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looooooooomis · 4 years

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F I N A L G I R L | F O U R

You were his final girl. And there was no chance in hell that anyone or anything was going to mess that up.

p a r t f o u r | k e y s

masterlist here

pairing: Billy Loomis x f!reader word count: 4.4k warnings: angst, s m u t, some more s m u t, teasing, finger-licking good billy boy, implied/referenced cheating, def not a healthy, functioning relationship (but like eh we persevere), some more s m u t.

Despite your best efforts, the last few days had been miserable without Billy.

You hadn’t realized just how much of a routine he’d become over the last seven months, how much you’d both come to rely on each other and, fuck, did you miss him. You missed his smell, you missed that small little cheeky grin of his, you missed curling up beside him and feeling him over every inch of your skin. Your body craved for him in an almost primal way but, while you could live with denying your body its needs, it was your heart that hurt the most.

What was supposed to be a quick release for the two of you had never been that easy. You’d been in love with the idiot since freshman year, seen him through his various ups and downs and he’d seen yours, too. Which was precisely what made this entire situation that much harder. Not only were you dealing with your own heartache, but you were witnessing his, too.

Billy’s grief was more or less a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it sort of thing. Ever the stoic silent type, you hadn’t expected to see much of what he was feeling splayed out on that handsome face of his, but shocking even you, his regret was palpable. And each and every time those brown eyes met yours, that grief that was as clear as day struck you blind.

You’d tried telling yourself that it was for the best because, in all honesty, it was but that didn’t make the pain go away. Nor did it make you miss him any less. You were trapped in a vicious cycle of missing Billy, sticking to your guns, and worrying about him all at once.

God, you’d really fucked up with this one.

“You sure you’re okay?” Tatum asked, narrowing her eyes at you as you shoved a handful of books into your locker. “You’ve been scatterbrained all week.”

“I’m fine,” you shrugged, “why wouldn’t I be?”

“You tell me,” she leaned her hip against the locker. “Is this about Steve?”

You blinked as the question played on loop in your head. “Steve?” You asked, giving the strawberry blonde your full attention. “First of all, and I mean this from the bottom of my heart: ew. Secondly, huh?”

Tatum smirked. “Don’t play dumb, you’ve been acting all weird since Billy went psycho on his ass last week.”

“No, I haven’t,” you hoped your laugh didn’t sound as fake as it felt. “Also, Steve’s an asshole. If the day ever comes when I am interested in that big oaf, feel free to euthanize me.”

“Promise,” she made a motion of crossing her heart, “but in the meantime, you swear nothing is up?”

“Cross my heart,” you mimicked the gesture and shut your locker. “What are you up to after practice tonight? Want to go see that new Brad Pitt movie?”

Her shoulders fell. “Can’t, Stu’s coming over,” she unwrapped a lollipop and shoved it in her mouth. “I’d say ask Sid, but she got into it with Billy last night so she’s in a mood.”

You tried not to care, you really did, but her words hit you like a freight train. “They did?” You asked, hoping beyond hope that your voice didn’t sound quite as high pitched as it sounded in your head. “What happened?”

“Who knows,” Tatum shrugged, “Billy’s always been a little intense and Sid’s been a little cagey since…well, you know – so, it’s bound to happen.”

You swallowed hard and continued to nod along to Tatum’s words. Were you nodding too frequently? Did you appear too interested all of the sudden? Catching yourself, you focused on the leftover gum on the locker just behind your friend’s head and cleared your throat. “That’s shitty.”

“Relationships,” Tatum waved off, “they’re all pretty shitty sometimes.”

Before you could finish putting your foot in your mouth any further, the third bell rang out signaling your next class. Your most dreaded class: Biology. With a groan you tossed your bag over your shoulder and frowned across at Tatum. “See you at practice?”

With a nod, Tatum took off towards her class as you slowly sauntered towards your own. You were halfway down the hall when you heard a set of heavy footfalls running towards you from behind. Glancing over your shoulder, you barely had time to register Stu’s smiling face before he threw an arm around your shoulders. “How ya doing, pal?”

“Peachy,” you scraped your eyes along his profile and blinked. “If you’re about to play the rule of dutiful henchman for you know who, I’ve got a class to flunk.”

“Harsh,” Stu beamed, “I see why our boy’s so smitten.”

With a roll of your eyes, you glanced around at the people around you and glowered up at him. “Stu,” you warned, “I’m not in the mood for this.”

“For what?” He feigned innocence. “I haven’t said a word.”

“But you want to,” you mused. “And I don’t want to hear it.”

Stu chuckled. “All I was going to say is, like, I get it.”

You shouldn’t have taken his bait. What you should have done was push him off of you and continue on your merry way to class. That would have been the smart thing to do, the responsible thing to do.

Too bad you were neither of those two things.

Roped in, you sighed in defeat. “Get what?”

“I’ll be the first to admit,” he began, “when Bill told me that you and him were…you know, I laughed. I mean, two broads, man? I can barely handle the one how’s he going to deal with two of you?”

“I’m hoping there’s a point coming,” you groused.

“Right,” he laughed again, “my point is that I get it. I get why you two work. Why he’s knee deep in this big fucking mess because of it. You two work.”

“Stu,” you threw your head back and glared at the ceiling. “Stop.”

“What?” He asked. “Am I wrong?”

You gently pushed him away from you and dropped your voice into a whisper. “That’s not the point. He’s with Sid.”

“So?” Stu made a face. “Her mom just died, what do you want him to do? Dump her and break her heart? Her mom just died, that’d callous, man.”

“We’re breaking her heart either way, whether she knows it or not.”

Stu stopped walking and there was a compassion in his stare that left you reeling. For as long as you’d known him, Stu Macher had always been the goof. The reckless, chaotic idiot that seemed to fit just perfectly into your little mish mash of a group. But the sincerity in his blue eyes as the two of you stood in the emptying hallway was a look you’d never seen before.

“And by doing this, you’re breaking yours.” He limply shrugged. “Billy’s, too.”

Your shoulders fell as the weight of Stu’s words sank in. You couldn’t exactly say much in terms of a rebuttal, naturally, because he was right. There were no happy endings for either of you at this point in the charade. Sid had still been lied to and cheated on, Billy was still trapped in a relationship he no longer wished to be in in fear of hurting the girl he once loved and you were stuck in the middle, watching two people you cared for fall to bits while having to remain stoic in fear of showing your hand.

What a fucking mess.

After another minute of silence, Stu wriggled his eyebrows and squeezed your shoulder reassuringly. “Just something to think about.”

Taking off down the hall, Stu left you to your own devices as you stood in the middle of an empty hallway with far too much on your mind. In an almost zombie-like trance, you took off in the direction of your biology class, not quite caring that you were about to be marked as tardy for the third time that week. But, before you got to that god-forsaken class, you heard the click of a door not far off before a pair of arms encircled around your middle, yanking you into the nearest classroom. A surprise yelp tore out of your mouth, but the full-fledged scream died in your throat as soon as you realized just who it was who had grabbed you.

“Jesus, Billy, you scared the hell out of me.” You grasped your chest and took in the dark, empty classroom around you. He was still holding you against the nearest wall, you could feel the heat of those large hands through your thin shirt. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Sorry,” despite the desperation in those brown eyes, his voice never wavered. It was still as calm and collected as ever. “I’d go to your house, but it’s been like Fort Knox for the last week or so.”

You chewed on your lip for a moment before averting your eyes to the ground, not quite being able to stomach the weight of his stare just yet. “Billy, unless anything’s changed, I—”

“In case anything’s changed?” He reiterated with raised brows. “Everything’s changed. I miss you, Y/N, more than you can even comprehend. I know I’ve fucked up, I know that, but I need you. The last nine days without being able to really see you or feel you or kiss you or—”

“I get it,” you held your hands up and gently pushed him away. “And it’s been hard on me, too, Billy. But it doesn’t change anything.”

For a few, long, agonizing moments, Billy remained still as a thousand different emotions splayed out across his face. There was anger and grief, sadness and desperation. But the look you got as he dropped to his knees in front of you was pure, unadulterated fear. “I promise you, Y/N, the second I can, when the time is right, Sid and I will be no more. But me and you are it, sweetheart,” his hands gently circled around your hips before embracing you around your middle. “I’m so fucking sorry that this is how it has to be right now. And I’m sorry that I’m too fucking selfish to let this go, but I can’t. I need you. I need us. You’re everything good in my life and I know I need to start proving that to you.”

Still, you remained quiet. Your fingers itched to reach out and run your fingers through that slightly greasy, unruly mop of hair, but instead you kept them pinned down at your side as you considered his words. There was no doubt in your mind that he meant them, the desperation on his face said as much, but you had your reservations. Taking your silence in stride, however, Billy simply reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, velvet box.

Your heart nearly stopped.

“Oh, jesus,” you grumbled, burying your head in your hands. “You better not be doing what I think you’re fucking doing.”

“Open the box, Y/N.”

“No,” you held your hands up. “Not if it’s…that.”

Billy sighed. The muscle in his cheek twitched. “It’s not a fucking engagement ring.”

Somewhat relieved, you continued to stare down at the box in slight disdain. “So, what is it?”

Billy sighed. “Fucking open it and you’ll see.”

“Buying the ‘other woman’ jewelry, Billy?” You shook your head. “You’re like a walking cliché at this point.”

“Shut-up and open the goddamn box.” Standing up to his full height, he continued to hold the box out towards you and breathed out a quiet laugh when you remained unwavering. “It’s not a fucking bomb, Y/N, open it.”

With a sigh, you snatched the box out of his hand and, rather unceremoniously, opened it up to reveal a key. Not a fancy skeleton key or a charm in the shape of a key but a regular, run of the mill house key. You blinked, mildly surprised. “Okay, I’ll give you a point for creativity with the box,” you pulled the key out and observed it. “But what is it?”

“It’s a key,” Billy said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

“I see that,” a small smile pulled at your lips as you looked across at him. “What’s it for?”

“It’s a key to my parents’ cabin.”

If you were meant to understand the significance, the story was lost on you. Looking back down at the key, you surveyed its tiny ridges briefly before nodding. “And what’s that have to do with me?”

He took a step towards you and grabbed the hand still clutching onto the key. “My dad doesn’t go up there much ever since my mother left and I figure we could both use a place where we can just…be.” His raked his thumbnail along your knuckles. “No Sid, no anyone. Just you and me.”

You were trying to remain unfazed by the sentiment, to remain icy and cool to the man you were supposed to be pulling away from, but between the softness in those warm brown eyes and the weight of the key still clutched in your hand, you could feel your defenses waning. “You expect Sid to just not care that you’re disappearing up north every once in a while?”

“I’ll make it work,” he shrugged it off. “And, to be honest, I don’t care what she thinks.”

Your answer came in the form of a long, drawn out sigh. “Billy,” you began, but before you could dive into the rest of your speech, his large hands slid up your arms and neck to cradle your face.

Slowly, he backed you into a nearby desk and traced the apple of your cheek with his thumb. “We can sneak up there whenever we want. Spend a whole weekend up there, just the two of us. I can worship this fucking body of yours in every square inch of that cabin. I can go into town and hold your fucking hand in public. We can do whatever the hell it is we want to do up there, whenever we want, without worrying about any of our idiot friends seeing us.”

Your pulse quickened at the thought of being able to parade around like a normal couple in a town where not a single soul knew who you were. You swallowed, trying to steady your excitement with a dose of realism. “It’s still not fair to Sidney.”

“Fuck Sidney!” Billy’s voice echoed out around the vast, empty classroom, alarming you with just how angry he sounded. His chest heaved with a white-hot rage that you couldn’t fully comprehend, and his jaw was wound shut as his nostrils flared with each and every heavy, uneven breath he took. You swallowed hard and watched the man steady his nerves, unsure of your next move. You’d seen Billy angry before, but that level of emotion was definitely new.

