#Best Hair Loss Doctor in New York

[drgolberg]

Hair Loss Therapy in New York City

[arlana-likes-to-write]

I Hate Myself By Florence Pugh

Summary: Loosely based on a song in Florence Pugh’s new movie A Good Person. You are struggling with grief and guilt of your fiancé. Life seems to be going down hill when a blonde Russian forced her way into your life. 

Warning: This story contains some heavy and possibly triggering themes. Heavy drinking, addiction of opioids, attempted suicide, guilt, grief, mention of death, overdose

Word Count: 2.9k 

It’s crazy how life could change in an instant. A month ago you were planning your wedding. You were trying on wedding dresses, tasting cakes, and designing wedding invitations. A month ago you were celebrating with friends and brainstorming destinations for your honeymoon, and you decided on Japan. A month ago you were happy. But a car accident caused by a truck driver falling asleep at the wheel took your happiness. You were driving. You woke up from a two-week comma and your fiance never woke up. Her family never blamed you like you expected them to. No, they did the opposite and kept being there for you. They brought you to doctor appointments and helped pay for medical bills when they were grieving the loss of their daughter. But the guilt and the grief became too much and you did what you used to do before meeting Courtney, you ran. You left South Carolina and moved to New York City. Her family tried to call you and you’d send them a text to confirm you were alive. You were, barely, surviving on cheap pizza, buzz, and prescription medication. 

It was lightly raining on your nightly walk around the neighborhood. You weren’t wearing a jacket, only a T-Shirt and sweatpants. The rain didn’t bother you. You loved it. On some days, Courtney would drag you off the couch into the backyard to dance in the rain. You missed her. You missed her so fucking much. You wondered if this pain was ever going to go away. Would the weight feel lighter to heavy? When would it hurt less to breathe? 

You felt someone grab your arm and drag you into a nearby alley. You were so startled you didn’t even scream as you were pushed up against the brick wall. You stared at the girl in front of you. She was blonde, with striking green eyes, and she was a little shorter than you. But you didn’t miss the gun in her hand. “Do you have a death wish?” You asked. Was she Russian? 

“Maybe,” you said. She lowered the gun. “Well, I mean we all die one die right,” you chuckled nervously. She put the gun on her hip and let you go. “I made this extremely awkward. Look if you are going to kill me, can you get it over with?” You had to admit it wasn’t how you thought you’d go out. Would you see Courtney? She pulled back her hood and her blonde hair was braided. 

“Do you live close?” She asked. 

“Uh, yeah,” you said. “Most girls take me to dinner first before I show them where I live,” you joked. She didn’t laugh. “Right, this way.” In hindsight, it wasn’t the best idea to show a mysterious blonde in your apartment that was just holding a gun but life worked in weird ways. The rain picked up and by the time you unlocked your apartment door, you were drenched. You toed your sneakers off and walked into the kitchen. “Make yourself at home,” you said, over your shoulder. You heard the door close and lock as you grabbed a bottle of vodka and poured your guest a drink. She was looking around your apartment. It had the bare minimum, no photos or decorations, all that was left in South Carolina.

“You live alone?” She asked. 

“Yup,” you said, taking the bottle to the couch and laying down, not caring about your wet clothes. You took a generous sip, liking the way it burned down your throat. Your guest walked softly, you barely heard her walking over to the drink and then to the couch. You stared up at her. “Want more?” Offering the bottle. 

“Stay off the streets for the next few nights,” she said. “It’s dangerous.” 

“Whatever you say,” you turned on the TV. She spared you one more glance at you before exiting your apartment. “Odd,” you mumbled, taking another sip from the bottle. You hoped that would be the last you saw of the Russian. 

*

However, life had other plans for you. Every time you left your apartment you saw the blonde. At the corner store. The pizza place. The shitty dive bar you worked at. But it was brief because when you looked away and back again she was gone. It wasn’t until Friday night, 5 days after your meeting with her did you see her again and this time when you looked at her she didn’t disappear. You had the night off. So, you were sitting on the couch, wearing only a sports bra and sweatpants. You were high, drinking beer and eating pizza with Criminal Minds on the TV. You were high. It was a glorious feeling because you felt floaty and free. You heard the handle of your apartment jiggly and when it opened you were staring at the blonde. “I should call the cops,” you told her. 

“You won’t,” she closed the door. “Not when you are high on oxycodone,”

“Vodka is on the top shelf,” you opened the beer bottle and faced the TV. 

“I know it is,” you heard her move around your kitchen. “Do you not have food?” She asked. 

“Pizza is food,” she huffed, mumbling something under her breath that you couldn’t make out. She sat down next to you with a Gatorade and a protein bar. 

“Drink this,” you looked at the blonde down to the drink then back at her. You didn’t like being told what to do, especially by a stranger. You took a sip of the beer instead.

“You’ve been stalking me,” she took a slice of pizza. 

“No,” she said. “Just watching.” You chuckled. 

“Yeah, that makes it sound better,” you sat back on the couch and focused on the episode. You felt her eyes on you, mapping out the scars from the accident. You would have them covered but sometimes clothes irritated your skin. Walking around in a bra was easier plus you never had anyone over. “Take a picture, it'll last longer,” you mumbled. 

“Thanks for the pizza,” she said, standing up.

“Yeah, no problem. Let me know when you're gonna stop by and I’ll have dinner ready for you,” the blonde opened and closed the door. “What a freak.” 

The next morning you found a bag of groceries at your door.    

*

Some days were better than others. You could make it throughout the day without your hands shaking and wondering when you were going to get high next. On days like that, the weight on your chest felt manageable. Those days were few and far between. Lately, the guilt was becoming heavier and the nightmares invaded your mind. It was harder and harder to stay sober and leave your bed. The bar fired you but you didn’t care. You had no energy. But like clockwork each week there were groceries at your door. It’s been a few months since you’ve seen the Russian. You tried not to think about her but it was impossible. It was annoying. Why did she care? 

*

You were drunk. Music blaring in your apartment and you were dancing around when the door opened. There she was. “My favorite Russian,” you ran over to her and put your arms around her. She caught you, stumbling slightly which caused the door to close. You rested your head on her shoulder, taking a deep breath in. “Mhmm. You smell good,” Whatever perfume she was wearing had an earthy scent to it like the smell after it rained. You leaned into her more. 

“Are you hanging out with more Russians?” She chuckled, stepping back from you slightly but she kept her hands on your hips. You giggled. 

“No, silly. You are the only one but still my favorite.” 

“Why don’t you go sit down and I’ll go get you water?” She went to move away from you but you stopped her. 

“I don’t want water. I want to dance with you,” you pulled her into the space between your living room and kitchen. 

“No dancing. You need to go sit down,” you scuffed, rolling your eyes. 

“You're no fun,” you mumbled, stumbling into the kitchen. “Aren’t Russians supposed to be big partiers?” You twisted off the cap of the bottle and took a large sip of vodka. 

“I think you’ve had enough of that,” she took the bottle from you. 

“I don’t like you telling me what to do,” you pulled the bottle back but she was stronger than you. “Whatever,” you let her have the bottle and open your cabinet. But she came around and closed it. “You are starting to piss me off.”

“What else have you taken?” She asked. Your jaw clenched. 

“Nothing,” you walked over to your fridge to pull out a beer. 

“So you haven’t taken hydro or morphine today?” She was pulling out the bill bottles. You took a hydro this morning. You woke up screaming from a nightmare. What were you supposed to do? “Courtney wouldn’t want this.” Your blood went cold. 

“What-what did you say?” She rolled her eyes. 

“Did you think I wouldn’t research who you are?” She asked, facing you. “You and your fiance Courtney Smith were in a car accident caused by a truck driver 4 months ago.”

“Shut up,” you said. 

“You woke up from a coma but she never did,” she continued. You wanted her to stop talking. “After the funeral, you packed everything up and ran to New York. You found employment at a local dive bar and spent your free time downing yourself in alcohol and prescription medication,” An anger was building inside of you, blinding you. How dare this stranger walk into your life and feel as if she had your whole life figured out? “Courtney wouldn’t want your life to be like this.”

“Stop saying her name as if you knew her because you didn’t,” you snapped. “You wouldn’t know what she would want,” you squeezed the beer bottle, afraid the glass would shatter in your hands. “I think you need to leave.” 

“I’m not going anywhere.” 

“Get out of my fucking apartment before I call the cops and have them arrest you for stalking and harassment,” she didn’t move. “Leave me the fuck alone,” you threw the bottle at her. She barely dogged it and the bottle shattered on the cabinet. You took off towards your bedroom, slamming the door closed, and locking it. You slide down the door and brought your knees to your chest as the blonde banged on the door pleading with you to let her in. But you couldn’t face her when somewhere deep inside of you believed everything she said. You crawled over to your nightstand, the banging becoming a distant memory and pulled out a polaroid picture. It was of you and Courtney on your third date. She took you camping in the Adirondacks. You didn’t have any photos of her as you left all of them in South Carolina. 

“I’m sorry,” you cried. “It should have been me,” you kept repeating as you pulled out a pile bottle and uncapped it. You swallowed the few pills dry. You fell to your side and cried, holding the picture to your chest. 

*

You woke up in a bed and room you didn’t recognize. It wasn’t a hospital but you were attached to an IV drip. You were wearing a sweatshirt that wasn’t yours but it smelt like the blonde. You took the IV out of your arm and swung your legs over to the side. Your legs were shaky and it took you a minute to feel confident to stand up. On socked feet, you walked to the door and opened it. You were in a house and it was quiet as you walked down the hallway into a living room. You should have tried to find a way to get out but your eyes were glued to a piano. It was a beautiful, white Steinway model. You sat down on the bench and opened it. The keys were cold underneath your fingers but there wasn’t any dust on them. It was well taken care of. You couldn’t remember the last time you sat at a piano, it felt like a lifetime ago. You began to play, afraid you wouldn’t be able to but it was like riding a bike. It came back to you without much thought. 

“I woke up today, at least that much is true,” you sang. Your throat was raw and it hurt but you kept going. “I saw what people see, what a year this made of me? I tried a hundred times but each time I thought of you,” you closed your eyes. You saw yourself sitting at the piano playing while Courtney sat on the couch studying. “I hate myself. I hate myself. I fucking hate myself.” She supported you in your dreams of wanting to be a singer-songwriter. 

“And I want days of pain. Oh, to feel the things I need.To pay off this shame. And I know that makes me broken. I know that makes me weak. I guess I'll put my armor back on now,” you asked her instead of doing a first dance if you could write her a song and play it. To your surprise, she said yes but she made you promise you would dance with her at some point. You promised her. You would have done anything for her if she asked.

“I found a way but I turned around. One step to start but I’d rather fall. Too much of a coward to say, ‘I’m wrong.’ Too much of a coward to admit I need help me, please.” When you opened your eyes, the blonde was leaning against the wall. She was wearing a sweatshirt with SHIELD written on it. It was so different from the clothes she wore when she was at your apartment. You ended the song. 

“That was beautiful,” you felt the tip of your lips turn into a smile. 

“Thanks,” you ran your hands across the keys. “It’s been a while since I sat down and played.” She nodded, pushed off the wall, and sat next to you on the bench. “What happened?” You asked.

“You overdosed,” she played A-C#-E on the piano. You copied her. “You’ve been out for 7 days. 

“Why didn’t you take me to the hospital?” She played C-E-G and you did the same. 

“Hospitals ask too many questions,” she smiled. “I figured you wouldn’t have to deal with questions. Your safe here,” she added. “An old friend owns this house.” You nodded, and you played E-G#-B. She tried to copy it but her last note was off. You smiled, placed your hand on top of hers, and arranged her fingers to the correct keys. It reminded you of when you tried to teach Courtney when she had free time. 

“I tried to teach Courtney how to play,” you told her. “She wasn’t very musically inclined. Her head was filled with math and science. She was in medical school when she died,” she didn’t respond but you knew she was listening. “You were right. She wouldn’t be happy with me.” The blonde sighed. 

