abandonedthoughtss

[hairdoctornyc]

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[wedesignyouny]

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[hairtransplantnewyorkcity]

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[zieringmedny]

The forehead’s appearance is essential in framing the face and enhancing its aesthetic appeal. However, some people are born with a high forehead, while others may experience a receding hairline due to pattern hair loss. If you’re unhappy with your forehead’s appearance, hairline lowering or forehead reduction surgery can be a great option to achieve a more natural-looking hairline.

[covid-safer-hotties]

Also preserved on our archive

By Kelly Betts

People can’t see my disability from the outside. I worry that in this current political climate and with the new law, it may not end at the comments and harassment I already face.

On Thursday, officials in Nassau County, New York, where I live, signed a mask ban into law, one of the first of its kind in the country. And while to most healthy adults it doesn’t mean much, to those with serious health conditions, like me, it makes getting out into the world a lot harder.

The ban was touted by lawmakers as a public safety measure after reported antisemitic incidents and protests at various New York universities, many involving people wearing masks. Those who violate the new law face a misdemeanor charge punishable by up to a year in jail and a $1,000 fine. And while there are exemptions for people with religious and medical reasons, it’s not dealing with the law that I’m afraid of. It’s dealing with the “citizen cops” of the world who will be using their discretion to enforce it.

I was diagnosed with acute myeloid leukemia in February 2023. It’s a fast-growing type of blood cancer. I underwent more than five rounds of chemotherapy, and the following July, thanks to an amazingly generous donor, I had a stem cell transplant, something I knew nothing about until I got sick. I was given some of the most powerful chemotherapies to kill my old immune system and any remaining cancer cells. Then I was given my donor’s stem cells to help build a brand-new immune system.

There are a lot of risks that come along with the transplant, especially in the early stages as the stem cells are engrafting and you have no immune system. The first 100 days are the riskiest, and you must watch everything from what you eat to how it’s prepared, and most of all the people around you. Your body is starting from scratch, so you have almost no immunities. Any vaccinations you’ve had over your lifetime have been wiped out. For the last year since my transplant, my immune system has slowly been getting stronger. But building a new immune system takes years, and I have a long way to go. So, wearing my face mask whenever I go out is essential.

That brings me back to the new law. I wear a medic alert bracelet and would hope that showing it to the police, should it ever become an issue, would be enough. But that’s not guaranteed, because anyone can just order one. Would I be forced to show up in court to prove my medical condition to a judge? And what cost and time could that take, all to protect my health? And what about my family or people who act as caregivers, who don’t technically have medical conditions of their own, but still wear masks to protect me? Would there be an exemption for them?

Most of all, I worry about those who have strong feelings against masks. As we know, many people read headlines and not always the full story. And just reading most of the headlines, all someone will know is that there’s a mask ban in Nassau County. Even at the height of my illness, with no hair and really looking like I had cancer, I still got comments like “Covid is over” or “that’s not protecting you.” And while the few comments hurt, especially while I was battling for my life, I could shake them off. I had a bigger fight ahead of me.

Now, healthier with hair again and 43 years old, the comments continue. But I worry that in this current political climate and with the new law, it may not end at that. People can’t see my disability from the outside. It’s been hard to get back out in the world, as many can relate to after going through a global pandemic. Even being as careful as I am and just starting to let my guard down a little in outdoor settings, I caught Covid. And it took my body and immune system down hard. Luckily, I’m recovering and back to wearing my mask diligently, even outdoors.

I want to be able to return to my normal life. And go out with friends, see a Broadway show, and one day get back to my office in the city. But now with New York City considering passing its own mask ban, I don’t know when I would feel safe enough to do that. Is this law really protecting the masses?

[sideysvault]

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִInnocuous Games ִ ་༘࿐

Pairing: Roman Roy x fem!reader

Wc: 2,030k

Tags: [sfw] Mentions of mature themes, sexual innuendo, slightly toxic relationship, friends with benefits, angst with fluffy ending.

────────

Once, they only slept together once. Friends for eight years, and it was all tainted by those unstoppable fleeting passions.

The two of them, alone, lonely, drunk. The bathroom of the rented villa was excessively decorated, and the warm crystal lights seemed to swallow the room whole. The thought had crossed her mind before, of course. Numerous times.

And God knew that the November slip did not count as sex. It was so chaste that even the most religious among us would not be able to classify it as a sin.

The second time, in her apartment late in the afternoon, which he usually preferred to sleep in, with the poor excuse that his driver lived closer and that he liked the New York transplant decorations. There had been a little too much champagne; and they fell off the sofa laughing a few times too many; and they had wound up on the floor; and the next thing they knew was that their hands were already all over each other. An innocent, comprehensible mistake. One that was ended by the sudden need of the man to put space between them.