You weren’t sure whether to be terrified or turned on by the sudden outburst.

But, just as quickly as it happened, Billy’s eyes slowly opened to reveal those molasses coloured eyes again. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he appeased. “But I can’t have her stand in the way of this. I won’t.”

You remained silent as you shimmied on top of the desk that had been poking into your ass for the last few seconds and tried not to focus on the way your body seemed to melt into Billy’s as he stepped in between your legs, still looking at you with all the intensity of the world.

“If we do this,” you found yourself muttering, “there’s going to be some ground rules.”

A sense of hope blossomed in Billy’s chest as he vigorously nodded his head. “Anything you want,” sliding his hands up the sides your stomach, he gently held your waist and gave it a small squeeze. “You name it.”

“When we go up to the aforementioned cabin, we go out.” You told him. “While I’m more than happy to blow you in the living room without worrying about your dad walking in, it would be nice to go on an actual fucking date.”

Billy nodded and, with his hands still on your waist, he tried not to focus on the thin cotton of your shirt bunching between his fingers as his thumb danced along your ribcage. There was so little between you in the empty classroom, barely any space as the two of you were practically nose to nose. And between that short little skirt you had on and your pert nipples beneath your thin tank top, it was enough to make his cock twitch inside of his pants. “Anything else?” He asked, his voice husky as he nudged his nose against yours.

“Yeah,” you ran your tongue along your now parched lips as you sat with Billy standing between your thighs, holding you in place as his thumb traced agonizingly close to your tit. Were you even breathing? It didn’t feel like it. You were wet, too, which made his inhumanly close proximity almost too much to bear. “Lock the fucking door this time.”

A roguish grin enveloped his features as he stepped out from between your legs. Crossing the threshold of the classroom in two seconds flat, Billy locked the door and made his way back to you with that same mischievous glimmer in his eye. His eyes were hungry and, as his hands shifted down to your ass, he tugged you even closer to the edge of the desk. Closer to him. With your legs still open and on either side of his hips, you just about died when your clit managed to rub against the zipper of his jeans.

A quiet, low moan tore out of your throat from the sensation.

“Anything else?” He asked, leaning his forehead against yours.

“Yeah,” your breathing was ragged as Billy’s slow, methodical fingers, trailed up the side of your stomach. He was being extraordinarily temperate and slow to further tease you but, despite knowing how risky this was, you were putty in his hands. “Touch me.”

His nose brushed against yours again as he shifted his hips just enough for the zipper of his jeans to rub against your clit again. The bastard knew what he was doing.

“This feel good?” He asked as his hips toiled into you again.

You were practically dry fucking against the desk, you could have been caught any second. But, fuck, when he pulled you in a little more and slowly gyrated his jean-clad pelvis against your clit again, you couldn’t care less. “Mhmm,” you hummed.

Slowly, Billy’s dept fingers slid up from your waist towards your breasts. Raking his thumb against the swollen bud, he leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on the side of your neck.

He knew his jeans were rubbing against your clit and, as he looked down and saw the visible wet patch on your blue thong, he wanted nothing more than to rip them off of you and bury his face in between your legs. “God, I’ve fucking missed you.”

When his hand squeezed your breast, you arched into his grasp. “I bet you did.”

Billy smirked and rolled your nipples between his fingers through the fabric of your shirt. With every roll of your hips, the strap of your shirt slipped down just enough to expose your breast. Without missing a beat, Billy leaned into your chest and allowed his mouth to consume your nipple, swirling his tongue around it expertly before biting down. You hissed as a combination of both pain and pleasure ripped through your body.

Your fingers curled around the hair along the nape of his neck and gave it a firm tug as is hands held you firmly in place. “Fuck, Billy” you moaned, breathless.

He released your nipple slowly, nipping at it one final time before leaning his forehead against yours again. You wanted like hell to close the distance between you. You wanted to feel his lips on yours. Feel the tickle of his stubble along your upper lip and have that expert tongue brush against yours.

But you also wanted to make him sweat a little.

You weren’t sure what had come over you as you slid your hand down your torso. Maybe it was adrenaline of being caught or the relief of having Billy in your arms again but as you allowed your fingers to dip beneath the hem of your exposed thong, the look on Billy’s face made it all worth it.

“What are you doing?” His Adams apple bobbed up and down as he watched you touch yourself. You were in an awkward angle, but as your finger circled your clit and you watched the bulge in his pants grow, you were coasting high.

“What’s it look like I’m doing?” You hummed, feigning innocence. “When I say touch me, I mean it, Billy. I’m taking matters into my own hands.” You pinched your clit and arched your naked chest into him. “Fuck.”

You heard him swear under his breath as his lips ghosted over yours. “You’re doing my head in, woman,” he growled, sliding his fingers beneath your panties. You gasped when his thumb began to circle your clit. And when he slid two fingers inside of you, you nearly saw stars.

His mouth found yours, mid-moan. Reaching the hand that had just been down the waistband of your shorts, you ran your fingers through his hair as his tongue coaxed yours. Everything about this man was electric. His fingers quickened their pace and before you knew it, you were thrusting into his hand. Placing sloppy kisses down from your mouth and along your jaw, Billy nipped at your ear. “How’s this for touching you, sweetheart?” He hissed, licking and biting his way across your neck.

Your breathing was rampant as you felt yourself edging closer and closer. “It’s alright,” you teased with a cloudy grin.

“So stubborn,” he laughed into your neck and curled his fingers so that he hit an area inside you that felt almost primal. The moan he got in return made him bite down on your collarbone. He curled his fingers again and you nearly choked. “You sure?”

Pulling his hair, you steered his face back to yours and crashed your lips against his. “Fuck me.” You mumbled into his mouth.

He applied the smallest bit of pressure to your clit and flicked his fingers one final time, sending you over the cliff. With a long, shaky moan, you bucked your hips uncontrollably as you came into his hand. Every inch of you felt as though it was on fire as Billy made you ride out your orgasm, not for a second easing up on your clit as you writhed beneath him.

“Play with your tits,” he barked out through hooded eyes.

“You play with them,” you argued, but the resolve in your voice was gone. You weren’t entirely sure if you knew your name at that point. All you could focus on was the feeling of his finger pinching your highly sensitive clit and that was it. Everything else was a blur.

“God, you’re so fucking stubborn.”

You were so wet and so turned on you could barely think straight. “Billy,” you pleaded, your entire body heating up almost unbearably so. When he ignored you and instead continued his attack on your clit, you whimpered. “I need you to fuck me.”

With a bruising kiss, Billy released your clit and, in seconds flat, tugged his jeans far enough down his hips before slipping inside of you. The moan that escaped your lips was undeniable as he pumped into you. Reaching up, he grabbed your tit and squeezed as he bit down on your exposed neck. It was a sensory overload coming from all angles.

“Fuck,” Billy’s hoarse voice was in your ear as he pumped into you. “You feel so fucking good, Y/N.” He reached for your face and tilted your chin up towards him, meeting you halfway with a sloppy kiss. Moaning into his mouth, you managed lose yourself in that instance.

Gone was the room around you.

Hell, gone was everything up until this point.

All you could focus on was the feeling of Billy inside of you. Biting down on his lip, you tugged it back as he rolled his hips in a way that made you quiver. He was thrusting, hard, in an almost animalistic that made your entire body shake with the velocity of every desperate push. He moved between kissing your lips, to biting them to suckling your neck as he continued to rail into you with all of passion in the world. He was a man, unhinged, and you weren’t sure if you’d ever seen him so sexy.

Not surprising in the least, it didn’t take him long to come. You’d riled him up to the point of no return and, as you felt him come inside of you, you all but laughed when his forehead dramatically fell against your own.

For a few minutes, neither of you moved, simply just remained still and firmly pressed against one another. But, as the weight of your current whereabouts slowly dawned on either of you, you both slowly pulled away from each other, both wearing a small smile as you re-dressed yourselves.

Once his pants were done up, Billy stepped into you once again and placed a kiss on your forehead. “Cabin this weekend, okay?”

You nodded and hopped down from the desk. “Yeah, maybe,” you teased, fixing your skirt.

Billy’s eyebrows rose. “Oh, maybe, eh?”

“Yeah,” you winked, “I’ll think about it.”

“Smart ass,” Billy smirked. “That mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble one of these days.”

“I’m counting on it.” Once you were both fixed up, you nodded towards his hand which was still slicked with your juices. You laughed. “Oops.”

But Billy didn’t seem fazed. Instead, your breath hitched in your throat when he raised his hand to his lips and licked your slick clear off, relishing in the taste of it with a knowing smirk on his face. “This weekend.” He reiterated, driving the point home.

“This weekend,” you agreed, walking towards the door. Ensuring nobody saw the two of you leave an empty classroom together, you unlocked the door and gave Billy a small, knowing smile. “See you at lunch, lover boy.”

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redgillan · 4 years

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Under Pastel Skies - 10

Sugar daddy!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Modern!AU Bucky doesn’t need anyone, especially not a sugar baby. He isn’t that desperate… but she smiles so sweetly and she’s endearingly awkward, and he’s so lonely. She’s an artist, a painter, the type of person who always puts others before herself. Throwing caution to the wind Bucky offers her a place to live, a place where she can finally paint whatever her heart desires. He doesn’t need much in return; a friend, a muse.

Word Count: 6,179

Warnings: nothing new

A/N: Hey it’s me, daddy! ...well apparently. I really gotta take a chill pill... these chapters are getting way too long. But anyway, I hope you enjoy it, my babies are soft and sensitive :’) Thank you for reading, I truly appreciate it!

Wannabe sugar daddies don’t interact, idc if you have money, eat it and leave me be.

You looked around the bar while you sipped your drink, a 12 dollar grapefruit juice and club soda cocktail. There weren’t many people at one in the afternoon, mostly suits and wealthy tourists, though you half expected to find Natasha hiding in the back with a hat, a large pair of sunglasses and an unfolded newspaper.

From the rug to the chairs and armchairs, everything was either black or white. You ran your index finger over the intricate calligraphy on the back of your chair. It was a number: 5.

Turning back around, you glanced at the clock and mentally cursed yourself for always being so early. You hated being late, and arriving less than ten minutes early counted as late in your book. You were nervous to see Wanda after all this time.

You hadn’t been expecting her to stay at a hotel on the Upper East Side. You wondered how she could afford it, but decided it was none of your business.

“I had a feeling you’d be here already.” That familiar voice brought back fond childhood memories and other not so pleasant memories. “You’re always early.”

You didn’t move a muscle as Wanda took a seat next to you, number 6. She signalled the bartender and ordered a latte. Meanwhile you played with your straw, trying to subtly steal a glance at her.

“What did you do to your hair?” you asked with a grimace, turning your body toward her.

Without looking at you, she raised her brows in mild exasperation. “I dyed it.”

“It’s orange.”

“Okay,” she sighed. “I get it. You’re angry with me.”

“Oh,” you drawled out. “I’m well past angry. I was angry four years ago, now I just don’t care anymore.”

“You don’t care about me anymore?”

“No, and it’s not like you cared about me, or Scott, or Okoye.” You paused. “Or mom.”

Wanda had a shocked look on her face as she finally met your eyes. “That’s low. You have no idea-”

“No, you have no idea what it was like to live in that house after you all left. You have absolutely no idea,” you said, enunciating each word between your teeth, “because you weren’t there, because you left us –you left me. Six years, Wanda.”

She looked away and you saw her bottom lip quiver. She clenched her jaw and took a small sip of her latte. You instantly felt bad for snapping at her. You didn’t like confrontation. Hated arguing. You internalized. It was difficult for you to acknowledge that you had a right to express your feelings.

“I, uh,” Wanda said, then cleared her throat. “I knew you weren’t going to welcome me with open arms, and I know what I did was wrong, but I’d like us to be a family again. If it’s not too late.”

