A hairstyle particularly in fashion for teenage girls. It is a look that is often found in magazines as it has the ability to be quirky and unique as well as looking pretty and sophisticated.
Jemma
A pretty albeit common form of hairstyle that is in fashion for young girls. A type of hairstyle with many opportunities to be unique and quirky, often found in magazines.
Jemma
long hair, beautiful blonde, blue shirt, strawberries and bread. some perfume and a candle. hold my hat. i have never been so wrong, yellow impressions last forever, my new mania is here. i hope i have the funds.
Natalia Vladinova
The braid rested against her back as she sat upright, listening to the villagers’ requests and complaints. There really was nothing for her to do, she was just a figurehead. A puppet, that’s what she had been called upon her appointment.
The braid of rope was slung over the windowsill, taunt under the weight of something. Ella knew before she looked out, she knew there would be a body, stiff and cold, on the other end.
it’s something I learnt to do for my daughter. It’s thin but really nice. Actually, there are two of them. My daughter likes this new look and so do her classmates.
Tatyana
I walked up to her. She looked different today. She’s not her normal tomboy self. For some reason she has her hair in a braid and girly clothes on. This isn’t the same girl I had fallen for. I asked her what was wrong and she just looked away. That’s when he walked up to her, wrapped her in his arms and kissed her. I never thought it would come to this. Now, I’m laying here, my hair in a braid, trying not to think about her.
I learned to braid on a My Little Pony. An old-school one. She was blue, with stars and planets as a cutie mark, and a rainbow mane and tail. I would meticulously divide the tail into three parts. Red and orange, yellow and green, blue and purple, and braid and braid and braid.
Her braided hair gets caught on a branch, and he has to resist the urge to laugh. The forest seemed to adore her hair, as she always managed to get everything from leaves to twigs tangled up in it. The braid, in the end, was useless, and she ended the trip with just as much of the forest tangled in her hair as usual.
When the braid in her hair catches his eye, he wonders why she doesn’t wear her hair up more often. The forest is filled with dangers, the least of which is hair caught up in branches and thorns. Her hair was always harboring at least one twig, and he decides that she doesn’t look herself without it.
Nyaon
Rope is braided, hair is braided. I don’t have much to say about braids. Never had long hair to speak of so not much experience there. Stumped…
The braid in her hair lay delicately on cold, metal table. It was done with such precision and care, that one would think that a mother or sister had done it for her. But the hands that combed the hair were of no relation to the girl on the table. More hands dressed her in the finest clothes, whilst others cleaned the dried blood off her ashen skin. The girl was to be taken to the church, where she would rest her last, and the frozen morning air would touch her skin no more. She would be given to the earth in a final offering, and a plaque of stone would be all that was left to recognise her resting place. Time had caught up to the girl, the earth had taken her.
she waited at the door. her eyes spoke stars. I couldn’t stop staring. she had braided her desires and left them hanging at the doorstep. would I cross over it? would i wander at the threshold and linger?
sharmada
Braid is a connection of pieces of hair, chunks of it wrappe around each other and we decide that’s fancy. But if you braid your hair every day, when you go to the fancy ball you’re going to straighten it and that will take everyone’s breath away. It’s not because your hair is pretty it’s just because it’s different than when you make your breakfast
William
The one braid that she had swept into her ponytail caught his eye as her sword flew past his face. He jumped backwards. How could he be beaten by a girl? she was skilled and fast
Katherine
Over, under, neat and rhythmic. It fit her personality, her tendency to stand still and mover her eyes over the architecture, slowly, her tendency to draw without needing to erase, the way she intertwined her fingers with his, like steel bolts locking together, not letting go.
The girl sits in the golden wheat field, yellow hair braided in place with a simple red ribbon which contrasted with her coarse pale yellow white hair.
Ferris
She did braids around their necks. One lady said it was creepy. She said it should not be done. I liked it. My mom said she hated it. But I liked it. “It’s sort of…witchy,” I said. I don’t even know what I meant by that. What makes it witchy? Maybe I was subconsciously reminded of the Salem witch trials. And braids remind me of the stereotypical spells requiring hair. Did you know I have someone’s hair and that person doesn’t know? I have these golden strands of her hair in an envelope in my closet. I’ve always thought, “I could cast something with these…but I don’t want to”. And yet I keep them.
She braided her hair, trying to make sure it looked perfect. Watching herself in the mirror to make sure that not a hair was out of place. Sometimes it was hard to be perfect. She felt her hands shake, her breath coming out shorter and shorter. She was almost at the verge of breaking down. Then the tears fell.