“I should have handled that differently. For that, I’m sorry.” You played F-A-C and she copied it perfectly. 

“Why do you care?” You asked. “I’ve tried to rack my brain around it. You don’t know me.”

“Do you know who I am?” She asked. You looked at it. She didn’t look familiar. You shook your head. “My name is Yelena. My sister was Natasha Romanoff.” You knew the name. Even in your small town, you knew who the Avengers were. 

“You're an Avenger,” she nodded. “What does that have to do with me?” She sighed, playing G-B-D but you didn’t play it back.

“The truck that caused the accident didn’t fall asleep. He was murdered,” your stomach dropped. You could hear your heart pound in your ears. You had a vague memory of overhearing Courtney’s brother, who was also a truck driver, said he thought it was odd that a truck driver with that much experience would fall asleep at the wheel. 

“Did you-?”

“No,” she said. “No, but I was responsible for trying to stop the group. I was too late,” it clicked. She blamed herself for what happened to Courtney and in turn what your life became. You wanted to ask more but you sensed she didn’t want to give the specifics. “I’m sorry.”

“You aren’t to blame for her death,” she didn’t look convinced. “Did you stop them from hurting other people?” She nodded. “Good, that’s all it matters.” Yelena seemed lost in thought so you continued to play to fill the silence. 

“Her parents miss you,” she said, causing you to stop mid-song. “They called and I told them you weren’t feeling well and that you’ll call when you are better.” 

“I don’t want them to see me like this,” your hand shook. “My parents weren’t supportive of my relationship with Courtney or my career choice. They looked after me even after the accident. I-” she placed her hand on top of yours.

“It’s okay,” she said. “In your song, you said you were scared to ask for help. I want to help.” 

“I don’t want you to help me because of guilt or pity,” you said. “What will you get out of it?” She smiled. 

“Well, you could provide pizza,” you laughed. A real laugh that sounded foreign. “And you could teach me piano.” You stared into her green eyes and saw something you hadn’t let yourself feel in a very long time. Hope. 

“Okay,” you whispered. “When do we start?” 

“Play something for me,” you did. You played for her and she sat and listened to you. You poured your heart and soul into these songs hoping a stranger would help you put your armor back on.    

[astheskycries]

Accepted- Finale

Planning a wedding with the man she loves and working small jobs with SHIELD seems like an easy task, but now that Jonathan is dead, Maggie and Steve have to continue tracking down HYDRA and cleaning up the mess left behind- which is easier said than done when the Winter Soldier has returned.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7

Masterlist Buy Me a Coffee  

The steady beep of the monitor pulls me from the peaceful void of darkness, forcing me back to consciousness as I force my eyes open. The smell of antiseptic and an oddly sharp scent of clean drags me out of the peaceful void, and I turn my head to see Steve standing with a doctor, looking angry as he speaks with Helen Cho. I catch “blood loss” and “best we can" before the she notices me, rushing over to check the machine and my vitals. 

“Maggie,” Steve breathes, relief flooding his previously furrowed features as moves closer, gripping my hand in his. “You’re ok, you’re safe.” 

I swallow, brows furrowed as I try to sit up. “Where-” 

“Hey,” He gently stops me, instead helping me carefully shift upright to more of a sitting position. “We’re back in New York, Tony was able to rush you back for surgery. You lost a lot of blood…” 

“We almost lost you.” Dr. Banner says quietly, moving from the doorway to review what Cho checked. “If you’d been any later… Well, we were lucky to have Dr. Cho here to help. She was able to repair the cells so you could heal faster.” 

I nod slowly, trying to process as I accept the small cup of water Steve hands me, a bit uneasy as I feel his gaze never leave my face. “Where’s Natasha and Wanda? Are they ok?” 

“Everyone is fine,” He soothes, thumb gently stroking my knuckles. “They’re resting in their rooms.” 

I release a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, finally able to relax knowing they’re ok. “Steve… We need to talk. About everything.” 

He nods, eyes unreadable as his features harden a bit. “And we will. But right now, I care more about you and your health.” His hand gently brushes a strand of hair from my forehead. “I don’t want to interfere with you healing and getting better.” 

“That’s not going to affect my health.” I say flatly, eyes narrowing a bit as I watch his mask slip back on- the Captain taking its place. “We’re not going to accomplish anything if we keep pushing it off.” 

Steve releases a long breath. “… Alright. But give us a bit longer, just to make sure you’re stable. Please. When they almost lost you…” He swallows, shifting uncomfortably. “For my peace of mind. Then I promise we’ll talk.” 

I nod, understanding the compromise- how much I scared him, all of them. “Deal.” 

Bruce comes over to press a button, looking as distracted as usual as he jots things down in his notebook instead of the tablet Helen has. He never was able to fully swap to Tony’s tech, especially when he was so worried about the Hulk. “How’s Barnes? I saw he was cleared of all charges.” 

“He’s fine.” Steve says dismissively, thumbs still stroking my knuckles like a lifeline. “I was stupid to be so worried with Tony and T’Challa. I was so scared to lose my best friend again... I let it ruin the life I have now.” 

I swallow, still not fully convinced. “What are you really doing here, Steve?” 

Bruce awkwardly clears his throat, mumbling how my condition is stable as he quickly excuses himself. Steve’s brows furrow as his face studies mine, features slowly sagging as he seems to realize I’m serious. “I wasn’t lying. You scared me, I thought I lost you. Seeing you there... I never want to be without you again.” 

I swallow. “Steve...” 

He shifts to kneel next to me, hands taking mine as he makes sure my eyes are on his. “I love you, Maggie. I will never let you go again.” 

I release a breath, hands squeezing his. “We still need to talk. And work out everything, and probably talk to someone.” 

He kisses my knuckles. “I’m willing to do whatever it takes to have you back. I want you in my life, by my side, however you’ll have me.” 

I blush, reaching to cup Steve’s cheek and relaxing once he leans into the touch. “I missed you, Steve...” 

Steve smiles softly, turning to kiss my palm. “I missed you too. And there is someone determined to make sure I never forget it.” 

“Bucky?” 

He flushes a bit, looking a bit guilty. “The jerk never stopped asking about you. He wanted me to stay with you, but I was too stubborn to listen.” 

I giggle a bit, enjoying the embarrassment on his face. “Good,” I tease, giggling more at the face Steve makes. “Sounds like I owe him one.” 

“Oh, don’t tell him that, it’ll go straight to his head.” He grins, kissing my fingers again before rising. “Let me see how long they need you here, then we can get you more comfortable at home.” 

... 

I hum to myself as I flip the page in the file, lounging back on the couch with one of Steve’s warm blankets across my lap. “It looks good Scott, you sure you don’t mind the extra work while I’m out?” 

Scott shrugs, trying and failing to not look like he’s staring at our small apartment. “I don’t mind, gives me something to do while Cassie’s gone.” He nods at me. “You feel any better?” 

I shrug a bit, setting the file down. “Sometimes. I’m tired of being on bedrest, but it’s healing so I can’t complain.” 

“She still tries though,” Steve chimes in, winking at me as he passes me another water. “I appreciate you bringing it here.” 

“Of course, anything for the Captain.” He nods, excusing himself to leave and accidentally shutting the door hard. “Sorry!” 

“I like him,” I grin, watching Steve settle into the cushion beside me. 

“He’s good,” Steve hums, rubbing my leg. “A bit excited, but a good head. And more than happy to keep you busy while you’re off.” 

I make a face. “I’m trying...” 

“Hey,” He gently squeezes my hand. “I know you are. I know what it’s like to be pushed to the sidelines, I get it. That’s why I thought having you more on this side was easier.” 

“I thought it was because you hated writing reports,” I tease, laughing when he rolls his eyes. “I know what you mean, Steve. I appreciate it, especially with everything going on.” 

He nods, gently stroking my knuckles with his thumb. “Is Zoe still coming over?” 

I nod, perking up. “Yeah, her and her new boyfriend. I heard a lot about her being moved, but I’m ready to meet this new guy she’s been excited about. It’s good seeing her happy.” 

Steve grins. “Good, I’ll make sure dinner’s all ready, get some beers in the fridge, whatever you guys want. Except you,” He eyes me playfully. “No alcohol with your medicine.” 

“Oh whatever,” I wave it off, getting more comfortable. “If that’s the worst thing I have to deal with I’m fine.” 

He opens his mouth to retort when there’s a sharp knock on the door, pulling his attention. “That must be Zoe.” He hums, easily tugging the door open and freezing at the sight of Zoe and a familiar man waiting, the taller man looking a bit nervous. “Buck?” Steve stares, glancing between the two. “Are you-” 

“Yeah,” He grins sheepishly, holding Zoe a bit closer to his side as she relaxes against him. “We kind of- met when I was on the run.” 

I blink, staring at Zoe. “I get a story someday, right?” 

“Of course,” She smiles, moving over to hug me. “You’ll be the first.” 

Bucky smirks at Steve’s bewildered expression. “Wake up, punk. It’s not the 40s anymore.” Steve snaps out of it enough to shove him, making Bucky laugh. “It was a fluke, Steve. We just happened to connect.” 

“I think it’s great.” I smile at Zoe, not missing how genuinely happy she is. “The more the merrier, right?” 

Steve chuckles, shaking his head. “Honestly... If it were anyone else, I’d be worried. Not you two though,” He accepts Zoe’s side hug, grinning at Bucky. “Besides, it makes it easier to have you guys as our best man and maid of honor.” 

“Wait- Are you?”’ Zoe looks between us, smiling when she sees my nod. “Of course! Whatever you guys need, we’re there. Right?” She glances at Bucky, seeming a bit embarrassed.  

Bucky’s all smiles, looking at her like she holds up the sky. “Right, doll. Any time.” 

Tags:  @janeyboo  @mylittlefandomfanfictions  @palaiasaurus64  @averyrogers83  @guera31  @soulmates8  @coffeebooksandfandom  @sweater-daddiesdumbdork  @pegasusdragontiger  @mizzzpink  @onetwo3000  @see-you-again-my-sun-and-stars  @sleepylunarwolf  @wheresmyplums  @smoothdogsgirl  @marvelouslyme96  @esoltis280  @jtargaryen18  @k-evans-writes  @rainbowkisses31  @buchanansebba  @katiew1973  @patzammit  @time-for-a-lullaby 

[camillemontespan]

the memory of us [drake x camille AU] [part two]

@sophxwithers​ @katedrakeohd​ @saivilo​ @burnsoslow​ @jovialyouthmusic​ @gardeningourmet​ @kingliam2019​ ***************

Camille stared at the man standing before her. He was tall, around six foot four, and his body was broad and muscled; he looked strong. His dark hair was tousled and he had deep brown eyes. 

Eyes that were filled with pain and horror at this very moment. 

‘Camille..’ he whispered, his voice breaking. ‘Wha-’

‘How do you know my name?’ Camille asked. She gripped hold of the duvet cover. ‘Where am I?’

‘You’re in the hospital.’

A lady dressed in a doctors uniform stepped forward. Her hands were clasped in front of her and she looked extremely concerned. 

‘You were involved in a car accident,’ the doctor went on, ‘and you suffered a head injury.’

Camille blinked. ‘I don’t remember the car accident..’

‘What do you remember?’ the doctor asked softly. 

Camille looked at the man who was watching her. He was physically trembling, his hands clenched into tights fists by his side. 

‘I… I remember working a shift last night?’ Camille said hesitantly. ‘I work as a waitress-’

She broke off when the man let out a choked sob. He turned and stumbled into the corner of the room, his head in his hands. He leaned against the wall; his shoulders started to shake as he quietly cried.

Camille felt confusion and guilt. Who was this man and why was he so broken up about this? About her? Was he a witness to the car accident? She didn’t know him from anywhere. 

The doctor sat down on the edge of the bed. Her lips were pressed together. This didn’t look good.