“It’s not too late,” you said with a small sigh. “But I’m not going to instantly forgive you just because you’re back.”

“I know.”

“What made you come back?”

She fiddled with her fingers in her lap and you noticed the ring on her fourth finger. It was a beautiful vintage-inspired ring made of black rhodium with an ornate cadenza halo in the centre.

A terrible thought occurred to you, making your stomach twist painfully. You didn’t know her at all. Not anymore. You had missed so much of your sister’s life. Or more accurately; she had cut you out of her life, and it was painful.

“I went to London,” Wanda said, unaware of your inner turmoil. “I saw Uncle Michael. He asked me if I was here to see mom, and I said, ‘No, mom’s in New York.’ And then he told me-” she tilted her head to look at you “-he told me mom was sick, that you and Okoye put her in a nursing home not far from his apartment. I didn’t believe him, so he took me to mom and she-” She paused, staring straight ahead as if she was caught in the memory

“She looked at you like she didn’t know you,” you said, knowing exactly where the story was going because it had happened to you too.

“Yeah,” Wanda breathed out, tears in her eyes. “I never felt so alone. They told her I was her daughter, but she didn’t recognize me. She kept asking Uncle Michael who I was, then she got mad because she was adamant she never had children.”

“I know,” you said sympathetically.

“I wanted to see you and apologize for not being the sister you deserve. For not being here when you needed me most.”

“Where were you all this time?” you asked, practically begged for an answer.

Her shoulders tensed and she straightened up in her seat. “Just travelling.”

“I know, I got your postcards.” You nodded toward the engagement ring on her finger. “I guess I should say congratulations.”

“Mhh,” she said running the pad of her thumb over the diamond. “It’s funny I never thought I’d fall in love and get married. I don’t need a man in my life to make me feel whole. Mom raised us alone, we’re independent and strong.” A small smile graced her lips. “But I found someone sweet and charming, someone who makes me feel safe and calm.”

“Are you writing your vows?”

“Har har,” she deadpanned, rolling her eyes, a faint smile on her lips. You’d missed her, missed your banter. “You haven’t changed.”

“If you say so,” you said in a sombre voice. You looked at the clock above the bar. “Listen, I have to go but I’m happy you found someone. I’d like to meet him one day. I bet he doesn’t know about your Baby Spice phase.”

You jumped off the bar stool and picked up your jacket. Wanda turned in her seat, catching your wrist as you looped your purse over your shoulder.

“Can you stay a little longer?” she asked, looking at you with pleading eyes. “Just a minute.”

“Okay.”

She let go of your wrist. “Scott’s been released last month. I talked to him on the phone and asked him to fly to New York. He should be here tomorrow. I also talked to Okoye, I asked her to come here. We have things to discuss. I know things will never be the same, not after Pietro, not after mom, but we can try. We’re still a family.”

“Great,” you replied. Your word came out with more force than you had intended, but you didn’t apologize. They were all coming back for Wanda but when your mother needed help, you were all alone.

“Yeah,” Wanda whispered, her eyes cast down. “I was thinking we could all meet up for dinner. Okoye’s bringing her boyfriend so if you... if you have a partner-”

“I’m single.”

“Oh, uh, you can bring Natasha if you want.”

“No, thanks.” You reached into your purse and pulled out one of your business cards. “Text me, okay? I really gotta go.”

She smiled as she read your card. “You’re an artist? Splotchy, I’m so proud of you!”

That damn nickname... “I still haven't found a gallery. Not many people want to represent an unknown artist but I’m not giving up.”

“You never give up,” Wanda said with a gentle smile. “That’s why I love you.”

You took a cab to Natasha’s apartment. It had been three weeks since Sam moved to D.C., and Nat was having a hard time finding a job in her field.

She didn’t want to find another sugar daddy. It seemed ridiculous since she was still carrying a massive torch for Sam. She had saved enough money to live on until she could find a job and a new place to live.

“I’m officially done,” she grumbled in lieu of a greeting. “Job hunting sucks. New York sucks. Life sucks.”

“Pretty bold statement.”

You entered the apartment and plopped down next to her on the sofa. With a groan, she wrestled out of her blouse and threw it on the floor, leaving her in a simple white spaghetti-strap shirt and a pair of black trousers.

“I hate wearing a suit.”

“You look good in them.”

“I know,” she cried out. “I hate wearing suits when it’s all for nothing. I’m not the boss, I’m no one. Just another doofus with a college degree standing here like-” she cupped her hands together, as if she was holding a bowl, and looked at you with a pout. “Please, sir, I want some more.”

“I don’t understand why you didn’t get the job,” you said, biting back a laugh. “I would hire you for that spot on Oliver Twist impression.”

She laughed. “I think I lost my fire. People used to be scared of me. Remember? I miss that.”

“You’re a psycho,” you snorted, using her shoulder as a pillow. “If it’s any consolation, Bucky’s terrified of you.”

“Good.”

“Hey!”

She pressed her cheek against the top of your head and sighed. You stayed in that position for a few more seconds before you told Natasha what had happened with Wanda. She offered to go with you to your family gathering but you insisted you wanted to go alone.

“I gotta go,” you said. “Bucky’s taking me to dinner.”

“Oh,” she cooed, “is he finally going to propose?”

“That’s very funny,” you deadpanned. “I was starting to feel cooped up in our apartment so we decided to go out. Have fun, y’know.”

“Our apartment,” Natasha repeated with a lopsided smirk before she burst into a fit of giggles.

“Whatever,” you grumbled, embarrassed.

“That’s cute.” She pinched your cheek and you batted her hand away. “You should talk to him.”

“Don’t start.”

“What? I’m just saying-”

“Natasha,” you cut her off. “Stop asking me to talk to him. It’s not going to happen, and it’s giving me so much anxiety. You couldn’t talk to Sam, what makes you think I can talk to Bucky?”

She looked at you for a long moment. “I know you love him.”

You pressed your lips into a thin line, considering. You had never really been in love before but falling in love with Bucky had been so easy. And it was particularly scary because you had never been in a relationship, only flings.

“I do,” you admitted quietly. Saying it out loud was both freeing and terrifying.

“Don’t lose him.”

You knew Natasha missed Sam, she’d told you about it, but she wasn’t the kind of woman who let others see her pain. She confided in you and her friend, Clint, but other than that she rarely shared her problems with others.

Her bony shoulder was digging uncomfortably into your cheek so you shifted and let your head rest against her chest. She started playing with your hair. “Have you heard from Sam?”

“Not since he left,” she replied, then glanced down at you. “Have you?”

She tried to sound casual so you played along and acted like you couldn’t hear her heart jackhammering in her chest. “He called the landline the other day. Bucky wasn’t home so I answered.”

“The landline?” Natasha repeated with a scoff. “Your husband is old.”

“He asked if you were okay,” you said, choosing to ignore her comment. “You should call him.”

She stayed quiet for so long, you began to worry. You tilted your head to look at her, she had a faraway look in her eyes. You didn’t want to break her trance but she was starting to scare you.

You booped her chin and almost immediately a soft smile touched her lips. She cleared her throat, then checked her watch.

“You should go, you’re going to be late.”

“It’s okay,” you said. You couldn’t leave, not when she looked so sad. You knew Bucky would understand. “We can order some pizza, binge watch something on Netflix and go out for ice cream later. Like we used to.”

She laughed softly. “That sounds amazing. I kinda want to be alone tonight though, and Bucky’s waiting for you. I’m fine, I promise.” She looked down at you with a kind smile. “Rain check?”

“Absolutely.”

With a heavy heart, you left Natasha and started walking to the restaurant. The clouds above you were low and dark, masking the setting sun. You smiled, remembering the day you and Bucky went to the park.

You had wanted to go paint outside but you got caught in a rainstorm on the way home. As rain poured down on the both of you, you caught Bucky’s hand and tried to run to the nearest subway entrance but he didn’t budge.

He stayed in the middle of the street, still holding your hand, and grinned at you while people rushed around you. His hair was plastered to his head, little rivulets of water running down his nose. He smiled at you, bright and playful, and you almost melted on the spot.

What’s the rush, sweet angel?

When you got home, you both changed into dry clothes and sat in front of the fireplace with a bowl of soup. He looked adorable with his slightly damp hair, a few big curls flopping down onto his forehead. When you started sneezing, he adjusted the blanket around you.

The next day, you felt a little feverish and Bucky took care of you. He pressed his lips to your forehead, checking your temperature. Your mother used to do that too. You doubted the accuracy of that little test but you couldn’t care less. It felt incredibly comforting. They should teach it in med school.

Bucky was waiting for you in front of the restaurant. The weather was warmer now, and you were pleased to see that his maroon bomber jacket was back. It was a rerun of the night you had met him.

“Hey you,” he said, dropping a quick kiss on your cheek. “How did it go with Wanda?”

“Good, I guess. It could have been way worse.” You paused to look at him. “You okay? You look a little nervous. We don’t have to-”

“I’m okay,” he chuckled, smoothing his hand down his jacket, lightly patting his pocket. “Shall we?”

You cocked an eyebrow at him. “Promise me you’re not over-exerting yourself again.”

He stood in front of you, smiling kindly. “I promise.”

It had been a while since he had a panic attack, but they were always impressive and you couldn’t stand the thought of him trapped in his own mind, battling his demons alone.

You must have been silent too long because Bucky cupped the side of your face and said, “Thank you for taking care of me, angel. But I promise you, I’m fine. So what do you say? Wanna have dinner with me?”

You playfully rolled your eyes at him as he flashed you a cocky grin.

The restaurant was a quaint little place in Midtown with curved black leather booths lining the walls and simple cutlery. There were books everywhere, arranged neatly on the shelves along the walls. The place was well-lit, yet still cosy and calm.

Despite the hour, the restaurant wasn’t crowded. There was a couple, probably in their sixties, enjoying their meals together. Several people were eating alone, a book opened next to their plate, and a few others were browsing the shelves looking for something to read.

While you ate, you filled Bucky in on your conversation with Wanda. He didn’t interrupt you, he listened to you ramble on about how much you didn’t want to go to her reunion dinner.

“You can invite them over for dinner,” he said. You almost choked on your food. “Call me crazy but I think you’d feel more at ease if you were in a familiar environment.”

He had a point. You had no idea what that night had in store for you, and you definitely didn’t want to cause a scene in a restaurant. You weren’t one for airing your dirty laundry in public.

“I know that our... um, friendship is a little unconventional but I’d like to meet them.”

“Really? Wait,” you said, spotting a bit of tomato sauce on his chin. “You have something on your chin.” You reached over and used your napkin to wipe it away. “You eat like a wolf.”

“Mhh thanks.” He swallowed his mouthful of pasta and washed it down with a gulp of water. “To be honest with you, I’m a sucker for family reunions. I love watching people’s faces when they see someone they haven’t seen in a very long time.”

“I’m not sure it’ll be a happy one.”

“Well, then you could probably use some moral support,” he said. “And I’m curious if they ever gave you a silly nickname. Or maybe they’ll share some funny anecdotes.”

You stopped mid-bite and swallowed quickly, your eyes widening in fear. You couldn’t let that happen, Scott and Okoye would jump at the chance to tease you. “Oh, no, no, no! You are never meeting them.”

He laughed. “I bet you were a cute kid. I imagine you in some paint-stained overalls, hula hooping through the 90s, listening to the Spice Girls and watching Saturday morning cartoons with a bowl of cereal or a plate of pancakes.”

“You’re not too far off.” You grinned.

“You don’t have to make a decision right now,” he said in a more serious tone. “But think about it, okay?”

Inviting your siblings and their partners over for dinner was a bad idea. You could already picture their faces upon seeing Bucky. It would turn into an interrogation, and it would be absolutely unbearable.

But then again, you didn’t think you could endure the reunion without him.

