?

So last week I colored my ends and it's already faded out to a lighter color than I wanted. I want to dye it again with the same color, which is darker. Can I just color over it or do I have to wash out the color to get back to the base bleach layer? I don't want to bleach my hair again since I already bleached it, so I was wondering if I could just color over since I'm going darker.

So last week I colored my ends and it's already faded out to a lighter color than I wanted. I want to dye it again with the same color, which is darker. Can I just color over it or do I have to wash out the color to get back to the base bleach layer? I don't want to bleach my hair again since I already bleached it, so I was wondering if I could just color over since I'm going darker.

So two days ago I dyed the tips of my hair using Manic Panic Shocking blue. I read that sun can mess up your dye, so I've been spraying my hair with a sunscreen-water mixture. My tips have turned more purple rather than blue and the color ran off on my shirt today. I havent washed it. But have I completely messed up my dye job or shortened the amount of time my dye will stay in?

I used Manic Panic Shocking Blue to dye the tips of my hair today. I bleached it before I dyed and I added conditioner to the dye. Is that bad? Also, tomorrow I am going to be expose to the sun for a long time. I'm going to spray a water-sunscreen mixture on my hair to protect it from the sun. Is it okay to wet my hair with this spray or should I just leave it alone?

So I'm dying my hair Manic Panic Shocking Blue for the summer. I pre lightened it with bleach, and I know when the dye will fade and how to get the dye out. But how long will it take for my hair to go back to its normal shade once I have just bleached hair? (I didn't do my whole head, just the tips.)

I have long light brown hair that's wavy but curly at the ends with natural blond highlights. I recently bought some hair chalk and wanted to know which color would look best. Also, what is the best method of application? Should I put white chalk underneath to make the color pop? Do I have to flat iron or blow dry my hair to set the chalk? Thanks.

I know you shouldn't do things to distract from mourning, but I was wondering if it is okay to read a book after noon when some restrictions are relaxed.

We were poor, but happy. We lived on a fief in northern Ireland, ruled by a wealthy lord. We were peasants, but our lack of wealth never made us unhappy. Even when there was no food in our cupboard. Even when we would have to wait for days for my brothers and father to bring back some dead animals that would for sustain us for, at most, a week. We were never unhappy. Even if my stomach was empty, my mother would always feed my soul with her warmth, beauty, and song. She would twist up her strawberry blond hair and tuck it under a silk kerchief my father gave her at their wedding. Then she would bustle around, cleaning and singing, her green eyes shining. She always said, "I may not have the best, most expensive furniture and the biggest, most beautiful house. But I always have the cleanest house."

During harvest seasons, we would work in the fields to get paid a small sum by the lord. In the fall, when the trees had begun to go bare and the air had begun to get the biting chill of winter, we would work in the fields until dark. In the summer, we would sweat and toil under a sky filled with humidity and threatening clouds. In the fall, the rain would soak right through our clothing and chill us. In the summer, it make the emerald greenery greener and bring some welcome relief from the heat. I remember returning home, my blond hair filled with dirt, to the welcoming embrace of my mother. She would pull me in to her lap, despite the fact that I was almost 10 already. I would gaze up at her adoringly, my brown eyes staring in to her sparkling green. She would whisper stories in my ear from her childhood. I loved stories. I used to dream of one day being an author. Of course, this was before I realized that I never would be taught how to read and write.

My brothers adored my mother just as much as I did, if not more. I remember my brother, Finn, at 12, still loving my mother's hugs. Finn was a small, skinny child, blond-haired and brown-eyed like me. All of us, except for my mother, had blond hair and brown eyes. It's a family trademark. Finn was very weak and would often come home with scratches and bruises. That was until Brendan, my older brother, who at 14, had already hit his growth spurt, came and saw some boys taunting Finn. Needless to say, that was the last time they bothered him.

But Brendan, although fiercely protective, was not a saint. Out of all of us, he was the one who talked back the most to my mother and caused her the most trouble. He would come home and Mother would ask where he was. He would snap back that he was nowhere. Of course, eventually my mother would coax it out of him. Without striking him. Without raising her voice. She would simply say, "Brendan, get back in here. Now." Before she even finished her sentence, he would shuffle back in and confess.

Then, she would say, "Brendan, what do you say?"

And, always, always, as surely as the sun rises and sets, he would grumble, "I'm sorry."

My mother didn't take anything from anyone. That's one of many things I inherited from her. Her spunk and attitude. She always told me, "Maura, the only way to get good treatment in life is to demand it." That's advice I carry with me every day. I walk with my head held high, like I remember my mother doing. If someone wrongs me, I always demand that they right their wrongs. I also inherited my mother's love of storytelling and sense of humor.

And Father? Father used to be always happy. I recall how he always used to come in from a day working at some odd job, whistling a tune. He would come in and start cracking jokes. My mother would be bustling around, working, and he would come and wrap his arms around her waist and kiss her. My mother was always thin and beautiful. She was like a beautiful weeping willow tree, draping over us, protecting us. My mother was our glue.