‘Camille.. I think you’ve suffered some memory loss-’

‘SOME MEMORY LOSS?’ the man burst out, pushing himself away from the wall. ‘Doctor, she thinks she’s still a fucking waitress! She doesn’t know who I am!’

Camille’s eyes darted between the doctor, who was trying to calm him down, and the man who was shouting. 

‘I’m sorry…’ Camille said quietly. 

The man made his way back to the bed and crouched down on the floor in front of Camille. She looked down into his distraught eyes. Without a word, he took out his phone and showed her the screen. 

The screensaver showed a picture of Camille cuddling a little girl and a baby.

‘I’m your husband,’ he told her, his voice sounding detached. ‘And these are your daughters.’

*******************

Panic surged up in Camille. ‘What?!’ she cried. ‘No no no.. I’m sorry, that has to be photoshop and you’re a stalker or something - I’m not married! I don’t have kids! I’m just Camille Montespan from New York!’

Every word she said seemed to break the man apart even more. Eventually, she stopped speaking all together when she realised how upset he was. 

‘Your Grace..’ the doctor murmured to the man.

Camille pointed at her. ‘Why is she calling you that? WHO ARE YOU?’

The man sighed and rubbed his eyes with his hands before fixing her with a steady stare. ‘I’m Drake,’ he said bluntly. ‘I’m the Duke of Valtoria. In case you don’t know, Valtoria is a duchy in the European country of Cordonia. Cordonia is tiny and our delicacy is an apple-’

‘Your Grace..’ the doctor cut in, her voice like a warning. But Drake kept talking, his voice monotone, as if he was reading from a script. 

‘We have been married for five years,’ Drake said. ‘We met at a suitor competition in which you were competing to marry the prince of Cordonia- now the King- who is called Liam. He is my best friend. We caught feelings for each other though and that made everything with Liam very awkward, can’t say that was surprising. Anyway, he proposed to you but you said no -’

‘Your Grace..’ the doctor cut in again, her voice like ice. ‘Stop it-’

‘So I proposed to you instead and you said yes. I was so happy-’

Drake DID NOT sound happy in this moment.

‘So we got married and became the Duke of Duchess of Valtoria. If it was up to us, we would live in Texas, where I’m actually from, as we actually hate the nobility and rules that dictate our life. But we get on with it and you are actually an incredible Duchess. The people love you. They tolerate me. We have two daughters. Lily is five and Luna is ten months old-’

He broke off there. Thinking about the two girls seemed to have caught Drake off guard. Camille swallowed, watching him warily.

‘I can’t do this..’ Drake croaked, looking at the doctor now. She looked furious. Turning, Drake strode out of the room, slamming the door behind him. The doctor looked at Camille, bowed quickly, and rushed out of the room after him.

Camille flopped down against the pillows. Her heart was racing. This had to be dream. There was no way this was real. A Duchess. In Europe. Married. Two kids. 

She saw Drake’s phone lying on the duvet. Quickly, she reached out and pressed the button. The screensaver of her and the two girls came up again. 

Camille studied the photo. She was cuddling the girls; the older one was laughing while the baby was looking up at Camille with wide eyes. Camille herself looked happy. 

It wasn’t photoshop; the older girl looked like an exact copy of Camille. Genetics were strong. 

Camille let out a sob and dropped the phone. If Drake was telling the truth - and the doctor was right-, this was her life. She felt so guilty that she couldn’t remember any of it. She couldn’t remember the two little girls who looked so in love with her. 

*************************

‘Your Grace-’

‘Just call me Drake, please.’

‘Fine. Drake.’

The doctor had found Drake down the corridor. He was sitting on the corridor floor, trying to calm himself down. The doctor sat down beside him. 

‘You can’t shout at her about everything she can’t remember, it’s too much,’ Doctor Santiago said. ‘It’s not her fault.’

Drake closed his eyes. ‘I know it’s not,’ he replied. ‘I just.. I feel helpless. I got too emotional. I just can’t believe that she doesn’t remember who I am.. Who our daughters are. This morning, she was getting Lily ready for school and kissing me, and now she looks at me like I’m a total stranger. It’s terrifying.’

Doctor Santiago nodded. ‘I know,’ she said gently. ‘This might not be permanent. Her memory could come back, it’s happened before.’

Drake looked at her. ‘What if it doesn’t?’

The doctor looked down at her hands. ‘I will be honest, I’ve not had this sort of case before,’ she admitted. ‘But all I can suggest is you take Camille home. Get her into her normal routine and that might help kickstart some memories. Nothing too big to begin with. And with time, she might start to remember.’

Drake nodded slowly. ‘How do I deal with my daughters?’

The doctor winced. ‘For now, I would tell them that Camille has had an accident and may not be very good at remembering things. Kids know, Drake. They’re intuitive.’

The two of them stood up and looked back towards Camille’s door. ‘I’ll keep her in for a few nights for observation,’ Doctor Santiago told him. ‘And in six weeks, she will have another brain scan.’

The doctor went to file Camille’s documents, leaving Drake alone in the corridor. He looked at Camille’s door and prepared himself to go back inside. 

*****************************

Camille looked up as the door opened. She wiped her eyes furiously, trying to appear normal. As normal as the situation would allow, anyway. 

Drake awkwardly came into the room. He gave her a slight nod and sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘I’ve got to go home and see Lily.’

Camille had a feeling he meant the older daughter. 

‘Lily..’ she said, sounding out the name. It was pretty. 

‘What about.. The other one?’

Drake swallowed. Camille felt guilty, knowing every question was a knife in his heart. 

‘Luna is also there,’ Drake told her. ‘The girls are being watched by their Uncle Leo and Aunt Olivia,’ Drake explained. ‘They’re our best friends. Surprising considering me and Liv used to hate each other..’ 

He looked down and shook his head. ‘That’s not important. Anyway, Leo picked up Lily from school as soon as the news broke about your accident and Liv is looking after Luna. I need to tell them what’s going on and try and explain to Lily about the situation. You’re being kept here for a few nights for observation.’

There was a long stretch of silence between them until Camille broke it.

‘Can I meet them?’

Drake blinked in surprise. ‘Who?’

‘Lily and Luna,’ she said. ‘My.. our daughters.’

Drake smiled softly. ‘Of course. I’ll bring them to you tomorrow morning.’

Camille looked anxious about this but also like she desperately wanted to please him. ‘Um.. what does Lily like? I’ll need to talk to her so would be good to have some pointers.’

Drake studied his hands, which were still shaking. 

‘She loves Disney, particularly the film Tangled,’ he said, ‘and her favourite character is Flynn Rider, she’s obsessed with him. She’s very girly so if you mention how much you like her outfit, that’ll get you brownie points.’

Camille smiled. ‘What about Luna?’

‘She’s ten months old, very quiet,’ Drake explained. ‘Always watching everyone around her.’

Camille nodded, making mental notes. Drake sighed and got up from the bed. ‘I should go,’ he told her. 

For a long moment, they stared at each other. He looked like he didn’t know how to say goodbye. Clearing his throat,  he reached out and gently took her left hand. He kissed it; the silver ring on her wedding ring finger glimmered in the light. 

[fellermedicalny]

Quick Glance at a FUE Hair Transplant

Your smile fades away whenever you look into the mirror after noticing growing baldness—anxiety and feelings of low self-worth creep in, causing more disastrous effects on your mental health. Hair Transplant Long Island is the most effective and near-permanent solution to your hair loss condition. However, you should choose the right hair transplant clinic and the best surgeon for your treatment. Your doctor is the right person to guide you on which hair transplant Long Island you must choose after a comprehensive hair diagnosis. 

There are two hair transplant techniques: FUE Hair Transplant New York and FUT. In this blog post, we will focus especially on FUE Hair Transplant.

What is a FUE Hair Transplant?

Follicular Unit Extraction (FUE) hair transplants in New York are performed by extracting individual hair follicles from the donor site and implanting them correctly onto the recipient site. This will make the hair growth in the new region look thicker.

FUE Hair Transplant Long Island came into existence to replace the Follicular Unit Transplantation (FUT) technique. The procedure involved taking a piece of skin containing hair follicles and implanting it into the recipient area.

The ideal candidate for an FUE Hair Transplant in New York is the one with receding hair or balding who still has sufficient hair in the neighboring region for a Hair Transplant in Long Island. 

You are unsuitable for a FUE Hair Transplant in New York if you lack sufficient healthy or thick hair to implant into the thinning or balding region.

How much does a FUE Hair Transplant Cost?

The overall cost of a FUE transplant procedure depends on the following factors:

How much hair is taken out and transplanted?

How many surgeons are present in your area to perform the procedure

How often your surgeon performs FUE Hair transplants in New York

How much experience does your surgeon have?

You are more likely to pay for the procedure because most health insurance plans don’t cover cosmetic surgeries. 

You will also have to pay for prescribed medicines for pain or other side effects that might occur after the procedure.

While evaluating the cost, you should consider the time taken off for recovery. It might take 3 to 4 days at home. Generally, companies don’t cover hair restoration procedures under medical leave policies.

How does a FUE Hair Transplant function?

Once you get older, the three-stage cycle of hair growth and regrowth shortens until follicles don’t regrow hair. 

The process seems different for everyone. Some men show signs of baldness in their 20s, while others lose hair later in life.

FUE Hair transplants in New York regain hair by replicating these hair follicles with new ones that can still grow.

Once the hair surgery is done, these follicles start emerging hair in the region that previously had thin hair or balding.

Procedure for a FUE Hair Transplant

Let’s look into the working of a FUE procedure.

Your surgeon will remove the hair in the region where follicles will be extracted and in the transplant area.

With a micropunch tool, they will take out hair follicles.

The surgeon will make various small incisions using a needle or other small, sharp tool where the removed follicles will be placed.

They will place the follicles into the tiny incisions.

Your surgeon will clean and apply the bandage on the region for recovery.

The Takeaway

Try to research more about hair transplant procedures. It is important to find the right surgeon and clinic to provide you with more natural-looking results. During the initial consultation, clear your doubts about the procedure.

[sobeautifullyobsessed]

I posted 6,975 times in 2022

That's 1,720 more posts than 2021!

937 posts created (13%)

6,038 posts reblogged (87%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@doctorstrangeaskblog

@elennemigo

@strangelock221b

@ben-locked

@fanartka

I tagged 6,332 of my posts in 2022

Only 9% of my posts had no tags

#stephen strange - 925 posts

#strangebatch - 699 posts

#benedict cumberbatch - 694 posts

#doctor strange - 679 posts

#doctor strange in the multiverse of madness - 627 posts

#fanart appreciation - 532 posts

#trials & tribulations of a writer - 288 posts

#defender strange - 275 posts

#beautifullystrange - 256 posts

#loml - 244 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#at the end if the summer they used to give out tee shirts with that summer's theme on them to kids & adults alike - if you filled your sheet

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

She Wore Gardenias In Her Hair - chapter one

a Stephen Strange x Female Reader fan fic

summary: It's an historic day for Stephen Strange, and those that know him best. His wedding day. It must've taken a very special woman to capture the heart of this Master of the Mystic Arts--let's see if the day turns out as romantic as his fiancee is hoping for. And if this once very confirmed bachelor finds the sort of happiness he'd never dared to dream could someday be his.

characters: Stephen Strange, Female Reader/Y/N, Wong, Cloak of Levitation, more to follow in future chapters

genre: pure, unadulterated romance

rating: general...for now 😉

word count: 2.6k

Stephen hadn’t gotten quite the full night’s rest that he’d been hoping for. Well before midnight, he’d seen you to the door of the suite your parents and sisters had taken for the holiday weekend and had lingered as long as he could before kissing you goodnight--tasting your sweetness one last time before the vows to come, which would change both your lives forever. Then he had opted to walk several blocks downtown towards Bleecker Street, just to take the time to reflect upon the momentous step he was about to take. One which Stephen had never imagined actually taking place, either in his old or new life. But one he knew now was as wonderfully inevitable as the fate that had brought him to Kamar-Taj--a broken man who, by virtue of his once unbearable misfortune, had discovered that his true vocation was unselfish service to humanity. Well worth the price of the loss of both his hands’ utility as a surgeon par excellence—as well as the loss of most of his petty vanities.