The waiter came over to collect your dirty plates and asked if there would be anything else. He recited the dessert specialties and you ordered something that sounded both extravagant and mouth-watering.

“I have something for you,” Bucky broke the silence between you.

You responded with a curious yet playful frown and a tilt of your head. He glanced down at the table for a second as he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a slim jewellery box.

He placed it on the table next to his glass and let his fingertips linger on the lid, caressing it slowly as he hesitated. Then with a smooth flick of his wrist, he slid the box across the table. Your eyes flickered between the box and Bucky’s worried expression.

Inside the box, nestled in cream velvet, was a gold artist’s palette pendant with a delicate chain. The pendant had two paint brushes sticking out of the palette and four tiny stones representing the colours waiting to be mixed; ruby, sapphire, emerald and topaz.

It was incredibly tiny, about the length of two staples, but it made the details even more impressive. You could tell it was an old piece. There were light signs of wear and the design reminded you of the 1930s. It looked full of stories from previous owners. A testimony of love, passion and devotion.

“Oh,” you gasped as if all the air had been punched out of you. Bucky straightened up and jerked forward in his seat, his eyes round with anticipation. “Oh,” you repeated dumbly, at a loss for words.

“I saw it in the window of an antique shop on the way here,” he said.

That was a lie.

He had spent weeks searching for the perfect charm. He had a very specific idea of what he wanted to buy. Until one day, he found it. It reminded him of you; delicate, discreet, irreplaceable.

“Bucky,” you sighed, spellbound. “It’s... it’s beautiful.”

“It reminded me of you.” He met your eyes, smiled, and extended his hand in your direction. “Can I?”

Without hesitation you removed the necklace from its box and gave it to Bucky. After living with him for about six months, you knew there was nothing he couldn’t do. Even fasten your necklace with one hand.

He stood up and rounded the table, sitting next to you on the booth. You turned, giving him your back as he slipped the necklace around your neck. You held the pendant in the little dip between your collarbones at the base of your throat and let the ends of the chain dangle down your back.

“I noticed you haven’t been painting a lot since-” Bucky trailed off. Since you had a meltdown in your studio, since you realized your art was not good enough. Since you realized your dreams were too big to accomplish.

You looked over your shoulder and watched him fumble with the spring ring clasp. You couldn’t see what he was doing but he seemed entirely focused on the task at hand.

“Inspiration is a fickle thing, it comes and goes,” he continued. “I worry about you. You put too much pressure on yourself visiting galleries and trying to match their vision. I want you to remember who you are. You’re an artist. Never doubt yourself or your skills.”

He secured the chain around your neck and adjusted the necklace so that the little palette fell nicely above the neckline of your sweater. You stared at him wide eyed and amazed, and he smiled tenderly at you.

“Thank you,” you said quietly. “I’ll never take it off.”

“My pleasure, angel.”

“I really love it but it’s too much,” you said as he returned to his seat. “I don’t want you to think I’m after your money. I’m so grateful for your help, you do so much for me already.”

“I know you’re not after my money, but it’s mine and I’ll spend it as I please. I know you like gifts with meaning. And all I want is to make you happy.”

“You want to make me happy?” you asked, dumbfounded.

“Of course, I do.”

It was a foreign concept to you, you could hardly comprehend it. He wasn’t your childhood best friend, he wasn’t your brother or your mother’s brother, and yet he wanted to be the one who put a smile on your face.

You weren’t used to random acts of kindness. You spent most of your life taking care of others, making sure they had everything they needed, you forgot what it was like to feel loved.

And it all became so much clearer.

You knew in your heart that your feelings for Bucky weren’t one sided. Not when he looked at you like that. Not when he touched you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

There was a mutual, yet silent, understanding between you. This is good. Let’s not make things complicated. Even though we both want to. And you abided by that unspoken rule, not wanting to make things more complicated.

Your eyes were overflowing with tears. When a tear escaped, you felt it bounce on your cheekbone before it landed near your pendant. You rolled your eyes at yourself and smiled.

“Why am I always crying?” you said, laughing a little. “I’m not sad, I swear. These are happy tears.” Bucky’s smile was calm and sure. “Wait, I’m just gonna-” you trailed off, wiping the back of your hand under your nose with an embarrassed laugh.

“You’re beautiful.”

You lay in bed that night, replaying those three words in your head until you fell asleep.

It took you a couple of days to come to term with the realization that your feelings weren’t one sided. A little voice in your head tried to protect your heart, it said: Don’t get your hopes up. Remember what happened last time.

But that voice was quiet, almost too quiet to hear.

Against your better judgement, you agreed to invite your siblings over for dinner. All you had to do was call Wanda’s hotel and ask the hotel staff to pass along a message. Easy-peasy.

Well, in theory, because it turned out to be stressed depressed lemon zest.

There were things Bucky didn’t know about you and your family, things that you had intentionally kept from him. One of these things was your brother’s criminal record.

Bucky had asked you a few times what Scott did for a living and you always gave him the same rehearsed answer. “Scott has a master’s degree in electrical engineering but he’s between jobs at the moment.” It wasn’t a total lie but it wasn’t the whole truth either.

You finally decided to tell him everything.

Scott was a thief. Before Cassie was born, and thanks to his computer skills, he used to steal from criminals and give back to those they had stolen from. He promised his wife, Maggie, that he would stop after Cassie’s birth.

He took up a job at VistaCorp but noticed that the company was overcharging their customers. Thinking that it was a coding error, he fixed it before his boss, Geoff Zorick, ordered him to change it back. It made him realize that the company was intentionally overcharging their customers.

He was fired soon after. Maggie begged him not to get involved, she begged him to think of his family but Scott didn’t listen. He broke into the company’s headquarters, hacked their system and redistributed the stolen money. Then he broke into Zorick’s house, stole a bunch of stuff and drove Zorick’s car into the pool.

He got five years.

Bucky was a little shocked but he took these new revelations well.

“People make mistakes,” he said. “He paid for his mistake, and not seeing his little girl for five years is punishment enough.” He bumped his shoulder against yours and grinned. “He sounds like a chaotic Robin Hood. I can’t wait to meet him.”

You chuckled. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“Nope.”

“So... you’re not going to hide your valuables in a closet somewhere?”

“I would but I’m not sure you’d like to be stuck in the closet all night.” You rolled your eyes and huffed, thinking he wasn’t taking you seriously. He laughed quietly. “The only valuable thing I own is the bookmark my niece made for me, everything else is meaningless. And I don’t judge people on their worst mistakes.”

“You sound like Natasha,” you chuckled lowly. “But I’m glad you think that way.”

“That being said, they have a lot of apologizing and making up to do. They left you all alone. It isn’t right.”

You squirmed in your seat. “Argh, I don’t know. It’s in the past now, I don’t want to dwell on it. We were all miserable back then, and I’m not exactly blameless here.”

Bucky gave you a puzzled look. “You took care of your mom when she was sick, you sold your childhood home. You found your mom a nursing home where she gets the best treatment possible. You put your dreams on hold to pay her hospital bills. You did everything you could.”

“No, that’s not true,” you replied, biting your bottom lip.

You tried to find the courage to say it out loud. It was something that ate away at your soul. Your biggest mistake.

“I should have known something was wrong with her,” you said, rushing the words out. “At first she started misplacing things like her car keys, her glasses or the remote. She always had a good excuse, like was tired or stressed, but I should have known.”

“I misplace my keys all the time, angel. Sometimes it doesn’t mean anything. You can’t blame yourself for that.”

“She’s my mom, I’ve known her all my life. I should have noticed something was wrong. If I had, maybe she’d still be with us, living in our old house.”

“C’mere,” he said, extending his arm toward you. You didn’t hesitate, you abandoned your seat on the sofa and wrapped your arms around him, your face buried in his chest. “I understand why you feel that way,” he said, stroking your hair. “But you did everything you could. You didn’t fail her. Alzheimer is... well it’s a sneaky disease. There are a lot of things we don’t understand. It’s unfair to blame yourself for something completely out of your control.”

“Maybe,” you mumbled, your voice muffled against his shirt. “But it still hurts.”

“I know,” he cooed, his fingernails grazing your scalp. “I know, my angel.”

You stayed like that for some time, your cheek pressed against his shirt. You focused on the calm rhythm of his breathing and tried to match it. He gently ran his fingers up and down your back, calming you almost instantly.

You were terrified to see your siblings again. Despite Bucky’s reassuring words, a part of you still believed that you could have done more to help your mom, and you were afraid your siblings would feel the same.

“It’s going to be okay,” Bucky said, seemingly reading your thoughts. “I won’t let them belittle your efforts.”

The next day, you called Wanda’s hotel and left a message with the receptionist. Wanda called you back a few hours later, saying that she would love to have dinner at your place instead of going out.

She sounded surprised, and you could tell she had a lot of questions, but she knew she wasn’t in your good graces yet so she simply told you that she couldn’t wait to see your apartment and spend the evening with you.

Meanwhile Bucky was having some sort of nervous breakdown.

A few days before the party, he started to obsessively clean his apartment. Every single room had that distinctive lemony scent, his homemade disinfectant, except your room. It was still a line he refused to cross no matter how strong the urge might be.

He often had those spells but they usually didn’t last more than a few hours. You could see the tears in his eyes and the disgust on his face; grimaces that had been triggered by the realization that he still couldn’t control his need to constantly clean and tidy. His OCD had been dormant, not gone.

You knew it was hard for him to meet new people. He had offered to invite your siblings because he knew it would make you feel more at ease. He didn’t care about his own needs. This man was willing to endure anything for you. How could you not fall in love with him?

You let him clean. You knew from past experience that it wasn’t something he could control and getting involved usually did more harm than good. You made sure he knew you were there and that you were not judging him in any way.

He felt so physically and emotionally drained afterwards that you simply held him in your arms until he fell asleep.

On the day of the party, you were chopping dried apricots in the kitchen while Bucky was making sure the chicken pieces weren’t sticking to the bottom of the pan.

You had wanted to order dinner from the restaurant down the street, and Bucky wanted to cook. You told him that cooking a meal for seven people was pretty stressful but he simply shrugged.

“I can do it, angel.”

“I know but you don’t have to do it.”

“Yeah, I do,” he replied with a sad smile.

You remembered him telling you that his ex-girlfriend often babied him in front of her friends and that it always made him feel weak and pathetic. He wanted to prove himself. He wanted to prove that, even with only one arm, he was able to cook a meal for an entire family.

“Okay, fine,” you reluctantly agreed. “But you’re not doing this alone.” He opened his mouth to protest but you raised your hand and touched a finger to his lips. “You can’t change my mind. I’ll be your sous-chef, and that’s final.”

So you ended up cutting vegetables for him. He made two tagines, one with meat and one with vegetables, in case anyone had any allergies or dietary restrictions.

Once the kitchen was spotless, you both went to your rooms to get ready for the night. It didn’t take you long so you checked on the tagines and waited for Bucky. The smell of harissa and coriander wrapped around you like a comforting hug.

You stole a dinner roll and checked the time on your phone. Nearly seven. A wave of anxiety rolled through the pit of your stomach. You took a deep, calming breath and decided to go check on Bucky.

As you reached the top of the stairs, you heard a deep, frustrated groan followed by a whine. Stifling a giggle, you tiptoed down the hallway towards his bathroom.

“C’mon, stay put or I’ll cut you!”

“Do you often threaten your hair?” you asked, leaning against the door frame. He gasped and jerked away from the sink. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Is everything okay?”

“I can’t do anything with my hair,” he complained. “I’m this close to shave the whole damn thing.”

You pushed yourself off the door frame and moved toward him. “Mhh, why not. A buzz-cut would make you look super dangerous.”

“You think so?” he frowned.

“Yeah,” you replied enthusiastically as you perched yourself on the counter by the sink. “A buzz-cut and a beard. Now that’s a look.”