But then it happened again. And again, and again. And eight years of friendship were ruined by the irremissible stain that mutual masturbation and strange sexual encounters left behind.

The both of them knew it was a bad idea, that it would only end with poorly said excuses and the broken pieces of their bond. But it wasn’t enough. It never is, is it? And the worst part of it all was that it wasn’t a matter of fleeting -albeit strong- desire for pulp contact. The woman felt that being just his friend was not enough anymore. Needing him far beyond the realms of which she could obtain. She needed him like a mean, neglected child begging for love.

The late nights at his apartment, the whispered secrets and the allusive but always earnest sweetness that he sometimes gave her would never be enough. Because even in that bathroom, with its dim lights and its artificial scents she was already convinced: If he dared to ask, the woman would give herself completely. Two broken pieces coming together.

All she could think about, between the lascivious eyes and the contained gasps, was how his hair would look in the early mornings, how would his coffee taste in the afternoons, and how words of tender love would roll out his tongue. A life with Roman.

——

It had been your best kept secret. A buried and shameful desire you had inexplicably felt since the day you had met him. And now that the line had been crossed, it roamed unleashed between the air that filled the space between you two. It deeply sadden you, being so close to what you desire, knowing that at best you’d only receive his strange patterns of affection and subtextual love. The realization only deepened with every encounter you had with Roman. And it began burbling and burning inside you. Making waves, twisting itself, and unwinding just enough to let you breathe.

The only way to erase the feeling was to drown it with other casual relationships with boring men. The latest provider of stability was a retired Florida lobbyist who wanted to take his chance in the Manhattan real estate scene.

And there you were. In your thirties, proclaiming your love to the brocker to anyone who’d listen, humiliating yourself and playing high school games in hopes that Roman would hear the news. You hoped that he’d finally push you away in a fit of rage and jealousy, that he’d say something hurtful enough to get you out of your torturous enamourment. Or maybe that he’d act indifferent enough for you to finally realize that you’d been nothing but a victim of imaginary romantic affections.

Your brain was working hard to convince its heart that you both just enjoyed to mirror each other, to see your own sickness reflected on someone else. That it was nothing but a sick, meaningless fantasy projected onto a strong but simple friendship.

Deep down, however, you knew your true intentions were different. It was your earnest wish: that some rainbow colored, gonna-happen and not-to-be-mocked day he would confess his feelings to you and be able to have a somewhat conventional and fulfilling relationship with you.

The games finally came to fruition. And in typical Roy extravagance, he decided to start the conversation on the most inappropriate of places.

His sharp and very public office with glass see-through windows. He was pretending to read his emails, doing work, for once. And he didn’t even bother to raise his gaze from his phone when he muttered “So, uh, is it true? Are you in love with the guy or something?”

You sighed, and for a fleeting moment considered telling him the truth. But today was not the day. Instead you distractedly responded “Uh, yeah sure. How could I not be? We've been seeing each other for a while now”

Your response apparently tickled something in the pit of his stomach, because he squirmed on his sit and made an ugly face as he continued his rant

“Come on! The guy is a prick. Just another model-fucking brocker. And from Miami of all places. You believe that make-believe story of early retirement? The guy is probably under investigation, hiding from a trip to the grand jury.” He called your name in an exasperated sigh “They are all the same. You are not some bimbo bitch, you know this”

“Fuck off, Roman. You are so fucking predictable” He really wasn’t, but you still let out a laugh that could only be described as unamused “What about it? You are just another rich suit on the east end and no one’s bitching and complaining about it”

Making your most annoying baby voice, you continued to mock him as you moved closer to him

“Model-fucking brocker. What a clever boy you are, Rome, seriously.”

All of this was going on in the space of a rich shade of brown leather furniture and Italian wooden desks.

Finding it hard to remember how much you enjoyed watching his dark viridescent eyes spark while he thought of another clever comment, how he had stood up for you, shakingly but firm in his conviction of protecting you as much as he could. How at closed doors, he became a cynical no-nonsense type of man early at dawn, only to melt away around the same time dusk came into sight. It was hard to remember it all, remember this was your plan all along, when he acted so dense.

“Stop doing that baby voice on me. You know It gets me going”

”God, Remy. You are HRs worst fucking nightmare, disgusting sick freak!”

“You are only getting me harder. Please go on” He got up the couch and started making theatrical moans and graphic gestures over the coach.

Last thing you expect from an uptight office administration is a fine sense of humor. And you’d be right. They don’t.

Roman doesn’t.