Ellie
I can hum the chords while I braid my hair. One strand over the other while I compose the tune. That’s how it’s done traditionally, isn’t it? But I want to rebel. Because I suck at being traditional. I’m going to play the hell out of fuzz and effects peddles. Reverb is the only sound I know. And as for vocals? I’ll only write of the most twisted phrases phrasing and sing them so dreamily, it’ll be like navigating a labyrinth, because wigs need to be flipped by braids that need yanking. This ain’t your grandmother’s or even your mother’s world. It’s a whole new beast made out of lots of old parts, which is just a little bit like you.
He gently took a hold of her long brown braid and began to unravel it. He wanted her hair to fall naturally and so others could see how long it really was. He couldn’t believe she was gone. Her body was there, but her spirit was not. She had been the first teacher in the small country school. The children loved her, the parents loved her. She was loved. The wagon overturned on her, crushing the life from her. Yes, she was loved greatly. Especially by him.
And after I told her the honest truth–everything I wanted to say but was too passive to before–she walked out the door, her braid swinging down her back. I saw him catch up to her, probably asking if she was okay, what could he do for her–it’s your guess. My best friend, but all I could do was hate. Hate her, hate her for dating him, hate it all. And although I didn’t mean to, it slipped out, and my voiced echoed down the hall after them. Fuck ’em, that’s what I said. And I’ll never be able to take it back–not even if I wanted to.
Her braids were long enough for anyone to get hurt if she swung around. Little did she know that a weapon laid in her hair. She brushed it back and continued walking on. Only we saw the mace that hung on her back. I loved her. More than she will ever know. A little haughty at times but all I could think of was her. Her and her lovely braid.
swaksha
“But Granny,” I said “Why does Grandpa have to leave?” We were sittings by the fire, Granny’s long fingers expertly weaving my hair into a braid. “Annabel, darling, I told you already. Some men want to run some tests on him.”
A hairstyle particularly in fashion for teenage girls. It is a look that is often found in magazines as it has the ability to be quirky and unique as well as looking pretty and sophisticated.
A pretty albeit common form of hairstyle that is in fashion for young girls. A type of hairstyle with many opportunities to be unique and quirky, often found in magazines.
long hair, beautiful blonde, blue shirt, strawberries and bread. some perfume and a candle. hold my hat. i have never been so wrong, yellow impressions last forever, my new mania is here. i hope i have the funds.
The braid rested against her back as she sat upright, listening to the villagers’ requests and complaints. There really was nothing for her to do, she was just a figurehead. A puppet, that’s what she had been called upon her appointment.
your hair was never long enough to ensare me
but i like to think it was
so i wouldn’t have myself to blame
when i got tangled up
my poor heart squirming, reluctant, hopeless
Her braid went to her waist. She contemplated cutting her hair many times, but knew it was what made her her, so she let it be as it was.
The braid of rope was slung over the windowsill, taunt under the weight of something. Ella knew before she looked out, she knew there would be a body, stiff and cold, on the other end.
it’s something I learnt to do for my daughter. It’s thin but really nice. Actually, there are two of them. My daughter likes this new look and so do her classmates.
I walked up to her. She looked different today. She’s not her normal tomboy self. For some reason she has her hair in a braid and girly clothes on. This isn’t the same girl I had fallen for. I asked her what was wrong and she just looked away. That’s when he walked up to her, wrapped her in his arms and kissed her. I never thought it would come to this. Now, I’m laying here, my hair in a braid, trying not to think about her.
I learned to braid on a My Little Pony. An old-school one. She was blue, with stars and planets as a cutie mark, and a rainbow mane and tail. I would meticulously divide the tail into three parts. Red and orange, yellow and green, blue and purple, and braid and braid and braid.
She loved sitting with her mother watching the television and having her hair put into braids. Her mother always added ribbons and bows!
Her braided hair gets caught on a branch, and he has to resist the urge to laugh. The forest seemed to adore her hair, as she always managed to get everything from leaves to twigs tangled up in it. The braid, in the end, was useless, and she ended the trip with just as much of the forest tangled in her hair as usual.
When the braid in her hair catches his eye, he wonders why she doesn’t wear her hair up more often. The forest is filled with dangers, the least of which is hair caught up in branches and thorns. Her hair was always harboring at least one twig, and he decides that she doesn’t look herself without it.