He ran his hand over the dark stubble on his cheeks. “I already have the beard.”

“You’re halfway there.” You watched him consider what you were offering. “You know what, never mind. Your hair is too pretty to cut.”

“I should cut it though. It’s getting too long, I can’t style it.”

“Oh, poor you with your thick, fluffy hair,” you teased.

“It’s a gift, and also a curse,” he sighed with a whimsical grimace.

You laughed. “Come here, I’ll help you tame the monster on your head.”

He chuckled as he stepped between your parted legs. You took the hair dryer and a comb from the counter and started working on his hair. Despite its messy appearance, the comb ran smoothly through the strands.

“I think we need a safe word tonight,” you said while you worked.

“A safe word?” he repeated, confused. “Why would we need one?”

“Just in case,” you replied with a shrug. “I love my siblings but they can be quite a handful. So if you’re tired or if you feel overwhelmed, you just say the word and I’ll politely ask them to leave.”

“All right. Same goes for you.” He made a face. “What’s the safe word?”

“I don’t know,” you said, your eyes focused on his hair. “Flamingo?” You pulled back to look at him. “I saw an amazing documentary about baby flamingos the other day. See? It works.”

“Okay, okay,” he said, laughing. “Flamingo it is.”

You picked up his hair gel and applied some to his hair.

“There you go,” you said, smoothing the hair over his temples before sliding your fingers down the sculpted curve of his cheekbones. “Ready to break some hearts.”

It was a joke, but your voice came out breathy and small. Bucky didn’t say a word. He pressed himself closer to you, and you resisted the urge to wrap your legs around him.

He rested his hand on your thigh, then slid it from your thigh to your waist and lingered there for a few seconds. He gazed into your eyes for a moment; careful, cautious. You cupped his face between your hands, feeling the bristle on his cheeks against your palms. It was rough against your sensitive skin.

He slid his hand up your side, fingers passing over your ribs, and you let out a gasping sigh as he rested his hand over your heart.

“Did I break your heart, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice low.

“Just cracked.”

He cupped the back of your neck and massaged lightly while he looked at you longingly. He continued to stare at you as you moved your hands to his chest, feeling the strong thud of his heart beneath your palm.

“I-uh,” he started, then licked his lips. “Angel, I-”

The intercom buzzed loudly, awakening the two of you from your trance. Bucky took a step back and closed his eyes. You were glad you were sitting, because your legs felt unusually weak.

“You ready?” he asked, breathless.

You didn’t trust yourself to speak, so you nodded.

You followed Bucky to the kitchen and answered the intercom, giving Wanda the apartment number. Bucky busied himself setting the table, unable to look you in the eye. You didn’t know what to say.

Finally, he stopped moving around and faced you.

“Who am I tonight? Who do you want me to be?”

You had anticipated his question. After all it was a legitimate question to ask giving the nature of your relationship.

“Just you,” you told him. You were tired of lies and half-truths.

A knock at the door startled you.

You opened the door, your hands shaking uncontrollably. You couldn’t help but gasp at the sight of Wanda, Okoye and Scott standing in front of you, each with a bottle of wine. There were two men behind them, both looking extremely uncomfortable.

“Hey Splotchy, long time no see, right?”

Part 11

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagines #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #marvel imagine #redgillan #redgillanwrites

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the-cult-of-russo · 3 years

Text

Push and Pull (Part 9)

Pairing: Matt Murdock x OC

Warnings: cursing, mentions of injury etc.

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What she thought would be a small nap turned into sleeping until the next morning. When Daphne woke up, she didn't move as her eyes fluttered open. Every inch of her hurt like a bitch and her shock had turned to anger. She could hear a whispering coming from behind her in the kitchen area and she stayed completely still as she listened.

"Jesus christ, Matt. When you told me what happened I didn't expect for her to look like she was mauled by a goddamn bear!" Foggy hissed frantically, trying to keep his voice low.

"I told you she was attacked," Matt started, his voice quieter and calmer than his friends.

"I know you did, but have you seen her? What did that asshole do to her?" Foggy honestly sounded like he was about to have an aneurism. She heard a sigh that came from Matt.

"Look, Foggy-" he tried, only to be interrupted again.

"Don't 'look Foggy' me. This shit is insane! And you said Brett hasn't even found the dude yet!" Foggy hissed again. Her heart dropped at that news. He must have left before the cops got there.

"I know but there isn't much we can do-" he was once again cut off by a panicked Foggy.

"There's a knife-wielding dad killer out there, Matt! He's insane. This whole thing is just… she could have died!" If she was honest, it touched her a little by how upset Foggy was by all of this. He seemed to be taking this friend thing seriously.

"I'm well aware," Matt stated plainly. He sounded like he was starting to get irritated.

"Oh, you're well aware. How great. Are you even concerned at all? I'm over here having a damn panic attack and you're just chill! Were you not even worried when she turned up here half dead?!" Foggy glowered accusingly.

"Of course I was worried, Foggy! I didn't even know how bad it was or if I'd be able to help her! I didn't sleep at all last night just to make sure she was breathing!" She didn't know how to feel about him watching over her like that. She hadn't expected that kindness. She hadn't even done that for him when he got shot.

"Quit your goddamn lecture because now isn't the time to talk about this!" Matt hissed harshly.

"Why the hell not?!" Foggy demanded.

"Because she's awake," Matt answered tensely.

Busted. She didn't know what tipped him off. She wondered if it was how her breathing changed when she woke and throughout their whispered argument or her heartbeat. Either way was creepy. She opted not to say anything and she honestly didn't think she could sit up unassisted with the pain she was in. She heard footsteps coming to the living area and Foggy plonked down in the chair. She was expecting a fake smile on his face with a cheerful greeting but she was met by a worried glance and silence. She didn't like it.

"Here. Coffee, toast and some pain meds," Matt murmured softly as he set the things on the coffee table. Then without her even having to ask, he helped her to sit. She groaned, gripping her wound on her lower abdomen as the stitches jolted.

"Motherfucker," she moaned with a frown. She didn't think she'd ever been this banged up before.

"Sorry. Try not to move too much. It'll be easier once you've had the pills," Matt said carefully. She nodded, grabbing the pills and washing them down with the coffee that was still kind of hot. She didn't know how Matt knew she liked cream and sugar but she couldn't care less right then.

"Brett didn't find him?" She bit out. It only caused her anger to swell. This asshole murdered his own father, a good man that didn't deserve this. She didn't even care about her attack in the grand scheme of things. She needed justice for Mr Lee. Matt sighed heavily, wiping a hand over his face. Foggy finally decided to speak.

"When they got to the scene, he was gone. But they're processing it which is good and they've got people looking for him. With your evidence and statement, once they catch him he's as good as locked up," Foggy stated sounding confident. More confident than the frantic whispering from the kitchen. She just nodded again. She really hoped they'd find the asshole.

"You need to eat. You lost a lot of blood and you need to heal," Matt uttered as he pushed the plate of toast towards her more. She felt sick and she really wasn't hungry. But she refused to lay about feeling sorry for herself. She wanted to heal ASAP so she reluctantly ate a few pieces of the toast. The silence as she ate was unbearable, like no one knew what to say as the heaviness weighed on them. Weirdly enough she found herself somewhat happy she wasn't on her own right then.

"I need to get to the station, drop my shit off and give my statement," she sighed once she was done, wiping the crumbs from her hands.

"Might wanna get changed first," Foggy teased weakly. She glanced down for the first time and blanched. Her shirt was ripped to shreds and was soaked in blood. She didn't know how she was even functioning with how much blood she must have lost. Her jeans were also blood stained although the brunt of it was taken by her shirt.

"You can have something of mine," Matt said softly as he stood. She watched him as he opened the door to his room. She'd be impressed by how easy he navigated his home but she'd seen him fight. The stick was just an act for everyone else's benefit. He might not see like everyone else but he saw things in his own way.

He came back a moment later with some black sweat pants and a black t-shirt. They'd be big but she'd cope. She just wanted to see Brett.

"Thanks," she shot him a weary smile that he returned as she took them. When she went to stand, she made a pained noise, squeezing her eyes shut. This would be hard. Foggy jumped up though, she wondered if he just felt like he needed to do something. To be helpful.

"Come on, I'll walk you to the bathroom," he smiled. He helped her stand and she was unsteady to her feet. With his help she managed to make it to the bathroom. She closed the door once she got in and listened to Foggy retreat back to Matt in the living room.

She gasped when she saw her reflection. She knew it would be bad but this wasn't what she expected. The left side of her face was a giant bruise, her cheekbone swollen. She had a split lip and hand prints around her throat. Her arms had numerous small slices and she knew her chest had a couple too as well as the deep gash on her stomach. She looked like she stepped right off the set of a horror movie. She wasn't surprised that Foggy freaked out when he saw her. At first she felt sad. Knowing she would scar, that Mr Lee's psycho spawn had marked her forever. A reminder of how she'd failed him because she was a self absorbed bitch. But then her anger flared. Matt’s words from the day before were on a loop in her brain like a mantra. Even if she had told Mr Lee, this would have happened. And she held the evidence to help put the prick away. Maybe the only reason she crossed paths with Mr Lee was so she could make sure he got justice.

After gathering herself, she realised she had a problem. She could barely function, let alone undress and get changed. She loathed asking anyone for help but she wasn't stubborn enough to hurt herself more by trying. Heaving a sigh, she shuffled over and opened the door.

"Uh… I need some help," she murmured with a grimace. She felt so awkward. Foggy was a new friend that she was trying to adjust to and Matt was… well he was Matt. But she was grateful for everything he'd done for her. And now they were even and she could close that chapter and hoped neither of them would need the other’s help after this.

"What do you need?" Foggy asked as he came into view, Matt trailing behind him.

"I can't… I can't get undressed. Or dressed," she snorted ruefully, gesturing to the bundle of clothes in her arms. Foggy's eyes widened and he glanced from her to Matt.

"I-I can help… if you need me to-" he started looking uncomfortable but she shook her head to stop him.

"At the risk of sounding like a bitch, Matt’s blind so… I'd kinda feel better if he helped me," she said carefully.

Matt swallowed thickly with a nod as Foggy looked relieved.

"Great! I mean… okay. I'll just…" he scurried off back to the living area and she snorted softly at him. Matt stayed silent as he walked inside the bathroom, closing the door behind him for privacy. It still wasn't ideal. He couldn't see with his eyes but he wasn't a typical blind person. But it was better than nothing.

"I'll try to be careful but this might hurt a little," he muttered apologetically. She nodded as he took the clothes from her and set them by the sink.

He made good on his promise to be careful as he expertly manoeuvred her shirt over her head with minimal pain. She was starting to feel uncomfortable with the weird silence dangling over them as he worked on her jeans.

"What's the mirror for? I mean you can't see so…" it came out much worse than it sounded in her head and she mentally facepalmed. She didn't know why it was so hard to just be civil with him. It was much easier being a bitch. She was caught off guard when he let out a surprised laugh.

"That sounded better in my head. I promise I'm not actually trying to be a bitch," she huffed a laugh of her own.

"It's fine. It's a valid question. Foggy made me get it, he's always trying to get me to put stuff in here for when he visits. He's been trying to get me to get a TV," he grinned up at her as he tugged her jeans down her legs.

"I think he just wants you to buy it so he doesn't have to," she mused playfully.

"That's what I said," he chuckled.

She was suddenly aware she was standing in her underwear and she was grateful he couldn't see her blush. When did she blush? She wasn't shy of the opposite sex. She rolled her eyes at herself as Matt helped her step into his sweatpants. She at least was capable of tightening the drawstrings so they didn't slip off. She winced a little as he manoeuvred the shirt over her head. It was a little big but it was way better than her now ruined one. Next he helped her with her boots.

"There you go," he gave her a hesitant smile and she swallowed thickly.