Suddenly tired of the childish bickering that would usually make you smile, you dropped on the sofa, with heavy shoulders, and suddenly feeling that the bun on your hair was too tight, the fabric on tour sweater started itching your skin, and the collar began to strangle you.

The man takes notice. He sits besides you on the sofa, and unbuttons the first two tiny pieces, the ones nearest at your neck. An unexpected smile adorns your face, and he looks down at your neck, the little beams of sweat forming around the warm skin, he looks at you in the eye, a bit more serious, when he tells you “Hey, I get it. I could see how this messianic older Patrick Bateman could wow even as tough a cookie as you. Oh my, yes.”

A laugh is heard. Roman seems relieved. You get closer to him and playfully bump him on the shoulder with yours.

Things are quiet for a beat. But they can’t stay silent forever.

“You are not in love with him”.

“I am”

“No, you are not.”

Murmullo something under your breath, undoing your hair, preparing for the reason why you’ve been enduring this conversation in the first place.

“Please, Remy. What is this? We did not even have sex”

“Of course we do!”

“Jerking off in the same room as each other once a month doesn’t count, for the love of God!”

“You aren’t in love with one of those Manhattan parasites. Fucking transplants, with their, uh, petrodollars, and, uh south money. The fucker probably even needs a month in advance reservation to get into fucking, uh, Cantinori.”

You laugh. How innocent of you to think this was a good strategy in the first place.

“Shut up. It doesn’t matter. It's not that serious, okay? Will you get off my dick now?”

“Never. You know it. I’m a sick puppy and I’ll follow you around forever even if you only feed me with scraps”

Your head rests on Roman shoulder now. Not caring about the curious, judging eyes watching from beyond the glass. Rolling your eyes, and then closing them for a second. You can smell his aftershave, the scent they use at the cleaners, his cologne. The eyes still way their knowing eyes, but, with the Roys, they probably had seen worse.

“Speaking of, I’ll fucking take you to Cantinori. Right fucking now. No peasant reservations. Hell, I’ll take you to that horrible hippie place you like. What’s it called? Fucking Buddakkan?”

You laugh, again. You were drunk on his scent and tired, your eyelids tickled and threatened to close themselves. “Oh forget it. Don’t be so insecure.”

“Oh, fuck off. You are just trying to fuck me over. We both know it.”

You suddenly don’t feel so tired anymore. Looking up, with big, doe eyes, embellished with the sweet look of hope. Like a child, begging for love.

“It’s working, okay? I’ll do better”

You smile. For the first time since this started, he sounds sincere. He gives you a chaste, small kiss on the side of your temple. When he retreats, the feeling still burns on your skin.

Giving him a kiss on the cheek in return, you feel its warmth. And it’s redder than you remembered it to be.

——

The tallest building of Manhattan, 200th on Amsterdam Street, with its rectangular grid windows, and the light, rough looking concrete on its exterior, with its golden door, and the mirrored elevator that always seems to be too cold to the touch.

In the private penthouse of the building, the natural light fills the space, and it bounces off several antique mirrors, instead of its usual blue iridescent artificial lights. The wine cellar is usually emptied out on Saturday mornings, its contents laying over a table set for two, with takeout sharing the surface with the sound of chatter, laughs and clattering dishware.

The small hot tub that lays on top of the turf, is just deep enough for lounging and contemplation. Naked bodies lay in it inside it, merely caressing each other, mindlessly, tenderly, without an ounce of sin in its touch. Adding the cold air that is always contrasting the warm water of the tub, and fingertips wrinkle before anyone disturbs the serenity of the scene.

The patio has a privileged view of the city and its bright blue sky. Two black sofas with a concrete table in-between. Although the townhouse is in the middle of a concrete city , recently there has been plenty of greenery as lines of Star Jasmine, Oak Stars and Lavender decorate most of the patio.

In the master bedroom lies the two of them, coffee has been made by the man, because he is a light sleeper, and knows the woman adores to drink something right after getting out of bed. The sheets are warm, slightly humid with sweat, evidence of the previous night. And he can barely see her face in between her arms and hair, but he smiles as he leaves a kiss over her shoulder, and holds her tighter.

200th in Amsterdam street is finally being lived in.

Notes: This was based on this Ao3 request! I had so much fun. I’ll never get over my RR phase I fear. I haven’t been posting much because I took a gap year and I’m studying to get into my dream college and taking care of my grandad. Please take care everyone! Writing in here has become my safe place. Thank you for that.