When convenient, he’d ducked into an unlit alley and portaled the rest of the way back to the Sanctum. Cloak, along with Wong-- who took his responsibilities as Best Man with dedicated relish-- had been waiting up for Stephen in the small study attached to the Sanctum Master’s rooms. In lieu of a bachelor party—the groom had flatly rejected the idea of such an event at the very first mention of such—but knowing Stephen’s educated taste for bourbon, Wong had managed to purchase a seven-year old bottle of Maker’s Mark Weller Special Reserve (certainly with the proceeds from his Shanghai fight club wins, Strange assumed). “A toast to the bride, my friend,” his fellow master told him, cracking the seal on the bottle and pouring out into two antique crystal tumblers that had been part of a gift to the New York Sanctum from Benjamin Franklin--whom history failed to report, had dabbled in a bit of magic himself from time to time. 

“How you ever stumbled upon such a smart, gentle woman with a heart soft enough to tolerate your ego and overlook your usual rash behavior, remains a continual wonder to me,” he announced, and then chuckled warmly, slapping Stephen’s back for good measure, “But I’m damn glad you had wisdom enough to not look the Universe’s gift dumbly in the mouth, and took her up for all that she is worth!”

His glass still raised, Stephen nodded his head in unstinting accord. “I’ve never agreed with you more, Wong. As the most undeserving of men, I can only think I must have done something very right in my…” he framed his next few words in a one-handed air quote, “…‘in my youth or childhood’ to be given the mercy of her love. And I plan to give her every reason to stay by my side, every chance that I’m allotted.” He took a long quaff of the rich, amber fluid, enjoying the good burn as it went down.

“See that you do,” Wong grunted, before swallowing down his own.

Soon enough, Wong capped the bottle, telling Stephen he had promised you to make sure your fiancée’s sleep went uninterrupted; except for the most dire of emergencies, Wong would be taking up the mantle of Sanctum Master until the newlyweds returned from their too-brief honeymoon. Thus, he had practically ordered Strange off to bed, although Stephen was happy to oblige. He had already planned on meditating, hoping it would ease him into a night with dreams filled with only the best of things. With only you.

It wasn’t wedding jitters or a case of cold feet that had denied him his full rest. ‘Twas sweet anticipation of what had longtime been unthinkable for Stephen—pledging his heart in a lifetime commitment to a wonderful soul who understood him as no one in his past ever had and loved him without reservation despite the wealth of flaws he’d been working to overcome since he had had dedicated himself to protect and defend Earth as an initiate of the Mystic Arts. This night, his mind had wandered back to the lucky day he’d first seen you in Metropolitan General’s ER.

Stephen had been there to visit with Christine Palmer—their first face-to-face meeting since he had Blipped back into existence. Both their schedules had been hectic and overfilled. His with attending to shoring up the cascade of fissures in, and allaying the disruptions to, this reality’s stability, in the wake of his necessary tampering with the integrity of Space and Time to resurrect countless lives across the Universe. She with an overwhelming host of medical emergencies brought on by the sudden return of patients that had disappeared five years ago, mid need, and new ones created when those Lost tried to piece together their old lives in a world that had long since moved on. Watching Christine in action, confident, commanding, and compelling in her unique way, had left Stephen aching in places he hadn’t had time to even consider since his return. That old ache, which could never be satisfied, to be a doctor once again, and jump into the fray at her side. And the quiet ache of knowing that he had missed his chance to love her properly—as they both had deserved of him—and build themselves a life together.

Still, Stephen had hung back a while, envying the vital purpose of the doctors and nurses all around him. There were so many new faces since his tenure there had ended, some much younger and more fresh-faced then he ever remembered being throughout his internship and residency. A pretty, dark-haired nurse attending to a crying preschooler caught his eye. The little girl seemed to be lost, having apparently wandered in off the street. He found himself moved by how gently the woman took the child in hand and calmed her down, eventually making her giggles bubble forth amidst the hectic ER. There’s a special kind of magic in that, he remembered thinking; one I never mastered, nor even attempted. But this one makes it look effortless. Stephen had assumed correctly, that you had a background in pediatrics—and was doubly impressed when he went on to discover you were a board-certified midwife as well.

The next time he’d seen you, he’d stopped by the hospital cafeteria to grab a quick cup of coffee with Christine. Touching base only, for she had made sure that Stephen understood she was seriously involved with someone. She’d already been seated when he got there, with a large cup of coffee waiting for him, just the way she remembered he preferred—and was deep in conversation with the pretty nurse from that day in the ER. He ended up sitting opposite you, with his old flame making introductions, but having to dash off a few minutes later at the behest of her pager.

Left alone, the two of you had settled into a comfortable conversation, which went on longer than it felt—a good half hour until you had to excuse yourself to meet a laboring mother-to-be in Admissions. Before that, Stephen eventually mentioned having seen you with the crying child that afternoon—and you dared to ask if he was the Doctor Strange from the Avengers. The hero who had traveled through time to find the solution to set the world to rights. He’d been quite taken by two things at that first meeting: the honest respect in your eyes—not hero worship, but a smart appreciation for the work he did and the painful sacrifices you had intuited he had made in that arduous quest…and the pretty shape of your mouth. The easiness of your smile and the tender looking fullness of your lips. Lips that any man might speculate had been made especially for kissing. Even then, he’d been willing to wager your kisses would be as magical as your bedside manner with that young girl. So that as you rose to say goodbye, he couldn’t not ask for your number—eagerly hoping that you’d agree to see him again, and sometime soon.

Nineteen months later, you were practically living together, as well ensconced in his Sanctum quarters as in his life—and Stephen had never looked back. Not once. Your relationship had grown so naturally, and you had quickly acclimated to the magical aspects of life as a world-famous Sorcerer’s girlfriend, with your feet planted firmly in your work, and your arms ever ready to welcome him home from his extra dimensional travels and supernatural battles. You’d filled his heart with a happiness he had never anticipated could be his, and his bed with the warmth of being well and truly loved—and a passion that brought back the vigor of his youth. Forcing him to set warding spells to soundproof every room of his quarters; you might appear decorous to your patients and co-workers, but you sure knew how to let him know how much you loved him—and how very well he satisfied you.

For Stephen, your relationship was the one good thing that came out of The Blip. If not for those five years, you’d never have met—as you would still have been in training for your dual career. And likely with your age difference, he wouldn’t have given you a second look. The twelve-year gap was a helluva lot better than seventeen. You were mature enough to know what you wanted, without needing to compromise to get it. While being young enough to remind him that life didn’t come to one, hat in hand—one must pursue happiness with the gusto of youth, even with silver at one’s temples. As he had pursued you; as you had pursued one another.

Yes, the two of you were naturals together alright; your softness and compassion, your sly sense of humor and loving heart, the perfect fit with his sometimes snarky and tunnel-visioned angles and edges—and that the deep heart, which he had only come to realize was his since discovering the mystic arts, was most fulfilled when he was doing the right thing. No matter the personal cost.

It was your second Christmas Eve together when Stephen slipped a modest diamond ring upon your finger. By New Year’s Day, you’d set the date, and now it was here. Memorial Day weekend, late spring in New York City, a long weekend that would enable your far-flung family and friends to attend. Stephen’s guests were far fewer in number. Except for an estranged brother, he had no immediate family. He had never had the time or inclination to cultivate a coterie of friends in his old life, although those he’d made among his fellow Masters were loyal and true. He was glad to tailor the wedding plans to your needs, for your happiness had now become his own. Besides, Stephen firmly believed that he was getting the better end of the deal.

His trip down memory lane had soothed him enough to override the low-level beat at the back of his brain, which had grown more and more insistent in the past week. I’ve never been husband material…I’m too cocky and self-absorbed, too impulsive and sardonic, to be the life partner you deserve. And my life’s work now—it’s not at all conducive to domestic bliss. Not when I can’t say with any certainty where in the world, or worlds or dimensions, I’ll be at any given time—let alone the ordinary…tomorrow. Plus, he just couldn’t shake the overall feeling that he simply wasn’t good enough for you. Stephen knew very well how you would answer each of these justly arrived at estimations of himself, with a loving wisdom that dispelled his doubts and reservations as though there were as insubstantial as the ghosts of his past. Seeing himself through your eyes was the sole remedy that made him feel worthy of the love you offered him.

And so, sleep at last overtook him, and when Stephen awoke by habit, just a few minutes before his alarm, he couldn’t remember nodding off, but knew it was thoughts of you alone that had ushered him into his rest. Unlike habit, Cloak was hovering bedside, and even without the physical connection usually required for him to read its emotional state, Stephen could feel that its nerves were near as frayed—for his sake--as a typical groom’s on his wedding morn. “Everything’s going to be fine—I promise,” he chuckled as he swung his legs over the opposite side of the bed, “You know that. Besides, you’ll be with me the whole time, and no one besides Y/N and Wong will even have a clue.” Cloak approximated a nod, and then zipped over to the wardrobe, where Stephen’s suit hung waiting. “It’s hours until the ceremony—relax, please. Keep this up and you’re gonna make me nervous.” Cloak’s shoulders drooped a bit, and it floated over to the window, nudging aside the draperies to let in the sunshine and keep watch until Stephen would be suiting up for ceremony.

A knock upon his sitting room door spurred Stephen to grab his robe before padding over to answer it. He opened the door to find Adept Miriamme with a loaded breakfast tray. A vegetarian omelet, with sides of bacon and sausage, buttered toast, orange juice, and fresh coffee. He could smell the added chicory rising above the rest of the aromas, and his stomach rumbled. “Master Wong wanted to be sure you had a good breakfast, Doctor Strange,” the timid Miriamme squeaked, and Stephen had to refrain from chuckling again. The new initiates seemed to be getting younger and younger these days—or was he simply getting older?

“Thank you, Adept,” he told her, motioning her to put the tray on the end table beside the two-cushion sofa.

She nodded, looking very much in awe of finding herself in the Sanctum Master’s rooms, set it down and quietly headed to the door, before turning back. “Best wishes on the day, Sir.”

He grinned, “Thank you, Miriamme. It’s kind of you to say so.” She smiled back, looking a mite relieved her chore was done, and then left him to his breakfast.

Stephen was surprised at the hardiness of his appetite, grateful for Wong’s wise provision, and ate nearly every morsel--while realizing that the next meal he sat down to would be as a married man. So many firsts to come, so much to look forward to. And he planned to experience each of them to the fullest. Before his life in the mystic arts, he had sleepwalked his way through the simple joys and pleasures of life, always in pursuit of more spectacular things; of fame and accolades, and the considerable fortune that came with them. His vocation in the Mystic Arts had proven to him that a humble life of real service had so much more to offer than that of his medical career. While you had taught him that love—real, honest, head-over-heels, unselfish love—was the key to the exact happiness that had eluded him since he’d set out on his journey as an adult.

Enrapt in these pleasant musings, feeling the sweet butterflies of anticipation for all that he was gaining today, Stephen checked the time before jumping in the shower. He smiled to himself as steam filled up his bathroom, knowing that his wedding gift to you would be delivered soon. Imaging the beautiful smile that would light your lovely face once you finally opened it.

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215 notes - Posted April 25, 2022

#4

MCU Stephen Strange as a Dad:

with Peter Parker/a son: 

He’s sometimes gonna be a hardass because he knows how much potential Peter has, and he wants to nurture that for when he’s not around to look after him--but most of the time Stephen tries to calmly reason with him. He admires Peter’s big heart, especially because it couldn’t have been easy having lost his parents so young, and then his father figure, Uncle Ben, and his mentor, Tony Stark. 