"Thanks… for this and… saving my life," she murmured sincerely. He nodded, pursing his lips a little.

"Like you said last night, now we're even," he smirked.

"Yeah, except I didn't keep vigil when you slept," she pointed out. Maybe she was feeling more like herself today since she noticed he looked down, seemingly caught off guard. He probably hoped she hadn't heard that part.

"You were in pretty bad shape. I couldn't sleep and I figured I'd just make sure you were still breathing," he shrugged as he opened the door

"Careful, Devilboy. It's starting to sound like you care. What do you think we are? Friends?" She asked with a sly smirk. He chuckled, wrapping an arm around her to help her walk into the living area.

"Something like that," he replied quietly.

"You look a lot better. More 'wearing my boyfriends clothes' than 'murder scene chic'," Foggy beamed at her. She snorted and rolled her eyes. She knew she still probably looked weird wearing Matt’s clothes and her boots but they were comfy honestly. Besides, nothing would stick out as much as her injuries. She watched as Foggy slung her backpack over his shoulder so she didn't have to carry it and she almost jumped when a hoodie was suddenly presented to her by Matt. He helped her into it but she left it unzipped. It was cozy and soft.

She was anxious now to see Brett and she watched with little patience as the boys got ready to leave. She didn't remember when Matt changed from his own sweats to his lawyer suit. It was Sunday and this wasn't really work and she wondered if he always wore a suit when he wasn't at home or if we just worked all the time. Matt slipped his glasses on and grabbed his cane before walking over. He linked his arm with her and she wondered how funny it would look when they went outside. Both of them were patient as they went down the stairs with her and she was grateful as they took turns to help her. She hated feeling so dependent on anyone and she couldn't wait to hurry up and heal.

"Thank Jesus," she breathed once they got outside. It felt like it took ten hours to get down the stairs.

"I prefer to go by Foggy most days. But it's Sunday so I'll allow it," Foggy grinned teasingly. She let out an elegant snort.

"Blasphemous," Matt tutted with a wry smirk. She wasn't sure now what the plan was. She struggled to walk on her own completely but knew Matt usually held Foggy's arm. She just stood there waiting for a cue on what to do. She watched as Matt readied his cane and then he glanced at her, extending his arm for her to link her own. She smiled gratefully, linking her arm and using him as an anchor to steady herself.

"Alright, off to the station we go. I should've brought snacks, this'll take a while," Foggy murmured thoughtfully.

She wasn't sure how long it took them to walk to the station but it was longer than she'd like. But once again they were patient and Matt had been steady as he walked beside her, guiding her which she found ironic. Foggy held open the door for them as they got there.

"Ladies first," he shot Matt a sly smirk and Matt scoffed as he shot his head.

"I'm sorry, please tell us what your favourite show is again?" Matt retorted. Foggy squinted at him as they walked through the door.

"The real housewives of Beverly Hills is interesting and entertaining!" Foggy defended firmly. She had to purse her lips to stop herself from laughing.

"Holy shit, D! What in the fresh hell?" the voice snapped her out of the surprisingly chill moment she was having with the wonder twins as Brett stormed over. He was looking at every inch of her with concern etched on his features and she gave him a careful smile.

"Asshole really did a number on me," she replied ruefully. She didn't want it made into a bigger deal than it was. The focus wasn't about her but Mr Lee instead.

"You're telling me," he muttered, raking his teeth over his lower lip.

"Any word?" Matt asked firmly. His no nonsense lawyer voice on. The heaving sigh that left Brett's lips told her no.

"No yet but we got eyes out looking for him. Don’t worry, we'll get him," he gave her a meaningful look and she nodded gratefully.

"I've got all the pictures in my bag. You want me to give my statement now?" She asked softly. Foggy passed the backpack to Brett who called another cop over to take it.

"Yeah. Get it done now and then you can rest while we find this asshole," he affirmed. She took a shaky step forward on her own and Matt hovered over her like he was ready to catch her. Brett moved over and linked his arm with hers.

"I got it from here. You boys can go on home, I'll drive her home when we're done," Brett said as he started walking with her.

"Thanks guys," she smiled over her shoulder. Foggy grinned at her and Matt just sent her a solemn nod. They'd actually had decent interactions for once. Maybe it was because she was injured. She wasn't on top form to be such a bitch and maybe he felt bad. She did appreciate him saving her ass even if it was to pay her back.

#matt murdock x oc #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock #daredevil x oc #daredevil fanfiction #daredevil

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surveys-at-your-service · 3 years

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Survey #453

“you can check out any time you like, but you can never leave”

What health problems run in your family? Diabetes, high blood pressure and cholesterol, depression, cancer, a LOT more that I'm forgetting. Where did you last have sex? I have zero memory of the last time that was, so I wouldn't know. But probably a bed? How long have you known your best friend? Since we were around 8 and 11. What’s something people criticize you the most for? That I rely on the computer too much. Are spiders scary? I mean some are, but they're also extremely fascinating animals that I really enjoy observing. Cheetos. Poofy or regular? Regular, for sure. The poofy ones get stuck in your teeth SO badly. What's your favorite music genre? Heavy metal. Be honest. What are you most afraid of? Doing nothing with my life. What's your favourite type of survey to take? The ones with really random questions that you don't see in every single one. However, I don't like "random" to where the questions are just inapplicable to almost everyone. I also enjoy questions that allow me to vent about stuff I have going on. If I'm in the right mood, deep questions are great, too. What was the last topic you read about? In detail? I don't know. What shirt do you wear the most? Besides tank tops, my Cloak "equal in our bones" Day of the Dead shirt. What's your go-to order from KFC? I don't eat at KFC. Did you have hand-me-down clothes when you were growing up? Yes. What was the last song you listened to? Well, NOW I'm obsessed with Violet Orlandi's cover of "Hotel California." I keep finding new songs that I just loop for days, man, lol. I'm still not over her "The Unforgiven" cover. Did you have long hair as a young kid? I did. How many songs do you know by the band you are listening to? I'm still listening to Violet's "Hotel California" cover, which is originally by The Eagles. I obviously know this song, as well as "Heartache Tonight." Probably more, just those are the two I know and like. What podcasts do you listen to, if any? I don't listen to any. What was your most recent binge watch? Gab Smolders' playthrough of Final Fantasy X. What’s the oldest thing currently in your house? Hell, possibly my bed frame. I don't know. If you use Snapchat, do you post to your story or send individual snaps more often? I don't have one. When was the last time you rolled your eyes? At what? Not too long ago. Mom said something that really annoyed me. Do you like mozzarella sticks? No. If you had to name one of your children after a friend, solely based on their name alone, who would you choose? Probably Alon. Everything about her is beautiful, ha ha. Have you ever watched anime porn? I can confidently say I have not... Are ladybugs cute? Yes! Would you wear something made from snake skin? Fuck no. I won't wear anything that comes from an animal. Will you leave the house without fragrance on? Yeah, idc. What’s the coolest thing you’ve ever done for a significant other? In art class, I made an anatomically correct heart out of clay and put it in a shadow box along with a poem as the background. I honestly really hope Jason still has it, because I worked my ass off on it. What do you think of naming your son after the father (ex. Roy Jr.): It's not my business what other parents name their kids, but for me personally, I really don't like it. Like... give your child their own identity. It also feels kinda arrogant to me? Like are you so important that you have to force your name onto your kid? Do you like Death Cab For Cutie? I only know "I Will Follow You Into the Dark," which I adore. Do walking near or past cops make you feel uncomfortable? Yes. I just feel like I'm doing something wrong somehow. Do you think stretching (or gauging) your ears is disgusting? When they get to a certain size, to me it is. Small ones are no biggie. What piercing or body modification do you think is really gross? Oh my god, those corset piercings people get on their backs. Just... no. What would you do if your bf/gf told you they were going into the army? I'd be fucking devastated, in a hypothetical relationship where we're serious. What is the nearest gas station called? Uhhhh... I forgot lol. The second-closest though, which is almost like, RIGHT beside the other one, is Sheetz. Do you think bearded dragons are cute? omg YES!!!!!!!! What is your father’s best friend’s name? Do you know them personally? I have no idea. Ever have a dream you’re being abducted by aliens? Was it scary? No. Are you someone who tends to take a whole lot of naps? Too many, honestly. I'm just like... always tired. What is your favorite nickname you like to be called? Why do you like it? Hm. My favorite I've ever had was "Bee," which Megan called me, but I don't like others calling me that. Ever meet someone whose house has burned down spontaneously? Yes, in middle school. Why aren’t you pursuing the person you like? I kinda am. I reached out to him. What part of a person’s body do you find most attractive? Guys: shoulder blades. Girls: hips. Any friends that you’d go on a date with? Yeah. I think I want to try that with Girt and see how it goes and decide what the fuck I want. Is it cute when someone calls you babe? It's funny, I used to hate that, but now I imagine I wouldn't mind? Do you like Muse? Yeah! "Unnatural Selection" and "Psycho" are especially BANGERS. What’s your favorite flavor of jello? Strawberry. What song is stuck in your head right now? I'm bingeing the absolute fuck outta the song I mentioned earlier, ha ha. Do you have a niece or nephew? I have a lot, but only three I see regularly. Have you ever been caught doing something REAL embarrassing by your parents? idk What did you receive for Valentine’s Day? I think Mom got me a chocolate bar? When was the last time you went to a cemetery, and why were you there? I want to say this was many years ago when I went with Colleen to her church. Her stillborn brother was buried there. Have you ever owned a plant? What was it? I grew habaneros once, along with some sort of succulents from Colleen. What was the most interesting animal you have seen in the wild? I saw a mink jump into the river once when I was out fishing with Dad at our favorite spot. Were you born in the state you live in? Yep. Always lived here. What’s a smell that makes you feel ill? Dog shit. Do you like to sleep? Yes and no. I like falling asleep if it's quick, because I'm all comfy, but I also dread sleep because of my nightmares. Even with my mask, they're starting to become regular again. After last night's, I am legitimately beginning to fear something is psychologically wrong with me. Like, I cried to my mom. Do you like the smell of gasoline? Ugh, no. It gives me a headache. Have you lost contact with anyone you wish you haven’t? Many people. Did you give anyone his/her first kiss? No. Should you ever have gone to the hospital but didn’t? Vice versa? No. Who do you miss the most? Jason. What do you miss the most? Being happy. What is your birthstone? Do you have any jewelry with it? Amethyst. I have a really cute guardian angel pin with one given to me by my grandmother. What is the last dream you remember having? Last night was... awful. I remember Mom and I getting in a MASSIVE fight, and also literally yelling at my late beloved dog something about crushing his head in if he didn't stop barking. Like I mentioned earlier, I'm really scared something is really wrong with me. Have you had a church confirmation, bar/bat mitzvah, or something similar? Growing up Roman Catholic, I had a Confirmation ceremony. What was the last baby animal you saw? I wanna say a puppy on Facebook. A friend just got one.

#survey #surveys #random questions #lyrics: ''hotel california'' by the eagles

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oscopelabs · 6 years

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Elvis, Truelove and the Stolen Boy: The Tragic Machismo of Nick Cassavetes’ ‘Alpha Dog’ by Amy Nicholson

[Last year, Musings paid homage to Produced and Abandoned: The Best Films You’ve Never Seen, a review anthology from the National Society of Film Critics that championed studio orphans from the ‘70s and ‘80s. In the days before the Internet, young cinephiles like myself relied on reference books and anthologies to lead us to films we might not have discovered otherwise. Released in 1990, Produced and Abandoned was a foundational piece of work, introducing me to such wonders as Cutter’s Way, Lost in America, High Tide, Choose Me, Housekeeping, and Fat City. (You can find the full list of entries here.) Our first round of Produced and Abandoned essays included Angelica Jade Bastién on By the Sea, Mike D’Angelo on The Counselor, Judy Berman on Velvet Goldmine, and Keith Phipps on O.C. and Stiggs. Today, Musings concludes our month-long round of essays about tarnished gems, in the hope they’ll get a second look. Or, more likely, a first. —Scott Tobias, editor.]