- Sidey xxxo

[twopoppies]

The hair transplant thing is so frustrating because if he got it then cool, whatever makes him happy its really no big deal to me. People dye their hair and get boob jobs and botox its all the same to me but I'm 100% sure he didnt actually get one. Its all in how he styles it. In the new york pics from a couple of months ago he had the same M hairline he always had. And the growth from the buzz cut is consistent not at all how transplant hair looks. I normally wouldn't care about discussions like this its all part of being a celebrity but I just think to Anne's post about the buzz cut and hope he doesn't care too much about people talking about this. This is how people develop complexes about their looks. I understand people forgetting but at the end of the day he's still a real peraon behind all the performer personna and money and whatever else

Yep. Totally agree.

[ginsengkitten]

༺Beautiful Dangerous༻

a slashxreader fanfiction

༺☆༻

Chapter Nine

Too Young to Fall in Love

Track: Too Young to Fall in Love - Motley Crue

Barely 18 years old and you believed to have found yourself in the hottest summer of your life. Caught between the crosshairs of the muddy LA rock scene in a twisted love triangle between yourself and Slash and yourself and drugs. Had Slash been fully sober and un addicted himself at the time of your first hit, he would have never allowed you to follow through with being roped into Stevens medicinal debauchery.

But Slash could barely help himself, let alone you. It had been a tug of war since he laid eyes on you. Something so soft and so delicate, he didn't want to dirty you. Make you like himself. Although it did turn him on to see you so carefree and happy. To see you happy was as much as he could offer in the midst of his own addiction. His relationship with drugs had only gotten more intense and you happened to be tangled in the middle.

Sex on smack was otherworldly however, and that- neither the two of you could deny or attempt to stop. Sex alone with him was magic all itself, but once it was fed the fusion of smack and blood hungry lust, there was no stopping it. The two of you were not only addicted to the drugs, but each-other. Of course, you didn't know this. You didn't know the gravity of your own demise. No, you were entirely too happy and in love to acknowledge something like that. As far as anyone outside of your little world of rock and roll knew, you'd maybe gotten addicted to coke-a-colas. “The caffeine”- you'd say, when Daisy noticed your upbeat in energy.

You had become exceptionally skilled, with the aid of Dave, at sneaking out or finding excuses to be away from the house.

"I joined a summer charity campaign with a local shelter. No of course you haven't heard of them, they're transplanted from New York, under the firm direction of the governor for tax purposes.”

Daisy hadn't ever put it past you to be capable of making up such a twisted lie, but she sure as shit wasn't going to join you. But, you had been beginning to feel a sort of animosity from her lately. Too many close calls, or missing outfits from her closet. You couldn't help yourself. You spiraled this tornado of passion. You'd do just anything to get to be with Slash.

-

It was another night that you and Slash had hitch hiked your way down to the beach. With sunset emerging into a deep blue hour. An unpopulated strip of silver soft sand shimmering in the moonlight. The beach was a tucked away secret to most, unless you had known LA your entire life like slash. The night was cooler but still hot. You had stripped down to your bare essentials lately to sake of heat. A pair of blue daisy dukes and a thin gingham blouse.

No smack tonight. Earlier in the day had sufficed and you weren't at the point of illness without it. No, nothing but raw human beings tonight. Slash watched you dance through the shallow calm waves as they licked your legs. He smirked lowly through his dark curls and lit cigarette- as was usual. It was quiet. It hadn't been quiet in a long time. You closed your eyes and inhaled the salty mist. Dancing haphazardly in small tip goes along the shoreline. Unbeknownst to you, a watchful Slash stay gazing at you desperately. With every little twirl in the sand, your fingers outstretched in the night air, your hair, twisting around you like a shadowed veil.

You call out to him in your loneliness. "Slash!" You giggle out in your twirl. "Slaaaash! Come here!" You call to him with your arms. Flashing a smile to him. "I don't wanna get all wet now sweetheart." He replies with a smirk, eyeing you. His resistance to your charm was extremely penetrable. Like a house of cards, the blow of your smile knocked him over. You deny his answer and call again - "pleeeaaaase! slash!" You run to the front of him where he's made camp on a single homeless towel. Just out of his reach you dance in your begs. "Dance with me." You beg to him. He laughs at your silliness. "I'm no dancer baby." He laughs out. "Slash- you must- you must DANCE! Don't deny the rhythm!" You tease. He smiles and shakes his head. "You're nuts you know that?" He chuckles out at you. You don't care. There's nothing to worry about here. Right now, the two of you, is all that mattered. "SAUL!You're breaking my heart!" You tease again. Pushing him to his breaking point, he smiles wide and abandons his previous claims to relaxing to jump up and try to grab you, to which you evade and teasingly dance away. A chase unfolds of you screeching in delight and fear as you race towards the ocean. Your legs carry you to no avail and Slash is wrapping you up in his arms and twirling you up. His big arms surround you. He cheekily burys his face in your neck and attacks you with his lips. Your squeals of laughter subside and his lips envelope yours with that familiar softness. Your lips ebb and flow on eachother like the waves beneath you. You pull back to look at him as he sets you down. You match your hand to his. Your hand is made to seem so small in comparison to his massive muscular hands. Locking fingers as he stares into you. His finest possession in the world. Everything he has ever wanted, right in his fingertips.

