6 foot tall but still pretty skinny. The other was dark brown hair and about the same height. He might have a little more muscle on him. How did they get into this life? Didn’t they say they just wanted out of something?

Mom was so busy with work, I won't say I wasn't happy she was, but her presence matters a lot, sometimes, we had days when we braided hair, it was like a tradition, and having a 4c natural hair means war and pain without proper management. And that's more than enough reason to keep my hair braided for a long time, and after so much detangling, washing, and tying tight buns, I couldn't take the pain of combing, so I confronted mom about it, weird enough when she was in the middle of a conversation with a client.

The inky, greasy, black hair on his head is slicked back, and he looks sleazy. Behind him and Felix are three pale people with bright red eyes. One is a beautiful dark-skinned female with braids tied up in a large bun on her head. She has a long slender face, big round eyes, plump lips painted maroon, and a matching tight dress showing off her hourglass figure. The one standing next to her looks exactly like the bald male version of her siblings, I guess. He's huge, bigger than the behemoth of a creep standing before them. One of his arms is the size of my head. Then next to him is a thin but well-muscled blonde man; his hair is short on the sides but long up top; he's got tattoos running up

Chelsea River stood with a confident grace, their bright red hair cascading down their back like a fiery waterfall. The vibrant locks were untamed, with subtle waves and loose curls framing their pear-shaped face. Their eyes sparkled like shimmering aquamarine gemstones, radiating warmth and kindness.

God. My hair was wild. Not the cute, effortless kind of wild either. No, this was full-on crazy wild. My light brown strands were poking out in every direction like they'd been in a wind tunnel. I looked like someone who’d just fought frontline in a war and then passed out face-first into ditch. Or maybe just a girl who’d been thoroughly fucked.

' Braids - those long beautiful things which I'd grown to love, and yet could never do. Being African American, Juliette was naturally blessed with that kind of hair which was thick ' just the right texture to be able to attach weave-ons to it. Then there was my kind of hair - it's lightness and overall texture, made it next to impossible for braids to last on it. Even attaching the weave-on to my hair, would be a Herculean task. But I'd always loved braids anyway, which was why I always super jelly when Juliette got to make them; something which I never failed to point out to a laughing Juliette.

a short girl with two braids standing on the rooftop along with all the other employees asked suddenly recognizing the girl. "Oh my god! It really is her. But she doesn't seem like a troubled person, so why would she get suicidal? " Another girl standing beside her replied. "Being troubled doesn't show on the face you know, anyone you come across can be troubled, a pity though, she was such an adorable girl." A nerdy guy said squinting his eyes behind the glasses while shaking his head regretfully. "Hey she's not dead yet, why are you referring to her as a was ? " the girl with the braids snapped at the nerdy guy who shrank his head saying.