And when The Kid does the right thing, all on his own (which Stephen quickly realizes is as natural to the young man as his brown eyes and fair skin)--and even more when he surpasses Stephen’s expectations--Dad!Strange is so flipping proud of his boy, to the point where he’ll get all choked up and instructs his son ‘just don’t tell Wong about this, he’ll never let me live it down’.

with America Chavez/a daughter: 

Stephen would start out all ‘okay young lady..’ and ‘you’re gonna get a stomach ache’ and ‘didn’t I try to warn you not to...’, but pretty soon he’d be all soft and doting and want to spoil her because she’s had a rough life, and he can see she’s much braver and stronger than she gives herself credit for. He’d be the Dad that waits up for her when she’s out late with her friends/gf, but pretends to be asleep in his chair when she comes home a few minutes past curfew, letting her believe she got away with it, while he’s just happy she’s home safe and tried her best to respect his wishes. He’d love to accompany her to the Father-Daughter dance, but only if she asks without any prompting, because to suggest it himself would be very uncool. 

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247 notes - Posted May 26, 2022

#3

Here is a Stephen strange prompt for you that I wrote down for my one shots thought it would be cool to see your writing for it. "Broken Cup" reader or character a coffee shop worker sees Stephen with his shaky hands struggling with the cup and he drops it breaking it. Or could be them two alone at home when she hears the cup break.

Hope you have fun dear!

I wrote this part before I got really sick--though it doesn't contain an actual broken cup, the spirit of it's there. Since I'm not sure when I'll feel up to finishing it, I figured I'd share what I already came up with. Hope you enjoy it @ravencatart xx

pairing: Stephen Strange x Female Reader

rating: wee bit of angst, mostly fluff

word count: 1.2k (so far)

His tremors were pretty bad today. She couldn’t help but notice-–and given the precipitous fall in temperature the past couple of days and the scent of the coming snowstorm in the air, she really wasn’t surprised. Because she’d been feeling it too. In the bones of both ankles, broken years ago and patched up with metal plates and multiple screws. And in scars of her own, which she painstakingly hid from the world, as they symbolized the weakest and most desperate time in her life.

Since mid-November, when the first serious frosts had settled over the Village, he had taken to wearing gloves with the fingers cut off at the second knuckle. She had guessed he chose to keep the ends of his fingers exposed to allow him better control in gripping things; it made sense that he would want direct contact with his skin to be certain he had objects well in hand. But even those gloves couldn’t hide the painful looking scars that ran the length of his fingers, and in the months since he’d been coming into the coffee shop (usually two or three times a week, and sometimes even four) whenever she got close enough, she made sure not to stare. It was more than common courtesy—her own scars, which she went to painstaking lengths to conceal, had taught her just how it felt to get the curious, and worse, pitying looks they summoned from strangers.

Silver Fox—that’s what she had named him, based not only on the white streaks of hair at his temples, but because he struck her as the embodiment of the word distinguished…and because he was the finest looking man she’d ever seen.

Looks that had a movie star quality about them. Cheekbones fine enough to out-pretty most super models. An endearingly crooked sort of smile, that started on the left corner of his mouth and—if he had reason to smile broadly--spread gloriously to fill his handsome face, like sunshine filling the sky after a sudden spring downpour. Plush lips, full and tender looking, like they were made for kissing, surrounded by a well-trimmed moustache and goatee. She often wondered how he managed that, with the way his hands trembled at times. Maybe he had a significant other who helped him with that; she knew he probably wasn’t married, as he wore no wedding ring.

And his eyes. Breathtaking, really. Pale, crystalline blue in the vivid sunlight that came through the plate glass window of the store front, though at times she could swear there were swirls of green and even gold in their depths. He seemed a keen observer of the world, like his exotic, mesmerizing eyes didn’t miss a trick. Sometimes she caught him watching her, and she always blushed, wondering if he discerned that she’d developed a wicked crush on him.

Today, Silver Fox had ordered a chocolate croissant (one of his favorites; he clearly had a sweet tooth) and instead of his usual black coffee laced with chickory, hot chocolate with a double shot of salted caramel. Elise—the new girl—had served it to him in a ceramic mug. She didn’t know any better, and apparently he hadn’t thought to ask for a disposable cup instead, as she herself would’ve known to fill out his order.

He had placed both palms around the mug, probably enjoying the heat of the beverage upon his damaged hands, and his eyes were closed, as though he was concentrating hard. She watched him take a deep breath and exhale hard, like he was bracing himself for a difficult task. And her heart went out to him as he lifted the mug barely an inch, lowering his mouth to the shaking beverage to take a single sip. That was never going to do. She just had to help him, somehow.

Without a moment’s hesitation, she set the slice of white cheddar-topped apple pie in front of another regular patron and turned without a word to grab one of the thick, cardboard to-go cups and filled it to the brim with the sweet chocolate, hit it with two shots of salted caramel, and then topped it with a generous spray of whipped topping, the finishing touch a drizzle of caramel over the cream.

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253 notes - Posted January 15, 2022

#2

Can someone please explain to me why my heart does a little lurch when I see him this way? I mean, I don’t even know 838 Stephen, and yet I love him and wanna protect and cuddle him. 

What is this power that Stephen and so many of his Variants have over me? Is it the witchcraft of Benedict Cumberbatch? Or perhaps because my love for Stephen Strange has taken on a life of it’s own?

259 notes - Posted May 12, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

For the Stephen Strange x Female Reader prompt: how about a cute fluffy little thingie where the question comes up whether Cloakie ever needs to get into the washing machine?

I hope you find this cute & fluffy, Nonny. Thank you for the prompt, it feels good to stretch my writing muscles, and I'm hoping it helps get me in the writing groove again!

pairing: Stephen Strange x Female Reader, established relationship

characters: Stephen Strange, Reader/Y/N (also a practitioner of the Mystic Arts), Cloak of Levitation

rating: general audience, fluff with undertones of mutual longing

word count: 1.5K

You had left Stephen to sleep in this morning. As happy as you were to have him safely home at last (and having proved both your relief and delight to him three times in all, throughout the very delicious, velvet dark of night) you had awakened to watch him sleeping peacefully (his battle wounds already on the mend from the healing spells you’d cast when he finally stumbled through the portal from Crete), and had resolved to make him take some much deserved downtime for at least a day or two.

And so, you had silently slipped from his bed, loathe to leave his warmth behind, but fully intent upon spoiling him rotten in even the most mundane ways. Sorcerer Supreme he may be and a heroic, selfless servant to humanity, but he was still a flesh and blood man, and he deserved every ounce of the love and attention you planned to lavish upon him. You soon had his favorite, non-magical, breakfast foods prepared and left warming in the oven for once he was awake.

Next, you had gathered his discarded, slightly bloodied but heavily battle-singed tunic and leggings from the bathroom floor (where they’d fallen when you’d peeled them off of him the night before) for a thorough laundering, and once they were clean and dry, you worked the restoration spell yourself, instilling each magical stitch with protective charms and all the love that bloomed anew within your heart each day you were blessed enough to call yourself his woman. Though Cloak was in obvious need of a good washing too, it had flitted off the very moment that Stephen had let himself sag into your arms, and you hadn’t seen a flash of it since. You decided to track it down later, determined to relieve its Master of that chore as well.

Tiptoeing into his bed chamber, you found that Stephen had flipped onto his stomach, his arms tucked beneath his pillow and the sheet nestled around his waist—so that you went all soft inside, biting your lip against a longing sigh at the sight of his warm, inviting flesh. His broad shoulders that carried so many thankless responsibilities. His perfectly toned expanse of back, marked here and there with battle scars, which ever drew your loving attention, as though you would give him the sweetest, most gentle gratitude, which an unknowing world owed him for the protection he provided it. Aye me, you thought; the lover’s sigh of Juliet often came to mind when you looked upon his beautiful form, amazed in knowing that his heart belonged to you as much as yours did to him.

“I can feel you watching me,” he mumbled into his pillow, his sleepy voice so rich and deep that a thrill ran through you and settled in your solar plexus. You had to tighten your grip on the laundry basket, defying the sudden urge to jump his bones.

“I wasn’t sure if you were awake yet,” you tried to reason, blushing as much from the fib as from the spark of desire he had conjured without even trying. “I didn’t want to disturb you, darling…”

Stephen gave a sinful sounding groan, and with some effort and a wince or two, turned onto his back. Obviously, he was still feeling the effects of his struggle to cast a trio of immature Lamias back into the Shadow dimension from whence they had escaped; likely he needed another rubdown with the charmed salve you had treated his muscles with last night. “I was hoping you had every intention of disturbing me, honey,” he replied, smirking wickedly and patting the mattress beside him.

“Stephen,” you tutted, setting the basket with his clean robes on the foot of the bed. “You needed your rest, and…well…” you shrugged, looking away from the warmth of his gaze, trying to maintain a semblance of decorum, “…so I decided to…putter…”

His smirk grew into his trademark, shit-eating grin. “Putter?” he chuckled, “Pray tell, my saucy sorceress, how exactly did you putter?”

When he looked at you this way, it got harder and harder to concentrate on whatever task was at hand, let alone expressing yourself cogently. You knew for a fact that Stephen enjoyed how flustered you got when he turned on the charm, and how easily you turned to putty in his hands. You squared your shoulders, trying your best to keep your cool. “I’ve got breakfast keeping warm in the oven, and…I took care of your laundry…”

“You didn’t need to do that, honey,” he replied softly, sitting up and patting the bed again, looking touched by that modest tender of your affection. “I don’t expect you to take care of me that way, sweetheart.” Stephen reached his hand out to you, the heat of the moment quietly banking, as a sort of wonder filled his gentle blue eyes.

Of course, that was enough for you to take a seat and slip your hand into his. “I know you don’t, but…but I like taking care of you, darling. It makes me happy. And since I can’t be with you when you go into those…dangerous situations…” Tears prickled your eyes, but you blinked them back, remaining as resolute as ever to keep him from seeing how much you worried about him when you couldn’t be there to protect him even a little. “Since I can’t help you fight your battles, the least I can do is make your life…comfortable, and…well, worry free.”

He raised your hand to kiss your knuckles. “You already make coming home the best part of any day, honey. Which is the surest motivation for me to give whatever enemy I’ve gotta face, a swift and mighty kick in the ass.”

Though you rolled your eyes, you allowed yourself to take his loving assertion to heart, then leaned in to brush your lips to his, lingering as you asked, “So, um…you ready for some brunch?”

“Not until you’ve given me a proper good morning kiss,” he husked, and cupped your jawline in his free hand. At his prompting, you parted your lips, allowing Stephen to deepen your connection, well beyond what anyone would consider ‘proper’. You hummed contently when he finally released you, and then opened your eyes to catch him grinning as he teased you, “Yup- I’m definitely…famished…now.”

You gave a little shiver at the innuendo, considering it a promise of later satisfactions, and stood up to hang his sorcerer’s kit in the closet and put away the rest of his clean clothing. Stephen slid out of bed, clad in his comfiest pajama bottoms, and pulled a well-worn, gray cotton tee over his head. You caught a flash of red out of the corner of your eye, as Cloak ducked its collar just inside the doorway. Noting your attention, it zipped away, leaving only a swirl of air in it’s wake, while you called after it, “Hey! I was looking for you this morning. You’re due for a good wash up before you leave the Sanctum again.”

Stephen came up behind you and planted a kiss just beneath your ear, while sliding both arms around you. “Yeah, not a good idea, sweetheart,” rocking you gently, “Unless you’ve got a degree in cat-herding I don’t know about…”

“I’m sorry- what?”

His breath tickled the sensitive skin of your neck as he chuckled, and you felt his amusement in the soothing vibrations of his chest against your back. “I discovered early on that Cloak prefers to see to its own…maintenance. Except when it’s experienced some kind of physical damage that requires magic—or a tailor—to repair…”

“Seriously?” You wondered for a moment if your boyfriend was teasing you again.

“Absolutely,” he assured you, “For some reason I haven’t been able to decipher—since it’s an open book about everything else—Cloak is a creature of privacy when it comes to…bathing.”