But, one day, she fell ill. She was sick for weeks. All the warning signs were there. She coughed a lot and was constantly taking naps. The signs were very subtle. She didn't let it show. But, in the last week, she was so sick that she could barely get out of bed. One day, she fell asleep and never woke up. I still wonder if I could have saved her by noticing the signs earlier and getting her care earlier.

That day, our glue melted. Something within our family shifted. My father became meaner. Controlling. Unhappy. My brothers grew obnoxious and cruel. And me? I became squashed in the middle, the one subjected to their unhappiness. But I power through. That's what led me to today.

I don't own a chair that is less than a foot above the floor. What should I do? (I plan to sit on a chair that is lower and more uncomfortable than my usual chair.) Also, are you allowed to read on Tisha B'Av?

I am writing a story and would like some title ideas. Here's a summary:

Maura lives in Middle Ages Ireland with her oppressive, extremely religious father and her two brothers. Her father has arranged a marriage to a boy who is crude, rude, and above all, hates her. When Maura hears that her family is going on a pilgrimage to England's Canterbury Church, she sees an opportunity to break away. Will she succeed? Or will her plan go down in flames?

I am Jewish and above the age of bat mitzvah. I would like to fast today, but since my whole family doesn't fast, my parents told me I shouldn't fast. Am I doing a sin? Should I fast despite my parents telling me I don't have to and shouldn't?

There is this boy I like. We have been friendly for over a year now and he's always been sort of flirty. Many say that he likes me. I recently found out that another girl likes him. I want to tell him I like him. Last week, I was going to tell him, but a friend discouraged me. I really like him, but we're in 7th grade and these kind of things are still taboo and unspeakable. Should I tell him? (There is only one week of school left.)

http://www.wattpad.com/17298952-yes-master

I posted part of the first chapter before. Here is the completed first chapter. This is my first full story on Wattpad, and I'm curious to see what everyone thinks.

I have this friend who is in a different class from me. We have communicated mainly via email. Last year, there was this boy who flirted with me a lot and she thought he liked me. This year, she convinced me to try to tell him I liked him but I chickened out. One of her friends asked him and told her his reaction. She said he doesn't like me and got mad at me for not telling him I like him. I haven't talked to her since. She caused a lot of drama for me, but I find myself missing her and wanting to salvage the friendship. Should I leave it alone and figure that she's not worth it, or should I email her and try to talk to her?

I scurry in, keeping my head bowed. His mother is shouting commands at me, her blue skirts swirling around her like sea spray. She twists this way and that, pointing and making demands. "Oh, do clean the windows. You've let them get awfully dirty," she says in an accusatory tone, as if to say I haven't been working hard enough. I peek out meekly from beneath my stringy hair. I haven't washed in a few days, because the Missus has important guests coming over and hasn't let me rest at all. "Yes, I will get right to it," I squeak. "Don't say! Do!" she yells, her alabaster face turning red with rage.

I hurry over to get the pail, soap, and washrag, and set to work. I'm sponging down the stained glass windows, my arms aching, when he comes in. He, being my mistress's son. He, being the boy who is the handsomest boy in the country, quite possibly the world. He, who all the girls titter about at the balls and parties. He, who I am hopelessly and utterly in love with, though I myself don't even get why. He paces around the room, his eyes lowered, muttering something to himself. I continue my work, pretending I don't notice him. Pretending I'm not listening to what ever he's saying. Pretending I'm not noticing the way the sun hits his hair, turning it an almost preternatural shade of yellow. All of a sudden, he straightens and says my name. "Rosalie," he says, the name sounding so beautiful as it rolls off his tongue. At the sound of my name, I immediately stop my work, surprised. He rarely talks to me, except to tell me what's expected of him and me at parties and the occasional shallow chat when no one is around. "Yes, Master Alexander?" He snorts. "Don't call me master, you silly girl. I'm the same age as you," he says with a chuckle. I hesitate, annoyed that he called me silly, then ask, "What do you need?" "I need some help with my mother," he replies, looking left and right to make sure no one else is around. I want to be "disrespectful", and ask what he thinks I could do about it. But instead I just ask, "What do you need help with, Alexander?"

He smiles a smile that if I didn't know better, I might say was sinister. He leans in close. At this point, I'm really hoping he doesn't realize how fast my heart is beating. "Nowadays, it is the fashion to get married early. Mother is already trying to set me up with someone high-class. There's just one problem: None of those girls, with their preening and vanities, interest me. But don't worry, I've got a plan. And it involves you," he says, lightly pressing a finger to my nose.

There is a boy I like. We've been flirting back and forth for a little over a year. Everyone pretty much knows that I like him, and many say that he likes me. In one class, he sits in front of me. Sometimes he'll look at me and I'm looking at the teacher, but I'll see him looking at me and I'll blush. Does this make it seem like I've been staring at him or being creepy?