"Slash..I love you..." you spill out the words without thought. He smirks down at you. His arrogant, devilish smirk, that he so carries with him wherever he goes. That smirk that lit your soul on fire from the very day in the record store. Minimal silence passes before he replies softly. "I love you too." He says as he brings his fingers to cup your face. You feel nothing but heaven on earth right now. No drug could truly compare to this. This fire that he built inside you, it burned day and night, kindled by even a sliver of his face peering out behind the curtain of deep dark frizzy curls.

Was this a dream? No, it was real life. But sometimes even in real life, you must also wake up.

[shannendoherty-fans]

Another month without her :( This was what Time published when she passed away, just found it recently but it's beautiful so I wanted to share it:

Remembering Shannen Doherty, the Quintessential Gen X Girl

Shannen Doherty in 2002SGranitz/WireImage via Getty Images

By Judy Berman — July 14, 2024 9:35 AM EDT

Shannen Doherty epitomized the experience of growing up female in the ’90s. Like her iconic Beverly Hills, 90210 character, Brenda Walsh, she contained a volatile mix of Gen X angst, teen fragility and feminist grit. She thrived as a porcelain-skinned, dark-haired drama queen in a world of tan, blonde valley girls, and owned her identity as an angry young woman before Courtney Love and Elizabeth Wurtzel made it a trend. She wasn’t for everyone, but that was part of her appeal.

Celebrity was not always kind to Doherty, who died on July 13at age 53 after a nine-year struggle with breast cancer. Though she’d been acting professionally for a decade when Fox’s 90210 debuted in 1990, the actor rocketed to full-on fame as the pioneering teen soap about social politics at West Beverly High slowly rose in the ratings. Tabloids sank their fangs into the young, photogenic cast, slotting Doherty—who was still 19 when the show premiered—into the role of villain. Called out for her partying, her tumultuous romantic relationships and her reportedly imperious behavior on set, she was let go from the long-running drama after four seasons.

“I was 21 years old, trying to grow up and figure out who I was,” Doherty explained to TIME in 1998. “I didn’t consciously think, ‘Maybe I should be real low-key and stay in my house.’ Instead I was like, ‘I’m 21 and I can go out and have a great time and experience the whole college life.’” In retrospect, the typically self-aware actor concluded that she had made herself an “easy target.” With the hindsight of a few additional decades, it also seems clear that the media had been excessively hard on a young woman coming of age in front of paparazzi flashbulbs.

Despite producer Aaron Spelling and creator Darren Star’s attempts to replace Brenda with other brunette troublemakers, the show was never the same without Doherty. 90210’s teenage characters had begun their lives as antiquated teen-movie stereotypes: Brenda’s twin brother, Brandon, was the all-American golden boy; Kelly, the pretty queen bee; Steve, the fratty bro; Donna, the sweetheart; David, the annoying little brother. Luke Perry’s motorcycle-riding bad boy was James Dean with a trust fund. Doherty was the first to make her character—conceived as a self-conscious Midwestern transplant—into something more authentic and contemporary.

Infused with Doherty’s preternatural fire, Brenda became a moody brat, yes, but also an earnest romantic who channeled her overabundance of feelings into a love affair with theater. Her self-righteous smirk, withering glare and wide, mischievous grin captured the emotional extremes of adolescence to an extent that words could never quite express. In the early ’90s, after a decade that saw a massive right-wing backlash to the gains of second-wave feminism, America was waking up to the rage of a new generation of women. Not long after 90210 emerged, female-dominated punk bands like L7, Bikini Kill and Hole stormed the rock mainstream—and Doherty’s performance began to look not just inspired, but also prescient.

Those girl-power undertones didn’t stop Brenda from battling Kelly (Jennie Garth, also rumored to be Doherty’s biggest behind-the-scenes rival) for Dylan in one of the show’s most memorable storylines. When she lost her virginity with him at the end of Season 1, local affiliates blasted the producers over the consequence-free depiction of teen sex. Looking back on the characters’ relationship in a 2008 interview with the New York Times, Doherty recalled “how messed up, sometimes, it could be, but ultimately there was love between them, and then eventually they grew apart.” For her, their romance was a funny, ultimately humane tale of a girl trying too hard to become the person she thinks her boyfriend wants her to be. “It’s kind of a good lesson,” she noted, “just be yourself and be comfortable in your own skin.” Four decades in Hollywood seemed to have led the actor, who was open about her mistakes, to a similar conclusion.