A decade before the presidency that elevated insults like “betacuck” and “soyboy” into political discourse, Nick Cassavetes made Alpha Dog, a cautionary tragedy about masculinity that audiences ignored. Time for a reappraisal. Alpha Dog is about a real murder. Over a three-day weekend in August of 2000, 15-year-old Zach Mazursky—in reality, named Nicholas Markowitz—is kidnapped and killed by the posse of 20-year-old San Fernando Valley drug dealer Johnny Truelove (Emile Hirsch) with a grudge against Zach’s older brother. No one thought the boy would die, not his main babysitter Frankie (Justin Timberlake), not the girls invited to party with “Stolen Boy,” and not even the boy himself, played with naive perfection by Anton Yelchin, who played video games and pounded beers assuming that his new captor-friends would eventually take him home.

Cassavetes’ daughter went to the same high school as Nicholas Markowitz. The murderers were neighborhood kids and he wanted to understand how fortunate sons with their whole lives ahead of them wound up in prison. The trigger man, Ryan Hoyt—“Elvis” in the film—had never even gotten a speeding ticket. Prosecutor Ron Zonen hoped the publicity around Alpha Dog would help the public spot the real-life Johnny, named Jesse James Hollywood, who was still on the lam despite being one of America’s Most Wanted. So the lawyers gave Cassavetes access to everything: crime scene photos, trial transcripts, psychological profiles, police reports, and their permission to contact the criminals and their parents. Cassavetes even took his actors to meet their counterparts, driving Justin Timberlake to a maximum security prison to get the vibe of the actual Frankie, and introducing Sharon Stone to Nicholas Markowitz’s mother, a broken woman who attempted suicide a dozen times in the years after her son's death.

Alpha Dog, pronounced Cassavetes, was “95 percent accurate.” Which was part of why it got buried, thanks to Jesse James Hollywood’s arrest just weeks after the film wrapped. Cassavetes hastily wrote a new ending to the movie, but his problems were just beginning. Hollywood’s lawyers insisted Alpha Dog would prevent their client from getting a fair trial, and used the threat of a mistrial to force Zonen off the case. “I don't know what Zonen was thinking, handing over the files,” gloated Hollywood’s defense team. “It was stupid.”

The publicity, and the delays, dragged out the pain for Markowitz’s family, especially when they heard Cassavetes had paid Hollywood’s father an, er, consulting fee. “Where is the justice in that?” asked the victim's brother. “This just goes on and on, and I’m spending my whole life in a courtroom.”

The film, too, was pushed back a year from its Sundance premiere. Despite casting a visionary young ensemble—Alpha Dog was my own introduction to Yelchin, Ben Foster, Olivia Wilde, Amanda Seyfried, Amber Heard, and the realization that Timberlake, that kid from N*SYNC, could actually act—no one noticed when it slid into theaters in January of 2007. It wasn’t just the bad press. It was that audiences couldn’t get past that Cassavetes’ last film was The Notebook. No way could the guy behind the biggest romantic weepy of a generation make something raw and cool.

But he had. Alpha Dog is a stunning movie about machismo and fate, two tag-team traits that destroy lives. Think Oedipus convincing himself he can outwit the oracle of Delphi. But Sophocles’ Oedipus telegraphs its intentions, elbowing the audience to see the end at the beginning. Greeks sitting down in 405 BC knew they were watching a tale that came full circle. Every step Oedipus takes away from his patricidal destiny just moves him closer to it.

If you map Alpha Dog’s script, instead of a loop, it looks like a horizontal line that plummets off a cliff. For most of its running time, Alpha Dog could pass for a coming-of-age flick where a sheltered kid with an over-protective mom (Sharon Stone) taps into his own self-confidence, right up until the scene where he tumbles into his own grave. Audiences who’d missed the news articles about the case weren’t clued into the climax. Cassavetes doesn’t offer any hints or flash-forwards, not even an ominous “based-on-a-true-story.” (The film might have been more successful if he had.) Instead, he lulls you into joining the kegger, watching Zach crack open beer after beer as though he expects to live forever. “There’s a movie sensibility that the film doesn’t conform to,” said Cassavetes. “You don’t watch this film. You endure it.”

As Zach, his eyes red-rimmed from bong rips, not tears, is shuttled between party dens and wealthy homes, he’s given several chances to escape. He’s even revealed to be a Tae Kwan Do blackbelt who can jokingly flip his captor-buddy Frankie (Justin Timberlake) into a bathtub. But Zach stays put—he doesn’t want to get his big brother Jake (Ben Foster) in more trouble, not realizing that Johnny is too busy making nervous phone calls to his lawyer and his aggro father Sonny (Bruce Willis) to get around to asking Jake for the $1200 in ransom money.

Zach’s death is disorienting, almost as if Psycho's Marion Crane got murdered in the second-to-last reel. In a minivan en route to his execution, he innocently tells Frankie he wants learn to play guitar. “It bugs me that I don’t know how to do anything,” he sighs. Meanwhile Johnny assures his dad that there’s no need to call off the killing. “These guys are such fuck-ups, nothing's gonna happen,” he shrugs, a rare example of cross-cutting that defuses tension in order to make the shock of the gunfire even worse. Up until the last second—even after Frankie binds him with duct tape—a sobbing Zach still can’t believe Frankie would hurt him, and honestly, Frankie can’t believe it himself. And Yelchin’s own early death makes you ache for him to get a happy ending, which Cassavetes dangles just out of reach.

This is how evil happens, says Cassavetes. Masterminds are rare. Instead, people like Frankie can be basically good, but can also be panicky and passive and selfish. Shoving Zach in Johnny’s van was an idiotic impulse by upper middle-class kids, who flipped out when they realized the snatching could get them a lifetime sentence. There’s no honor or glory in the violence. Johnny, the cowardly ringleader, talks tough, but orders his most craven friend, Elvis (Shawn Hatosy), to pull the trigger while he and his girlfriend Angela (Olivia Wilde) get drunk on margaritas. And after the murder, one side effect is that Johnny can’t get an erection. When Angela tries to get Johnny in the mood in their hideout motel, the walls close in on him, suffocating the mood.

Away from his boys, Johnny is weak. Surrounded by them, he's the king. Alpha Dog sets up a culture of animalistic dominance. Johnny’s rental house is basically a primate cage at the zoo, only decorated with weight benches and Scarface posters. All of Johnny’s boys jockey to be his favorite and tear each other down in order to bump up their own rank. Kindness is weakness. When a fellow dealer with the ridiculous nickname Bobby 911 cruises by to negotiate a sale, he snarls at a guy who vouches for him: “You don’t need to tell him I’m good for it, man!”

Elvis, the future shooter, is the lowest member of the pack. He can’t ease into the group without Johnny ordering him to go pick up his pit-bull's poop in the backyard. Why do they pick on Elvis? He owes Johnny a bit of money, but the source of the scorn is simply group think. No one wants to be nice to the outcast, and Elvis is just too sincere to be taken seriously. When Elvis offers to get Johnny a beer, the guys tease him for being in love with Johnny. When he says sure, he does care about Johnny, they twist words into a gay panic joke. Elvis can’t win—they won’t let him—so he literally kills to prove his worth, and winds up sentenced to death row, where the real boy, just 21 at the time of the shooting, remains today. Another life wasted.

Cassavetes humanizes the killers because he wants us to understand how their micro decisions add up to murder. Not just the gunmen. Everyone’s a little to blame. The kids who got drunk with “Stolen Boy” and didn’t call the police. The girls who told Zach that being kidnapped made him sexy. Even Zach’s older step-brother Jake, an addict with a twitchy temper who escalates his war with Johnny to a fatal breaking point. Neither boy will back down over a $1200 debt, and there’s an awful split screen call when Johnny dials Jake intending to bring Zach home, but Jake is so boiling over with anger, his Bugs Bunny voice shrieking with outrage, that Johnny just hangs up the phone.

The opening credits, a montage of the cast’s own old home videos, underline that these were young and happy children—the kind of kids people point to as examples of the suburban American ideal. Over a treacly cover of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow,” we watch these real life boys being cultured to be brave: riding bikes, falling off dive-boards, running around with toy guns, going through the rituals of young manhood, from bar mitzvahs to karate lessons. Yelchin—recognizably dark-eyed and solemn even as a toddler—grins wearing plastic vampire teeth.

It takes another ten minutes for Yelchin’s character to sneak into the film sideways in a profile shot eating dinner with his parents, played by Sharon Stone and David Thornton. His Zach is barely even visible as brash Jake barges into the scene to beg for money. They say no, Jake stomps out, and Zach finally makes himself seen when he runs after his brother, begging to go anywhere less suffocating. Zach’s mom loves him so much that she watches him sleep. “I’m not fucking eight!” he yelps. He’s 15—practically a man, in his own imagination—and desperate to get away, even if it means mimicking Jake, a Jewish kid who’s so scrambled that he has a Hebrew tattoo on his clavicle and a swastika inked on his back. Jake starts to say that he wishes his own mom cared about him that much, but as soon as he gets vulnerable, he spins the moment into a joke. “Boo for me,” Jake grins, and takes another swig of beer.

“You could say it’s about drugs or guns or disaffected youth, but this whole thing is about parenting,” grunts Bruce Willis’ Sonny Truelove. “It’s about taking care of your children. You take care of yours, I take care of mine.” He’s half-right—his parenting is half to blame. Sonny and his best friend Cosmo (Harry Dean Stanton) taught Johnny to bully his friends. Cosmo, looking haggard and hollow, mocks Johnny for having one girlfriend. “You gotta plow some fucking fields,” he bellows. “Men are not supposed to be monopolous!” Not that “monopolous” is a real word, and not that Cosmo fends off women himself, except in his own big talk.

Cosmo and Sonny’s own posturing gradually emerges as being more dangerous than Johnny’s because it's more integrated into society. They’re the type of creeps who rewrite the rulebook to suit them, and attack journalists who try to tell the truth. When a fictitious documentarian asks Sonny about his son's drug connections, the father shrugs, “Did he sell a little weed? Sure.” But when the interviewer presses him further, Sonny snaps, “I’m a taxpayer and I’m a citizen and you are a jerk-off.”

Cassavetes, of course, understands growing up with a father who left a giant footprint to fill. His father, John Cassavetes, the writer-director of Shadows and Faces and A Woman Under the Influence, was one of the major pioneers of independent cinema. He died when Nick was 30, before his son attempted to take up his legacy. “We never really talked film theory,” said Cassavetes. “My experience with my dad was more along the lines of how to be a man, how to be yourself, how to free yourself from what society tells you to do, how to release yourself as an artist.”

It makes sense that Cassavetes would make his own ambitious, and maddeningly singular film. And perhaps it even makes sense to him that fate has yet to give him the reward he’s earned. Alpha Dog deserves to be acknowledged as one of the most incisive examinations of machismo and the banality of evil. But like his fumbling criminals, he knows he’s not really in charge of his life. Admitted Cassavetes, “I'm not smart enough to really have a master plan for my career.”

#alpha dog #alpha dog movie #nick cassavetes #john cassavetes #justin timberlake #emile hirsch #ben foster #amanda seyfried #olivia wilde #Nicholas Markowitz #Bruce Willis #Harry Dean Stanton #Oscilloscope Laboratories #O-Scope #musings #film writing

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misssophiachase · 6 years

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Prompt: Caroline goes viral for drunkingly covering Rockstar!Klaus’ song while at karaoke with friends, Klaus sees video and just needs to get this incredibly sexy blonde who turns his alt rock song into a sultry masterpiece to sing backup for his next album.