Rope is braided, hair is braided. I don’t have much to say about braids. Never had long hair to speak of so not much experience there. Stumped…
The braid in her hair lay delicately on cold, metal table. It was done with such precision and care, that one would think that a mother or sister had done it for her. But the hands that combed the hair were of no relation to the girl on the table. More hands dressed her in the finest clothes, whilst others cleaned the dried blood off her ashen skin. The girl was to be taken to the church, where she would rest her last, and the frozen morning air would touch her skin no more. She would be given to the earth in a final offering, and a plaque of stone would be all that was left to recognise her resting place. Time had caught up to the girl, the earth had taken her.
she waited at the door. her eyes spoke stars. I couldn’t stop staring. she had braided her desires and left them hanging at the doorstep. would I cross over it? would i wander at the threshold and linger?
Braid is a connection of pieces of hair, chunks of it wrappe around each other and we decide that’s fancy. But if you braid your hair every day, when you go to the fancy ball you’re going to straighten it and that will take everyone’s breath away. It’s not because your hair is pretty it’s just because it’s different than when you make your breakfast
The one braid that she had swept into her ponytail caught his eye as her sword flew past his face. He jumped backwards. How could he be beaten by a girl? she was skilled and fast
Over, under, neat and rhythmic. It fit her personality, her tendency to stand still and mover her eyes over the architecture, slowly, her tendency to draw without needing to erase, the way she intertwined her fingers with his, like steel bolts locking together, not letting go.
Mary had worked her hair into a quick, neat braid; it thumped against her back as she hurried downstairs.
The girl sits in the golden wheat field, yellow hair braided in place with a simple red ribbon which contrasted with her coarse pale yellow white hair.
She did braids around their necks. One lady said it was creepy. She said it should not be done. I liked it. My mom said she hated it. But I liked it. “It’s sort of…witchy,” I said. I don’t even know what I meant by that. What makes it witchy? Maybe I was subconsciously reminded of the Salem witch trials. And braids remind me of the stereotypical spells requiring hair. Did you know I have someone’s hair and that person doesn’t know? I have these golden strands of her hair in an envelope in my closet. I’ve always thought, “I could cast something with these…but I don’t want to”. And yet I keep them.
His beard, which was until recently a tangled mess, now lay in neat red braids. I stopped to admire my handiwork.
She braided her hair, trying to make sure it looked perfect. Watching herself in the mirror to make sure that not a hair was out of place. Sometimes it was hard to be perfect. She felt her hands shake, her breath coming out shorter and shorter. She was almost at the verge of breaking down. Then the tears fell.
I can hum the chords while I braid my hair. One strand over the other while I compose the tune. That’s how it’s done traditionally, isn’t it? But I want to rebel. Because I suck at being traditional. I’m going to play the hell out of fuzz and effects peddles. Reverb is the only sound I know. And as for vocals? I’ll only write of the most twisted phrases phrasing and sing them so dreamily, it’ll be like navigating a labyrinth, because wigs need to be flipped by braids that need yanking. This ain’t your grandmother’s or even your mother’s world. It’s a whole new beast made out of lots of old parts, which is just a little bit like you.
He gently took a hold of her long brown braid and began to unravel it. He wanted her hair to fall naturally and so others could see how long it really was. He couldn’t believe she was gone. Her body was there, but her spirit was not. She had been the first teacher in the small country school. The children loved her, the parents loved her. She was loved. The wagon overturned on her, crushing the life from her. Yes, she was loved greatly. Especially by him.
And after I told her the honest truth–everything I wanted to say but was too passive to before–she walked out the door, her braid swinging down her back. I saw him catch up to her, probably asking if she was okay, what could he do for her–it’s your guess. My best friend, but all I could do was hate. Hate her, hate her for dating him, hate it all. And although I didn’t mean to, it slipped out, and my voiced echoed down the hall after them. Fuck ’em, that’s what I said. And I’ll never be able to take it back–not even if I wanted to.
Her braids were long enough for anyone to get hurt if she swung around. Little did she know that a weapon laid in her hair. She brushed it back and continued walking on. Only we saw the mace that hung on her back. I loved her. More than she will ever know. A little haughty at times but all I could think of was her. Her and her lovely braid.
“But Granny,” I said “Why does Grandpa have to leave?” We were sittings by the fire, Granny’s long fingers expertly weaving my hair into a braid. “Annabel, darling, I told you already. Some men want to run some tests on him.”