Born in Memphis, Tenn. on April 12, 1971, Doherty lived below the Mason-Dixon line for long enough to absorb Southern Baptist values fostered by her mother Rosa’s side of the family. When she was six, her parents moved Shannen and her older brother, Sean, to Los Angeles, where her father, Tom, had bought a trucking company. Though their fortunes fluctuated throughout her childhood, she soon discovered her talent for acting in a church production of Snow White. In 1982, the same year she voiced Teresa Brisby in the animated classic The Secret of NIMH, she nabbed the role of Jenny Wilder in Little House on the Prairie. “That show changed my life,” Doherty told People in a 1992 cover story, recalling the advice its executive producer and star Michael Landon gave her: “Always stick up for yourself. Never let anybody walk all over you.”

By the mid-’80s, Doherty had aged into the decade’s booming teen culture, racking up Young Artist Award nominations for roles in long-forgotten shows like Our House, as well as starring in the silly flick Girls Just Want to Have Fun alongside Sarah Jessica Parker and Helen Hunt. Viewers got their first glimpse of her mean-girl swagger in 1989’s Heathers, the cult black comedy that cast her as one of three identically named preppies who rule their high school with manicured fists. A wickedly funny funeral scene finds Doherty’s Heather Duke, decked out in a big hat and opera gloves, grinning beatifically as she thanks Jesus for the death of her friend.

For better or worse, it was 90210 that defined her public life after 1990, spawning anti-fanzines and punk singles that proclaimed their hatred of Brenda and earning Doherty a “difficult” reputation that she never lived down. But she did have fun with her image in the indie movies she made after leaving the show; Doherty is incandescent as an aggrieved girlfriend in Kevin Smith’s Mallrats and hilarious in a brief role as a day-glo ditz in Gregg Araki’s Nowhere.

Controversy followed her to the WB’s Charmed, a breezy supernatural drama also produced by Spelling, where for three seasons beginning in 1998 she turned in feisty performances as the eldest of three unfeasibly attractive witch sisters. Amid reports of clashes with co-star Alyssa Milano, Doherty’s character was killed off and Rose McGowan signed on to replace her.

Doherty was in and out of the spotlight after that, appearing in the short-lived 2004 Fox soap North Shore and, two years later, hosting an Oxygen reality show called Breaking Up With Shannen Doherty, in which she helped wannabe singles dump their significant others. Despite her abrupt exit from Beverly Hills, the franchise came calling again in 2008, with the CW reboot 90210. And she agreed to reprise the role of Brenda—now a famous stage actor—in a guest arc. “I didn’t want it to be like she was still stuck in high school with the same attitude,” Doherty told the Times in 2008, explaining that she had vetted the producers’ new vision for Brenda to ensure that the character had evolved. “Although I don’t think Brenda was mean, she reacted to the things that were happening around her, and she reacted as a teenager does.”

Following brief marriages to Ashley Hamilton (the son of George Hamilton) in 1993 and Rick Salomon (the poker pro best known for co-starring in Paris Hilton’s sex tape) in 2002, Doherty settled down with photographer Kurt Iswarienko in 2011; WE tv reality show Shannen Says chronicled their wedding preparations. Yet tragedy struck in 2015, when Doherty was diagnosed with breast cancer. After a brief remission, she revealed on Good Morning America in February 2020 that her cancer was back and she’d been living with a stage 4 diagnosis for a year. “I don’t think that I’ve processed it yet. It’s a bitter pill to swallow,” she said in the tearful interview. “There are definitely days where I say, ‘Why me?’ And then I go, ‘Well, why not me? Who else?’” Still going strong that fall, Doherty reflected on her life with unprecedented vulnerability in a widely read Elle profile. After an honest internal reckoning, she explained, “what I came out with was, I have good karma. It may not seem like it, but I’ve been a really good human being.”

Doherty got a final opportunity to revisit Brenda Walsh—and prove she could laugh at herself—in 2019’s deeply self-aware BH90210, a silly but mostly fun meta-revival on Fox that had the original cast playing exaggerated versions of themselves. In storylines caricatured from real life, Shannen was the free-spirited, post-fame holdout, and the one whose paycheck was the envy of her castmates. On Entertainment Tonight, Doherty explained that she’d decided to participate as a tribute to Luke Perry, who had died following a stroke that March. “Replaying Brenda was something I said I wouldn't do twice and I've replayed her now twice, so I guess I could never say I'm never going to do something again because I end up doing it,” she said. “As [Perry’s] on-set family, I felt like it was an important time for all of us to come together to honor him.”