You had to giggle at that. “And I suppose it prefers to shower when you’re not around?”

“God, no,” he laughed, urging you into the hallway and on the way to the third-floor kitchen, where brunch awaited, “Once we’re out of the way, Cloak is gonna indulge in a good, long soak in my bathtub. So, we need to steer clear of my chambers for, um…about an hour…”

You smacked his shoulder lightly, “Now you are teasing me!”

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654 notes - Posted January 9, 2022

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[learningselflove]

Lessons in dress shopping

Every little girl fantasizes about the day she gets to put on a wedding dress for the first time.   

Even at age 10, I had strong opinions about the dresses showcased on Say Yes to the Dress. I couldn’t wait to get married at age 20 just like my parents did. Well, things didn't quite work out that way (which I couldn’t be happier about now!). I’m 28 and I became engaged in October 2022. One of the first thoughts in my head after the initial shock wore off was, “Oh no, I don’t want to go dress shopping.”  

I lost my mom to cancer when I was 11. It’s hard for anyone to go through a loss but especially on a child. My dad was the one with the career. He worked long days commuting to his job in New York City. After my mother passed, my dad tried his best to make sure I was fed. He didn’t know how to cook. He would make easy meals like spaghetti, frozen TV dinners, hamburgers, or chicken nuggets. I also decided to become a vegetarian when I was 14. I ate plenty of slices of pizza and plenty of bowls of pasta. It was easy and what worked for the both of us. This was before all the different types of mock meat they have at the grocery stores.  

On a diet of pizza, pasta, and hormonal grief, you could assume I wasn’t in the best shape. I was shaped differently than all of the other girls in my grade. I wore a size 14. Other girls my age were wearing 0s and 2s. I didn’t have body image issues. I knew that I was also further along in puberty than they were.  

I have spent most of my 20s trying to lose weight. I tried Keto, the meditteranean diet, low sugar, you name it. I have tried any work out plan I could get my hands on. It wasn’t until 2020 that I was able to have a doctor take my weight struggles seriously and my doctor finally ordered bloodwork for me. I was able to lose 30 pounds with very, very strict calorie counting. However, It was clearly insufficient for me. Eventually, the weight came back. When I received my bloodwork results, I had high testosterone. It’s almost impossible to lose weight when your hormones aren’t balanced.  

I have been working on it losing weightfor two years now. I have finally taken medications that help me feel the way a functioning adult should. I have lost weight, but I was still uncomfortable regarding the idea of dress shopping. I spent countless hours admiring Pinterest boards and looking at the beautiful, curvy models wearing gorgeous ivory gowns. I couldn’t picture myself in gorgeous ivory gowns that showed off my figure.’m not shaped the same way as these models. I carry more weight in my stomach and my face. How am I supposed to feel beautiful?  

I booked everything for my wedding early. It wasn’t until I spoke to my potential florist that I felt that I needed to go look at wedding dresses. To be honest, I was going to save that for the last possible moment. My florist wasn’t going to meet with me until I had my dress picked because she needed to arrange a bouquet to coordinate my gown. I guess I had to make an appointment as soon as I could.  

I was anxious.  

I was sick to my stomach thinking about putting on a dress; especially in front of other people. I prepared myself to look my absolute worst. I expected these dresses to hug every curve - in a bad way. My brain had already accepted the fact that I’d be forced to wear a dated ball gown because of my body type.  

I wasn’t going to let my poor self-esteem ruin one of the most memorable days of my life. I put on makeup in a traditionally bridal style. I wore a smokey eye with the tiniest bit of glitter on the inner corner of my eye. I curled my hair to look like it had just come out of French braids. I wore my most expensive perfume.  

I made it to my appointment and met with the sweetest bridal stylist. The stylist pulled the dresses I picked from the online selection. I tried on the first one - I fell in love. It was a gorgeous mermaid style dress. The bodice was lace with plenty of tule emerging from the thighs. The neckline was plunging and there were whimsical detached sleeves.  

I felt empowered.  

I felt confident.  

I felt like this dress was for me.  

I couldn’t pick the first dress I try on, right? Of course not! I needed to try more. 

I tried three more dresses on. Each was a different style, shape and texture. These were all dresses I liked on the models. It wasn’t until my stylist asked how I was feeling about the choices I made. One felt too matronly, another hugged my stomach way too tightly, and the third just wasn’t right for a Halloween wedding. My stylist had an idea of what I would like at this point. I let her pick one more for me.  

She carried the dress in, and at first, I had no idea what I was looking at.  

There were so many different textures and patterns that I thought it would be a hideous dress. BUT I was wrong. It was perfect. The dress was similar to the first dress; but better. There were bits of glitter down the middle of the bodice. The tulle that extended from the thighs was patterned with the smallest bit of intricate lace. The dress hugged my curves; the right way this time.  

I felt like the most beautiful bride.  

 I couldn’t stop looking at myself. 

It was also in that moment that I realized I was being too hard on myself. I should be proud of the small accomplishments I have made with regard to my health. My future husband clearly thinks I am beautiful enough to be his wife. My family cried when I put on a dress in front of them. My own worst critic is myself. I was able to find a dress that looked fantastic on my atypical body type.  

There was a lesson for me to learn: women are too hard on themselves. We don’t need crash diets to fit a dress. We are not born to fit in clothes, clothes are made to fit us.  

[robjamessmp]

Understanding Hair Transplant in Vancouver, Canada: Your Comprehensive Guide to Options and Expectations

Hair loss is a common issue that affects millions of people worldwide. While hair thinning can happen for various reasons—genetics, hormonal imbalances, stress, or aging—it often leads individuals to explore treatments such as hair transplants Vancouver Canada, hair transplant procedures have become increasingly popular, providing a long-term solution for those seeking to restore their hair and confidence.

What Is a Hair Transplant?

A hair transplant is a surgical procedure that involves moving hair follicles from one part of the body (usually the back or sides of the scalp) to areas experiencing hair thinning or baldness. There are two main techniques used in hair transplants:

1. Follicular Unit Extraction (FUE): This is the most common method, where individual hair follicles are extracted from the donor area and transplanted to the bald spots. It’s minimally invasive and leaves very little scarring.

2. Follicular Unit Transplantation (FUT): In this method, a strip of scalp is removed from the donor area, and hair follicles are then dissected and transplanted. This approach may leave a more noticeable scar but can cover larger areas of baldness in a single session, hair implants vancouver.

Both techniques are widely used in Vancouver, Canada, where highly skilled surgeons offer state-of-the-art procedures.

Why Choose Vancouver for a Hair Transplant?

Choosing the right city and clinic for your hair transplant is crucial for achieving natural-looking results. Vancouver, Canada, is home to several leading hair restoration clinics that are recognized for their expertise in FUE and FUT hair transplants. Some reasons why Vancouver stands out as a prime destination for this procedure include:

● Experienced Surgeons: Vancouver boasts several highly qualified doctors who specialize in hair transplants. Many have years of experience in the field and are certified by reputable medical boards.

● Advanced Technology: Clinics in Vancouver use the latest equipment and technologies to perform hair transplants with precision. This ensures that patients receive optimal results with minimal discomfort and downtime.

● Natural Results: Surgeons in Vancouver are known for their ability to provide natural-looking hairlines, which is one of the most important factors for patients. Through careful planning and artistic techniques, these specialists ensure that the transplanted hair blends seamlessly with existing hair.

● Post-Operative Care: In Vancouver, patients benefit from excellent post-operative care, which is essential for the success of a hair transplant. Follow-up consultations and proper care instructions are provided to help the hair grafts take root and thrive.

The Cost of Hair Transplants in Vancouver, Canada

While hair transplants in Vancouver are typically more affordable compared to major cities like New York or Los Angeles, they are still a significant investment. The cost can vary depending on the extent of the hair loss, the number of grafts needed, and the clinic’s reputation. On average, you can expect to pay between CAD 5,000 and CAD 15,000 for a hair transplant in Vancouver.

Is Hair Transplant Right for You?

Before deciding on a hair transplant, it’s important to consult with a qualified surgeon in Vancouver to assess your condition and determine the best course of action. Hair transplants are generally ideal for individuals experiencing male or female pattern baldness, but the procedure may not be suitable for everyone. Factors such as the availability of donor hair, the health of the scalp, and the patient’s overall health can influence the outcome.

Conclusion

For those looking to regain their hair and self-confidence, a hair transplant in Vancouver, Canada can be an effective and lasting solution. With experienced surgeons, advanced techniques, and a strong emphasis on natural results, Vancouver stands out as a top destination for hair restoration procedures. Whether you're considering FUE or FUT, the city’s renowned clinics offer excellent care and results that can truly transform your appearance.

[readingforsanity]

The Boyfriend | Freida McFadden | Published 2024

Sydney Shaw, like every single woman in New York, has terrible luck with dating. She's seen it men who lie in their dating profile, men who stick her with the dinner bill, and worst of all, men who can't shut up about their mothers. But finally, she hits the jackpot.

Her new boyfriend is utterly perfect. He's charming, handsome, and works as a doctor at a local hospital. Sydney is swept off her feet.

Then the brutal murder of a young woman - the latest in a string of deaths across the coast - confounds police. The primary suspect? A mystery man who dates his victims before he kills them.

Sydney should feel safe. After all, she is dating the guy of her dreams. But she can't shake her own suspicions that the perfect man may not be as perfect as he seems. Because someone is watching her every move, and if she doesn't get to the truth, she'll be the killer's next victim...

A dark story about obsession and the things we'll do for love, #1 New York Times bestselling author Freida McFadden proves that crimes of passion are often the bloodiest...

Sydney Shaw is a 34-year-old New Yorker who has embarked on the dating scene in the city using a dating site called Cynch, labeled as being the only dating app for New Yorkers. She finds herself in a horrible situation with a man named Kevin, who has lied about virtually everything on his profile. When he attempts to attack her, and it is thwarted by a good-looking mystery man, Sydeny is super thankful.

And by chance, the two of them meet again while Syd is on another date with a man named Travis that also ends horribly. Sydney suffers from a blood disorder that causes her to bleed quite a bit despite the cuts being smaller than what would cause that amount of blood. The mystery man's name is Tom Brown, a doctor who works at NYU as a pathologist. Despite being initially turned off by his job as a medical examiner, Sydney finds herself falling deeply for this man.

They continue to get to know each other, while Sydney is also dealing with the loss of one of her best friends and neighbors, Bonnie. Sydney was the person who found her friends body lying in bed, and the only potential suspect that Sydney has been able to identify to her former boyfriend and current NYPD detective, Jake, is the man she had been dating on and off over the last year, though she knows nothing about this man other than he was a doctor.

Sydney doesn't put two and two together that Tom is a doctor, and Bonnie was also dating a doctor. It isn't until one night after a particularly sweaty sex session and Tom was in the shower that Sydney finds a mysterious scrunchie under Tom's bed. One of Bonnie's signature things was always wearing a scrunchie. After locating Tom's secondary phone, where all of his correspondence with Sydney goes, does Sydney become suspicious of Tom.

After taking a water bottle that would have his finger prints on it to Jake, she finds out that Tom's fingerprints had been found at the scenes of two murders: that of Bonnie and another woman that pinged during their investigation. Sydney is absolutely sure that Tom is involved in the murders, and after the police investigate him, does Tom confront her.

But while outside, Gretchen and her boyfriend, Randy, find them during their conversation. Tom seems very put off by the meeting of her two friends when he initially had said that he didn't want to, and even seems a bit scared. After the three of them get into Randy's apartment and Randy proposes, does Sydney go into the bathroom to give them a bit of privacy that she finds strands of hair that were taken from the murdered woman, including Bonnie's.

When she comes back out of the bathroom to find Tom banging on the door, calling someone Daisy, that Sydney learns the terrifying truth. Gretchen is actually Daisy, the woman that Tom has said that he had been in love with when he was a teenager, but had told Syd that she had died.