That both actors would die young feels tragic enough to come from the melodramatic mind of the character from whom Doherty’s identity proved so inextricable. It’s a small consolation that we’ll remember them at their most romantic, as two teenage rebels with the world at their feet.

[cherrylng]

Chris Martin Facts - Coldplay [INROCK (September 2002)]

Photos by P.G.Brunelli/INROCK

Coldplay What kind of person is Chris…

Coldplay will tour the USA in August with the release of their new album "A Rush of Blood to the Head", and will begin a full-scale US tour in Seattle on September 4th. Their show at The Greek in Los Angeles sold out within an hour of tickets going on sale, showing that they are as popular as ever in the US. After finishing this tour in Chicago on September 24th, they will begin a UK arena tour in Glasgow on the 4th of October.

So, here are some comments Chris made in an interview with British magazine Q…

○ Chris is worried about his hair. "I'm only 25, but I'm going to be bald by next year. But a famous person told me that Bono (U2) had a hair transplant. I was like, Bono, seriously!? So I guess there's hope for me." …Come to think of it, when we interviewed him at Summer Sonic in 2000, he suddenly got worked up as the topic turned to his hair, as if he thought we were talking about his own hair….

○ Chris, as you know, was a virgin until 2-3 years ago, but this was because he followed the teachings of his mother, who is a devout Christian. Even now, "My mother always said that premarital sex was not allowed. I can't completely follow her instructions, but I still haven't slept with that many women." Incidentally, when Chris was 14 years old and attending a private secondary school, he was confused about whether he was gay. He finally recognised his sexuality as straight when he was 16. Sexuality always plays havoc with Chris…

○ Chris feels happy when fans ask for his autograph.

○ Chris likes The Streets' album.

○ Chris doesn't want to think that he is inferior to others. That's why he commented on Thom Yorke (Radiohead) that "I don't want to think that there is anyone in the world who is better than me." However, he refrained from making any further comments for fear of making another gaffe.

…Coldplay will return to Japan this winter in December! If you missed them at Summer Sonic two years ago, don't miss them this time!

※The live photos were taken at Glastonbury Festival in the UK in July.

Translator's Note: Love how the author of this short article assumed that Coldplay fans would know when Chris lost his virginity with a "as you know" thrown in. Like, y'know, as if we all knew already. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Please do support me with my ko-fi! ☕

[hairdoctornyc]

Outstanding Hair Transplant New York by Dr. Roy B. Stoller

[wedesignyouny]

Discover New York’s Finest Hair Transplant Surgery: MyHairNY

Discover New York’s Finest Hair Transplant Surgery

Overview

Your appearance and self-esteem may suffer greatly as a result of hair loss. In case you are facing baldness or thinning hair, hair transplant surgery provides a dependable and efficient remedy. Our goal at MyHairNY is to give you the best hair transplant surgery in New York so you may feel confident again and get results that appear natural. To guarantee that every patient receives individualized care and the best results possible, our skilled staff employs cutting-edge technology.

Comprehending Hair Transplant Procedures

Hair follicles from a donor area—usually the back or sides of the scalp—are transplanted into the balding or thinning portions of the scalp during hair transplant surgery. Male and female pattern baldness, among other forms of hair loss, can be effectively treated using this treatment. There are two main types of hair transplantation that MyHairNY provides:

1. FUE, or Follicular Unit Extraction Individual hair follicles are removed from the donor area and transplanted to the recipient area using the minimally invasive method known as FUE. This technique yields results that look natural, doesn’t leave any linear scars, and offers a quicker recovery period. For individuals looking for a less invasive procedure with little recovery time, FUE is great.

2. The transplantation of follicular units (FUT) In FUT, commonly referred to as the strip method, a strip of scalp is taken from the donor region and split into individual follicular units. After that, these units are moved to the balding regions. FUT allows for the transplantation of a larger number of grafts in a single session, making it suitable for patients with extensive hair loss.

Why opt for MyHairNY in New York for Hair Transplant Surgery?

We at MyHairNY are aware that every patient’s experience with hair loss is different. Our team of professionals is committed to offering solutions that are specifically designed to match your demands and objectives. MyHairNY is the greatest option for hair transplant surgery in New York for the following reasons:

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“The personalized care and attention I received at MyHairNY were exceptional. The surgeons are true experts in their field, and the results of my hair transplant are incredibly natural. I highly recommend MyHairNY to anyone considering hair restoration.” – Sarah M.

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You need look no farther than MyHairNY if you’re thinking of having hair transplant surgery in New York. Our skilled team is committed to offering the best hair restoration treatments, guaranteeing outcomes that look natural and instilling confidence. Make an appointment for a consultation with us right now to begin the process of having the greatest hair transplant surgery in New York improve your appearance.

[hairtransplantnewyorkcity]

Hair Transplant New York City

The Hair Transplant Center - New York, NY is pleased to offer advanced hair replacement and hair transplant surgery for men and women in Manhattan, New York City. As one of the leading hair transplant specialists in New York, we pride ourselves on providing spectacular results for our clients, allowing them to regain the confidence and youthful feeling of a fuller head of hair at affordable prices.

We offer a wide range of affordable hair restoration services to New York City residents and commuters including follicular unit transplantation (FUT), follicular unit extraction (FUE), micro-needling, facial hair transplants including eyebrow hair restoration, beard and mustache hair transplants, and more. Our experienced and board-certified New York hair transplant surgeons and clinicians will meet with you to discuss the most optimal procedure that would meet your hair replacement needs and provide excellent results.

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[abwwia]

Ana Mendieta, Untitled (Facial Hair Transplants), 1972, 35mm color slide. This work will be included in the Hammer Museum‘s upcoming show “The Political Body: Radical Women in Latin American Art 1960–1985.”

COURTESY GALERIE LELONG, NEW YORK. ©THE ESTATE OF ANA MENDIETA COLLECTION, L.L.C

[kingsofeverything]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/51661387/chapters/130594462

Desperation Was My Sanctuary by. InsightfulInsomniac

Loved this.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/42772812/chapters/107450907

Black Raspberries and Butterscotch by, MushroomMushroom28

Thus was amazing, wish they had other fics

https://archiveofourown.org/works/52029235/chapters/131576455

Wither & Bloom by. The_Dizzy_Pixie

Love all their works, this is the most recent.

All the love,

Sam<3

thanks, sam!

Desperation Was My Sanctuary by InsightfulInsomniac

As a PhD student and transplant to New York City, Louis is struggling for both money and companionship. His roommate, Zayn, introduces him to a friend who is involved in New York City's sugar bowl. Reluctantly, he signs up for a sugaring app knowing he’s probably the least conventional sugar baby on the market. If he can find a sugar daddy who will pay his bills without asking him to sacrifice his own preferences and boundaries, he might just be willing to earn a bit of extra cash by faking a relationship with a millionaire. At the age of 35, Harry’s spent his entire adult life devoted to his career as a fashion designer. With his label, Eroda, steady and flourishing, he finally has time to settle down. When he reflects on his adult life, he realizes that he’s never been in a relationship and therefore feels behind. Shy and insecure in his inexperience, he turns to a sugaring app to manufacture a “test relationship” on his terms. Turns out, they’re both looking for something unconventional. A smutty, non-traditional strangers-to-lovers story about finding yourself, friendship, safety, sexual discovery, and an unexpected collision with tender, profound love.

Black Raspberries and Butterscotch by MushroomMushroom28

Harry felt tears line his eyes. He’d waited so long for this. So fucking long- Louis slammed into him, nearly knocking them both over. “Hazza,” he whispered, completely out of breath, arms vice-like around Harry’s body. “Lou.” Harry gave in to the tears, letting them fall onto Louis’s shirt. “Lou, I’m here.” “You’re here.” Louis sniffled and pulled back to look at Harry. “You’re really here.” They both broke into blinding smiles. Harry took Louis in, looking almost exactly as he did four years ago, but with just a little more life experience behind his eyes. Those blue irises were as piercing as ever, none of his portraits having ever done him justice. His hair was wild as always, sticking up however it pleased. Harry laughed. It was good to be home. (OR What happens when two best friends, late to present as their secondary genders, finally spend a summer together after four years apart?)

Wither & Bloom by The_Dizzy_Pixie

No one knows that legendary Harry Styles is an omega. The record label, the fans, and even his family have no idea, leading to a very isolated and very lonely life for Harry. He knows it's for the best. Otherwise, he'd never have the career he wanted and he contents himself in the knowledge that he's not the only one. But when Harry injures his voice during a performance, his manager hires a new vocal coach to help put him to rights. Cue Louis Tomlinson, the sweetest, sexiest, kindest alpha in the world, stepped right out of Harry's dizziest daydreams. While Louis tries to figure out why there's something so incredibly un-alpha-like about 'Alpha-King of Pop' Harry Styles, Harry is busy trying to control his omega's undeniable urge to throw himself at the object of his infatuation. Amid an accidental misgendering, getting slick in public, tour bus snuggles with awkward boners, and unprovoked drops, Harry will have to choose whether he wants to keep living a lie for the sake of remaining in the spotlight or if he'll sacrifice everything to be with the man he loves... Assuming Louis ever comes back.

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