In reality, several teenage girls had gone missing and were later found deceased, and Tom had been involved with them in one way or another. One girl, Brandi, had been one of Tom's tutoring students and Alison was Daisy's best friend, who made it very clear that she disliked Tom and Daisy's relationship. After killing his father in a fit of rage and contacting his best friend, Slug, to help him dispose of the body, Alison went missing and Tom is sure that Slug is the person behind her disappearance and later her death.

But, in the end, it was actually Daisy that was the person responsible. She knew about what happened with Tom's father and how Slug helped him, and how Alison found them trying to dispose of his body. She also got rid of Brandi because of her jealousy of hers and Tom's relationship.

Despite being initially flattered by what she had done, she did kill his best friend in what she says was self-defense. But after figuring out the truth, he decides that he can no longer be with her and has spent the last several decades attempting to get rid of Daisy. But any serious relationship that he has been in since that point has ultimately led to the deaths of these women because Daisy was jealous.

At Gretchen's behest, the two of them decide to take off after she promises to leave Sydney alone. Two months after they seemingly disappeared off the face of the earth, Sydney is attempting to get back to regular life, even going so far as to try to get back together with Jake. But, she also receives a note from Tom, with a lock of blonde hair, that is said to be Kevin's, promising that he won't be bothering her anymore.

[ulkaralakbarova]

Hilarious and outgoing, Brittany Forgler, is everybody’s best friend ― except her own. Her partying, underemployment and toxic relationships are catching up with her. She receives a startling wake-up call when a visit to the doctor reveals how unhealthy she is. Motivated to lose weight, but too broke for a gym and too proud to ask for help, Brit is at a loss, until her neighbor pushes her to run one sweaty block. Soon, she sets an almost unthinkable goal: the New York City Marathon. Credits: TheMovieDb. Film Cast: Brittany Forgler: Jillian Bell Catherine: Michaela Watkins Jern Dahn: Utkarsh Ambudkar Demetrius: Lil Rel Howery Seth: Micah Stock Gretchen: Alice Lee Doctor Falloway: Patch Darragh Ryan: Peter Vack CiCi Forgler: Kate Arrington David: Juri Henley-Cohn Glenn: Adam Sietz Dev: Mikey Day Drunk Guy: Max Pava Shannon: Jennifer Dundas Molly: Erica Hernandez Terrence: Dan Bittner Tesla: Beth Malone Dana: Nadia Quinn Snobby Artist Man: Pascal Yen-Pfister Snobby Artist Woman: Miriam A. Hyman Michael: Gene Gabriel Drunk Woman: Gina Costigan Jasmine: Sarah Bolt Matty: Ian Unterman Waiter: Robert Garcia Cabrera Overweight Woman: Maia Nkenge Wilson Marathon Worker: Frances Eve Peter: Esteban Benito Film Crew: Executive Producer: Paul Downs Colaizzo Producer: Matthew Plouffe Producer: Tobey Maguire Producer: Margot Hand Director of Photography: Seamus Tierney Editor: Casey Brooks Executive Producer: Jillian Bell Art Direction: Naomi Munro Production Design: Erin Magill Set Decoration: Kim Fischer Costume Designer: Stacey Berman Original Music Composer: Duncan Thum Unit Production Manager: Jolian Blevins Executive Producer: Richard G. Weinberg Associate Producer: Padraic ‘Paddy’ Murphy Casting: Maribeth Fox Makeup Department Head: Scott Hersh Hair Department Head: Dennis Polanco Visual Effects Supervisor: Alex Noble Set Decoration Buyer: Lindsay Stephen Supervising Sound Editor: Ric Schnupp Casting: Laura Rosenthal First Assistant Director: Thomas Fatone Second Assistant Director: Kim Thompson Movie Reviews: SWITCH.: While ‘Brittany Runs a Marathon’ is about weight loss, it never feels pandering or forced. Instead, it comes across as extremely realistic and grounded, which allows the comedy to flow. Everyone across the board brings their A-game to bring this really fresh and heartwarming comedy to life. If you’re a fan of films like ‘Trainwreck’ or ‘The Big Sick’, put on your joggers and sweatpants to run out and see this one. – Chris dos Santos Read Chris’ full article… https://www.maketheswitch.com.au/article/review-brittany-runs-a-marathon-literally-run-out-to-see-this-stellar-comedy Head to https://www.maketheswitch.com.au/sff for more Sydney Film Festival reviews. Columbusbuck: Brittany gets it right – that feeling you have in the pit of your stomach when you push away everyone who cares about you. A feeling I’ve had for a long long time. So self destructive. A 5-star movie, reflecting the reality of life, wouldn’t have a happy ending. This movie has one. But the first 60 minutes absolutely nails it.

[linkovhairsurgery]

Schedule a consultation today with the best doctors in New York City if you’re interested in receiving the best hair loss treatment for men. Whether you’re curious about your options or finally ready to take the leap, get the best hair regrowth for men at Linkov Hair Surgery in Manhattan. The top hair restoration surgeons listen to your concerns and your goals before developing an effective treatment plan that fits your budget and helps you realize your goals. Call today for a consultation.

Read more: https://www.linkovhair.com/hair-loss-treatment/hair-loss-treatments-for-men/

[drgolberg]

Things a Good Hair Loss Treatment Doctor will tell you before the Treatment

Looking for doctors in New York to treat hair loss? The best hair loss doctor in New York will conduct a physical examination, inquire about your medical and family histories, and question you about your food and hair care regimen before establishing a diagnosis. In addition, you may wish to undergo the following tests:

Blood test - By doing so, it is possible to determine whether an infection is causing hair loss.

Pull test - To count the hairs that fall out, your doctor carefully removes a few dozen of them. This aids in identifying the process's stage of shedding.

Scalp biopsy - To study the hair roots under a microscope, your doctor scrapes samples from the skin or from a few hairs pulled from the scalp. This can assist in determining whether hair loss is being caused by an infection.

Light microscopy - Your doctor examines hairs clipped at your temple with a specific tool.

Hair loss can be treated with effective treatments in some cases. The loss of hair may be halted or at least slowed. Hair may recover on its own for a year after other conditions, such as alopecia areata. Surgical and medical treatments are available for treating hair loss. Medication

It is imperative to treat the underlying condition that is causing your hair loss. Your doctor might suggest stopping taking a particular medicine for a few months if that's the reason you're losing hair.

Hair transplant surgery

Only the top of the head is impacted by the most prevalent type of permanent hair loss. Making the most of your remaining hair is possible with a hair transplant or restoration procedure.

Laser therapy

Both men and women can benefit from a low-level laser device as a treatment for hereditary hair loss. It increases hair density, as demonstrated by a few small studies. More research is required to demonstrate long-term effects.

Decide about the best hair loss doctor in NYC after checking the ratings and reviews.

[all-is-fair-in-love-and-war]

All the questions for Helaena <3

This was a lot of fun!

How do they style their hair? Helaena likes to style her hair in soft waves down her back and often has several braids pulling her hair away from her face.

What kind of clothing do they wear? Helaena does not often wear green, she does this on purpose, she wears a lot of gold and her favorite sapphire blue.

Do they wear makeup? What kind? Modern Helaena wears some but very light

Do they have any birthmarks? She has one on her thigh.

Where were they born? Red Keep

What do their parents do? Forget she exists...king and queen. In the Modern verse, Viserys runs a large Targaryen company and Alicent helps.

Where do they live? In the regular verse, she lives in the Red Keep, in the Modern Verse she lives in a nice place in New York somewhat outside of the city.

What do they do for a living? In the modern verse, Helaena is working toward her doctorate to get a degree in the study of bugs.

What is their greatest achievement? Her family/children, her dissertation

What's the most embarrassing thing that's happened to them? Her mother walking in on her being intimate because Alicent has no boundaries.

If we searched their name on Google, what would we find? Her insta filled with photos of her kids and husband, probably a lot of things related to bugs.

What social media do they use? Instagram

When was the first time they fell in love? She first started falling in love when she found herself feeling safe around Aemond. She knew he understood her while others did not and she could spout off random facts about bugs or come to him with her dreams or feelings and talk to him the best she could and he wouldn't brush her off or judge.

What is their biggest secret? The paternity of her children.

What is their biggest regret? Blood and Cheese

Do they have any bad habits? Helaena mumbles a lot when she feels herself getting lost in a dream, or when she feels overwhelmed she will start murmuring a poem or a song under her breath, and just kinda exists the conversation or social interaction.

What's the worst thing that's ever happened to them? Blood and Cheese

What's their favorite movie? She likes old musicals

What's their favorite food? Any kind of pasta, peanut butter, and berries

What TV shows do they watch? She watches Planet Earth, historical fiction/regency dramas, and anything about bugs.

What do they like to do for fun? Helaena likes to collect bugs, examine them and then write about them in her journals, she also creates terrariums and keeps a few of her favorite bugs in them.

Do they have any hobbies? Bugs

What is their most treasured possession? She has some stones Aemond gave her and an Orchid Mantis that Aemond gave her that she keeps as a pet.

Which person (dead or alive) would they most want to meet? Queen Alysanne

Who do they consider their closes friend or best friend? Aemond

Which family members are they close with? First Aemond and then second Otto

Who do they trust? Aemond

Who would they turn to for help? Aemond, Otto in a pinch

What are their biggest pet peeves? Ser Criston Cole

Do they consider themselves an introvert or an extrovert? Introvert

What does perfect happiness look like to them? Living in peace with her family and the man she loves.

What is their greatest fear? The loss of her children and family

What do they dream about? This varies, sometimes her dreams are a prophecy although she does not always understand them, and other times they are just dreams.

What do they have nightmares about? Losing her children, falling from a great height, and fire burning down the world.

[fellermedicalny]

The Tried and Tested Hair Transplant Experts In New York

Originally Published on FellerMedical

Hair loss can significantly impact someone’s esteem and physical appearance. However, with today’s technology, you can get a hair transplant in New York and restore your youthful look. Nevertheless, before you jump into booking an appointment with just any doctor in the field, you must ensure that you get high-quality services.

A hair transplant is a delicate procedure, and you should only go to the best physicians in the region. Before securing your date, thoroughly research the facility you are going to. Check the credibility of their services and the kind of transplant they specialize in. Most people offer FUT or FUE, depending on the patient’s preference and operation area. Each of them works differently and may have differing results.

An established facility offering services in hair transplant in New York should be able to provide you with extensive knowledge of each service. They will walk you through what to expect and reason with you about your expectation of the procedure. Having experts explain all the necessary details is an excellent way to create a mental image of your appearance after the operation. Their website will also provide evidence of past successful cases and reviews.

Each person’s needs are unique, and you need to work with seasoned doctors who can customize the transplant services. They will assess your hair loss, determine the best procedure and how many sessions you need. Working with the experts also guarantees people to walk with you during the healing process. You can rely on them to answer questions and respond accordingly in case of any eventualities.

Contact the Feller and Bloxham Medical Hair Transplant Institute experts at https://fellermedical.com/ and begin your hair restoration journey.

[dr-foster]

It only happened because Jane's thoughts had been a million miles away. Not the best frame of mind to be in while navigating New York City streets at night, especially alone. But that was how Jane spent all her time these last months. Alone. It was easier to face her current opponent without having to see grief surfacing through the cracks of a friend's strained smile. The pitying looks when they thought she couldn't see. Watching people watch her die was not something she wanted. She knew what being on the other side looked like and Jane wanted no part. Suffering the helplessness of being a patient instead of a doctor in her own hospital was too much, but it was an inescapable evil. The desire to avoid running into as many colleagues as possible was just one of a few reasons her chemotherapy was done at night. No, the battle with cancer was one Dr. Jane Foster made alone. It was better that way. She told herself again, again, and again. Better to be alone.

The cause for her mind wandering tonight was the clump of brown hair that had come away in her hands earlier that evening. It had been such a normal moment, Jane was reading one of her medical journals and she'd simply raked her fingers through her hair. A habit she'd performed a million times before in her life now marred by her disease. The hair loss was getting to be too difficult to hide now. Currently, her walnut-colored hair was pulled back in a ponytail to obscure the steadily increasing bald patches on her scalp. The hood of her jacket was pulled up for good measure. Tonight Jane would have to ask one of the nurses she knew didn't gossip to help her shave the rest. It had been put off long enough.

Distracted and alone was how Jane's attacker got the jump on her. The man's larger frame slammed into her, the element of surprise and weakened conditioned worked against her; sent her sprawling onto the concrete. Jane struggled, of course, ever the stubborn survivor. She ignored the impact that sent painful shocks up her wrists and the scrape of ragged pavement as she twisted her pinned arm out from under her body to reach for her taser. Thanks Darcy. She didn't need it though. The weight of her attacker was suddenly lifted off her body, allowing the doctor to roll into a sitting position and see she was being rescued.

By the least imaginable person.

"Loki?" Jane panted, looking up at the hand he offered. She had heard through the superhero grapevine that the Trickster was alive. The god who she'd watched "die" years ago on Svartalfheim. Apparently the brothers had made up they- No no no no no! Panicked, the doctor whipped her head around, wide brown eyes searching for the last person she wanted to see.

"What are you doing here? Is Thor here?"

She didn't know what would be worse. Her ex finding out about her cancer or about Mjolnir back at her apartment- A whole other unfolding situation she did not want to consider. Unless that was why Loki was back from the dead and standing above her now.

@dr-foster

how it begins is purely accidental. at least, that's what he says to himself when recalling the heated moment outside that grimy excuse for a tavern in this spit of a midgardian city.

he didn't mean to follow the man, it just happened his path was also loki's path. he didn't mean to catch the man unawares when the man began to fumble in his jacket for what loki realizes is something of a knife.

a poor excuse for one, but sharp and winking in the moonlight, and a danger to midgardians at least.

but what loki did do, with all the intention to see it through poured into the action, was catch the man's wrist and twist it behind the man's back until the bones gave a most satisfying crack, paired with the man's hoarse holler.

and a woman's scream, there was that too, and he supposed she never had any intention of being mugged so two accidents and here loki was doing the right thing. sort of.

he had thought of it as a one time deal, a sort of, well.. i didn't MEAN to cross that path but since i DID, and since i needed a little action to work out this frustration on, why not save the day, just once?

but then it happened again... and again.... and again... and each time it became a little less accidental until loki was now watching for a foul midgardian to fuck up and deserve a bit of godly retribution. thor couldn't know, nor his friends, nor val (well maybe val would understand, he thought.) because they would put a stopper in this delicious new drought he was imbibing.

heroics in the shadows allowed for him to release the pent up energy, the pent up... something, gnawing at his bones like nidhoggr at the roots of the world tree. whatever it was he refused to name it and instead sated the sensation with blood and bone from those who deserved to have both spilled and broken.

it was a shame that his secret had a life of it's own and seemed to guide him to cross paths with yet another letch following some woman on purpose.

because the woman, in question, happened to be... " my lady, are you oh-oh fuck me with a norn stone."

loki had a foot on the man's back, the midgardian knocked clean out, and his hand had reached out to none other than doctor jane foster. of all the fucking people!

[the-fiction-witch]

Cheater!

Media the Queen's Gambit

Character Benny Watts

Couple Benny Watts X Reader

Rating smut

Concept Poker Trick

Smut dry humping/ riding/ folding/ 'princess'

I sat thinking to myself, how the fuck does he do this. I sat at a personal friend Peter's poker night. He had set it up as usual in his dark garage with his car put to the side, the small Tiffany-style lamp over us. I hadn't bothered dressing up today as it was only poker night, I had my ballerina flats, my loose black cotton trousers, my strapped red top and a tie in my hair but I was pissy.

As I often was when... he's here.

He sat across from me, well-shined shoes against the floor, jeans that hugged his skinny legs close, that familiar leather belt and knife holster, his black silk shirt half unbuttoned chains around his neck and wrists a couple rings across his fingers, cards in his hand his face emotionless impossible to read when he was and wasn't bluffing. He was undeniably the best player we had but that didn't make him any less of a cunt. All it ever did was inflate his already fairly self-obsessed ego. Any bigger his head would explode. He noticed me glaring flicking his dark chocolate eyes to me a sly smirk cradled across his lips and he winked at me before returning his focus to the game that was still going on between him and Mark even if I and Peter had already folded. And eventually, mark couldn't keep it going anymore and cut his losses making him once again the winner so we all handed back in the cards and he gathered up his winnings  

"You are a bastard benny" Mark sighed

"Tell me something I don't know" Benny smirked "I should get going," he says 

"One more game" I spoke up 

"Really?" He smirked "Alright darling, one more game. just you and me" 

"Fine," I said as he began to deal with the two of us and soon enough the two of us were both out of cash, "I raise you," I said pushing my bracelet off and adding it to the pile of chips and coins 

"Alright," He says slipping his own off and adding it to the pile this when on for a while adding various things to the pile till he was out of anything else to add 

"What about your ring?" I snapped

"Oh. No, No no." he says "what do you want then?"

"If I win. You have to give me your jacket" I smirked

"Alright" He smirked "but if I win. You walk home with me" he smirked 

"Fine" I sighed we flipped out cards and he won which only make his smirk grow 

"perfect" he smirked "shall we go then princess" 

"Fine" I pouted getting up to grab my stuff slipping my jacket on as he got sorted too. We bid everyone goodbye and I began the walk home with him following along with me with that stupid smirk across his face as we went through the dark new york streets

"Ohh don't pout princess. You agreed didn't you"

"How is it you aways win?"

"Because I'm good"

"Umm"

"You must have some trick"

"Yeah. My utter genius"

"Your not an genius benny"

"Remind me, which one of us is US chess champion?"

"Which one of us has a phd"

"Yeah. In psychology"

"Still a doctor."

"Doesn't mean you'd any smart then me princess" he smirked as we arrived at the stairs to his apartment "so. You coming down or not?"

"No thank you benny" I sighed going to continue my way home but he grabbed my arm pulling me to be meer inches from him

"Come on, you still owe me for that game princess" he smirked

"No I don't."

"Come on it's been ages since I've seen you. And you know how bad I miss you" he Cooes grabbing my ass

"Benny!" I yelled going to slap him but he grabbed my wrist stopping me then forcefully pulling us closer so he kissed me

"Go down and lay on my bed princess. Like a good girl. And maybe tomorrow morning I'll show you how to really play poker"

"Fine" I sighed heading down the steps

"Every poker night" he smirked following me down

"Oh shut up benny"

"Just for that I'm not going down on you"

"Hey!'

"No. No. You lost that privilege princess"

I woke up as usual a little groggy and tied my hair on a messy bedhead from being against the pillow Most of the night. I pushed myself up from his old bed and grabbed one of his shirts to slip on doing up a few of the buttons as I walked out to the main room of his apartment where he sat at his table kimono over him playing a game of chess against himself

"Aww hey sleepy"

"Hello" I yawn

"Coffee?"

"No. Your coffee tastes like dirt"

"Suit yourself princess"

"What are you doing?' I yawn sitting across from him

"Chess. That's all" he shrugs

"Are you going to show me?"

"Show you what?"

"How you always win at poker?"

"I'm just good"

"Lair. There's something I know there is"

"I'm just a genius princess"

"What do you count cards or something?"

"No I'm just good"

"Show me" I said grabbing a pack of cards from his shelf

"Alright" he sighed putting his board away taking them and starting to shuffle "what are we playing for?"

"Nothing your just showing me"

"Ah ah ah no reason to play without prizes princess. Else why would I wanna win?"

"Fine what do you want?"

"Well decide as we play" he winked dealing the cards I glanced at them quickly memorized them I had a two and a six worthless and sat then back down as did he "if I win you will come and sit on my lap for atleast the rest of the hour?"

"Fine" I sighed "if I win you make me breakfast"

"Deal princess" he smirked "come on then" he smirked glancing to his lap

"But -" I began

"What you have is worthless and we both know it. So... Come on" he smirked flipping his cards over and he had indeed one so I sighed and moved sitting in his lap leaving me inches from his smirking face

"How did you know -"

"It's written across your face princess. You might not like it. But I can read you like a book" he smirked holding my hips to gently Push me back and forth on his crotch "again? Or is my little princess cosy on my lap?"

"Again" I snapped moving back to the chair so we could play

"Fine. But you come back when we're done" he warns "and this time if I win. How about you take your panties off"

"No!"

"Come on I already fucked you last night princess. You don't usually argue this much for a round two" he smirked as he gathered the cards shuffled and delt again and somehow again I had nothing of any worth which only made him smirk

"How are you doing it?"

"In just a genius princess"

"You know you've already won?"

"I do"

"How?"

"You have a five and a three."

"How do you know that?"

"I just do"

"Your cheating you've got to be!"

"No I'm just good princess. You'd be surprised what you give away across that pretty face" he smirked "come on then"

I sighed and went over to return to his lap but he stopped me

"Forgetting something princess" he smirked snapping my panties waistband so I sighed and slipped them off climbing into his lap "humm good girl" he smirked kissing my neck a little

"Again"

"Ummm I'm tried princess."

"No come on deal I wanna watch from here"

"Alright" he sighed gathering the cards up to shuffle again I did my best to watch as he delt and then cuddled me

"What's what?"

"King and an ace. Three and a nine" he said so I turned around so my back was against his chest and I flipped them over he was right

"How the hell did you do that?"

"Genius remember princess" he smirked in my ear before kissing down my neck

"Again."

"I'm really tried princess. And I have work to do you know"

And for a moment I rolled my eyes

"But benny" I Cooed grinding against him "please"

He chuckled "I am not as easily manipulated as you think I am princess"

So I moved my hand back and undid his jeans feeling his hard erection against my ass

"Alright. one more. Then we'll go back to bed?" He smirked pulling me back more so he could slip inside me

"Fine" I sighed trying to remain composed he grabbed the cars starting to shuffle "slower" I told him

"But you feel so good princess"

"The cards benny"

"Oh. Alright" he smirked slowing his hands as he shuffled

"More."

"Yeah alright" he smirked moving his hips more

"Your hands benny"

"Fine" he sighed slowing even move as he began to deal and as he did I noticed something.

Itinerary it was the sunlight coming though the small windows of his apartment catching on his sliver chain that caught my eye, the chain that wrapped around his wrist and then looked to his fingers working with the cards and I noticed the well polished silver of the signet ring on his finger and in almost slow motion I realized as he took a card from the deck it went past said Finger and the ring allowing of you where fast the ring to reflect the number and suit of the card he was putting down. And it clicked

"You cheater!" I yelled

"Hum?" He asks as he was clearly enjoying himself

"You bastard! All this time you've been cheating!"

"What?"

"You can see the cards in your ring"

"Alright princess. Yes. I cheat." He sighed "watch" he says slowing his hands alot "my ring is in the perfect place so that as I take a card to deal it reflects in the metal the number and suit you start slow but when you've been doing it as long as I have you can deal at normal speed and knowone even notices. You know every card and who has it"

"You are a cheating bastard!" I yelled getting up and going to the bedroom to get my stuff

"Princess come on. Okay I'm sorry for lieing to you. And for everything you lost-'

"Lost! We've been played poker for years! The only reason I even started to sleep with you-'

"But. If I hadn't been cheating. We wouldn't have done all we have" he smirked cuddling me closely "you know I love my little princess"

"I'm still mad at you"

"Fine. Be mad at me. Maybe I could... Get you a nice shiny ring and teach you to do it. Smoke them at the next poker night. Or maybe tug you along with me to Vegas for the chess tournament and you and me can hit the tables with our skills?"

"I'll think about it"

"Do you forgive me?"

"No"

"Oh. You still love me?"

"I guess so"

"Good. Come on princess I know how to make you forgive me" he smirked tugging me towards the bedroom.