Nonnie! This is inspired!I adore me some Rockstar!Klaus. I always imagine the Original brothers in aband like Kings of Leon, so the title is my favourite of their songs. Hope you like itas much as I enjoyed writing it!

Use Somebody

“Niklaus!” Klaus groaned,holding his pillow over his face in order to ignore her incessant whining fromdownstairs. He thought he’d revoked her house key a few months ago but she’dobviously made copies. Just because she was his sibling and his band’spublicist she thought it was her god given right to be able to burst into his house at anymoment.

“Nik, get your stubbornass down here!” Instead of his sister’s whiny voice, he could now hear hisbrother and fellow Originals bandmate instead. Just bloody great. He threw off the pillowin frustration and climbed out of bed, only stopping briefly to throw on a pair of discarded boxersand white t-shirt before lazily moving downstairs.

“Well, I’m certainly nothungry for brunch now,” Rebekah drawled pushing away the take-out coffee andmuffin from her vantage point at the kitchen bench. “Seriously,could you be wearing any less clothing, Niklaus?”

“And could you seriouslybe any more annoying, Rebekah,” he scoffed, swiping her coffee and taking along, needed sip. He was fairly certain he was still drunk from the nightbefore. “Anyway, you both deserve it for breaking into my house thisearly. What if I had company?”

“It’s 11:30am and also wouldn’tbe the first time I found you with unsavoury company,” Rebekah deadpanned. “And Ican’t believe I’m going to say this but even Kol managed to be up and dressedby now.”

“I hate to burst yourbubble but I haven’t technically been to sleep yet, Beks.”

“Well, at least I know whyyou smell so bad,” she huffed.

“We’re rock stars Rebekah,it’s what we do,” Kol insisted smugly. “Now, please tell me why yousummonsed us here and I had to leave the confines of Bambi’s warm bed?”

“Urgh,” shemuttered. “At least that explains why you smell of cheap perfume.”

“Rebekah, I’d really likeit if you could get the point sometime this century?” Klaus sighed, running hishands through his knotted locks.

“This is why I’m here,”she explained, opening her laptop and hitting play on a YouTube video.

“You got me up for someterrible, karaoke video…” Klaus trailed off, his eyes locking onto thebeautiful blonde mid-stage clad in tight, leather pants and a fitted, RollingStones t-shirt her waves cascading like liquid gold over her shoulders.

Klaus felt his breathhitch in his throat at just how stunning but refreshingly vulnerable, at thesame time, she looked. She was swaying slightly, no doubt a little inebriated, before thefamiliar opening chords filled the background and she began to sing.

“I’ve been roaming around, always looking down at all I see.Painted faces, fill the places I can’t reach…”

Singing was anunderstatement, she was an absolute angel and her voice was breathtaking, evenfrom only a few sung lyrics. He was mesmerized, barely registering his brother’suntoward commentary about her general appearance.

Her particular choice ofsong was also messing with him, especially given it was supposedly deeper and notyour usual karaoke choice. It was something he’d written at a low point in hislife mid tour. It was about being restless and desperate to find something tobelieve in and for someone to love. Something and someone he was still yet tofind. The vulnerability in her voice teamed with those expressive blue eyes wasmessing with his usually strong resolve.

As the final notes soundedout, Rebekah closed her laptop and looked at them expectantly. “Well?”

“She certainly is sexy,”Kol offered, helping himself to a blueberry muffin. “But not sure what that hasto do with us.” She rolled her blue eyes in Klaus’ direction in response.

“Did you see how many hitsthat video got?” She asked incredulously. “It’s gone viral over night,apparently seven million people want to watch someone else sing your song. Thisgirl has talent; in fact I think we should….”

“Right, let’s set up ameeting then,” Klaus suggested before she could even continue with her plan. “Whereis she?”

“Austin.”

“And her managementcompany?” Klaus asked, every fiber of his being still attempting to beprofessional even if she was across the other side of the country.

“She doesn’t have representation,” Rebekah added. “She’s a graduate college student at UT, majoring inpsychology.” Klaus was momentarily taken aback, a multitude of thoughtscluttering his head wondering if by singing that song she was psycho analyzinghim.

“Why exactly are wewasting our time on this again?” Kol complained.

“Shut up Kol,” he growled.“Given just how long you take to do anything you might want to start packingfor Austin.” He’d left the room before he could hear any further objections.

One week later…

“Remind me why I’m in thesticks again,” Kol whined. Klaus was tempted to beat his younger brother uplike when they were younger but decided to refrain given his nerves.

Klaus Mikaelson didn’t getnervous but for some reason this mystery blonde, whom he only knew as CarolineForbes, was playing with his emotions. He’d watched her video on loop for days. Kol would say he was just checking her out physically but Klaus was interested in the raw emotions she displayed as she recited his lyrics over and over again.

“And on that false note, you arebanned from this meeting,” Rebekah drawled. “Don’t want any law suits. As foryou Niklaus, tell her how much you want her in the next video.” Klaus had tostop himself from rolling his eyes, he didn’t know her but he was certain shehad no interest in playing some groupie in a video but decided not to tell his sister that just yet.

“Where are we meeting anyway?”

“Rainey Street,” she explained. “Its going to be low-key and I’d appreciate you check your arrogance at the door.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” she scoffed. “We’ve known each other since birth so don’t try and play innocent, Niklaus.”

He was gone, albeit muttering choice words as he left. Klaus was nervous, something he hadn’t felt in years but stilled himself on approach.

What he wasn’t expecting was for the girl in the video to look so casual than that video but she was even more beautiful in person than he’d expected. Golden waves falling freely, pink lips, creamy complexion sans makeup and attired in jeans and a simple black Ramones t-shirt. One of his favourite bands too.

He held back, watching her intently as she studied the books laid out on the table, biting her bottom lip as she did it. Now he wasn’t quite sure what to say but let his legs do the walking.

“You’re looking very serious, love,” he murmured, kicking himself for being so obvious. She looked up regarding him curiously with those big, blue eyes but not responding immediately.

“I’m Klaus,” he offered, his confidence slipping away under her gaze. What was happening to him, Klaus had no idea.

“I’m studying, Klaus,” she replied. He couldn’t miss just how lovely his name sounded rolling off her tongue. “Hence the serious mood. Finals are in three weeks.”

“I wouldn’t really know,” he admitted, taking a seat opposite her. “I left school in eleventh grade.” It was a regret he’d carried with him for years, their surprise success as a band the only thing keeping it from gnawing away at him completely.

“Honours and degrees aren’t the be all and end all,” she said, her blue eyes capturing his across the table curiously.

“I think that’s the diplomatic answer from the almost Doctor,” he grinned, losing himself in her glance.

“Says the rockstar,” she smiled. “Apparently I was summonsed to this meeting, my best friend Kat threatened to disown me if I didn’t come. She was the one who took the video and posted without telling me first.”

“Ouch, love,” he chuckled. “Way to give a guy a complex.”

“I’d prefer that then to stroke that ego of yours, Mikaelson.”

“Who told you I have an ego?” He responded, defensively. When the media labelled him that way he didn’t care but staring across at this natural beauty who smelled like an intense combination of strawberries and vanilla for some reason made him want to be a better person.

“Your sister.” He baulked, expecting her views to come from the press not his nosy sister. “I think she’s trying to save you between you and me.”

“Is that your professional opinion, Dr Forbes?”

“I’m not a doctor yet and would prefer to keep well out of your head once I am, Mikaelson,” he could see the conflict in her eyes as she uttered it.

“Do you think I’m crazy?”

“It’s not my place to say, I barely know you,” she murmured, playing with the corner of her notebook and ignoring his gaze.

“Fine,” he conceded. “Would you consider playing back-up on our next album instead? That rendition was breathtaking and we’d love to have you, Caroline.”

“I sing for myself, so I’m going to have to respectfully decline,” she mused. “But thank you for the offer.” She began to collect her things before his hand found hers comfortingly.

“I understand, but can I ask you something?” She merely nodded by way of response. “Why did you choose that song?” She paused momentarily, Klaus searching her face.

“It spoke to me I suppose.” She admitted.

“How?” He asked, the thick desperation the last of his worries in anticipation of her response. Being a rockstar didn’t guarantee you happiness and for some reason this graduate student could see right through him and it intrigued him like nothing else.

“I’m not here to explain lyrics to the songwriter last time I checked,” she smiled cheekily. “But if you buy me a coffee I might reconsider.”

Caroline didn’t star in their next music video, she didn’t sing back-up either but turns out she stole the rockstar’s heart.

#ask #answered #use somebody #klaroline drabbles #thanks anon #great prompt #misssophiachase

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lunapaper · 6 years

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Album Review: ‘Love Monster’ - Amy Shark

Amy Shark is a true underdog story, a singer/songwriter over the age of 30 who finally got a notoriously fickle, soul-sucking, youth-obsessed music industry to sit up and take notice ever since her track ‘Adore’ reached No. 2 on Triple J’s Hottest 100 back in 2016. Since then, she’s performed on Jimmy Fallon, won fans in Russell Crowe and Katie Holmes and scored a deal with RCA Records, the hype well deserved as the Queenslander (real name Amy Billings) pours that sheet grit and determination into her heartfelt debut, Love Monster.

It’s no coincidence Shark has enlisted Jack Antonoff and Joel Little to be part of dream team of producers, with much of Love Monster indebted to the raw lyricism and eternal heartbreak of Lorde’s first two albums. It’s there in the shaky, cavernous longing of ‘Adore,’ replete with youthful angst (‘I'm just gonna stand with my bag hanging off my left arm/I'm just gonna walk home kicking stones at parked cars/But I had a great night, 'cause you kept rubbing against my arm’), as well as in the dreamy cascade of synths and drums on ‘All Loved Up,’ which has the singer perfectly capture those first few heady months into a new relationship (‘We've been kicking these words around too long/I had a feeling we were close to something big/A deep breath under a baseball cap/One way ticket to a heart attack’), though it could just as easily describe the whirlwind she’s been on so far. It’s also there in the wistful haze of ‘Don’t Turn Around,’ Shark confessing atop sparse drum loops and breezy synths: ‘I'm forced to see you/But deep down I love it/So far away, but I still see you coming, alright/Hopefully we run into each other.’

Current single ‘I Said Hi,’ meanwhile, serves as a satisfying ‘fuck you’ to all the label bigwigs who dismissed the singer first time around, reminiscent of Lorde’s vicious musings on Melodrama’s ‘Writer in the Dark’ and ‘Green Light.’ You can also feel her disdain drip with every reverb-laden beat and tremble of her guitar on ‘The Idiot’ (‘Go slow, it's slippery on the patio/My God, I'm sick of looking out for you’), while on ‘Leave Us Alone’ an old relationship continues to haunt her (‘You gave me something to do/I don't know who I am/I'm not fun anymore/Why is everyone here/Wish they would leave us alone’). In a surprise twist, Shark even teams up with Blink 182’s Mark Hoppus on ‘Psycho’ (produced by Dann Hume), caught in an emotional back and forth as Shark tries to assuage Hoppus’ fears (‘And I ask you 'cause I wanna to know/Not because I'm psycho/Just because I care a lot’), awash in a rather appropriate blend of 00s pop punk and anthemic chart pop synths.

‘You Think I Think I Sound Like God’ (also produced by Hume) rounds out the record, a slow-burning track that soon erupts into a thunderous roar, evidently revealing Shark’s simple yet bittersweet vision of a perfect love that involves ‘coffee in the morning’ and ‘making you laugh when you're yawning,’ a love as comfortable and worn-in as Shark’s lover’s ‘sweater’ that she longs to wear (Us Aussies prefer to call them ‘jumpers,’ but it just doesn’t quite have the same ring to it, does it?)

Love Monster certainly lives up to its title, Amy Shark unashamedly hungry for love even if it may prove lethal sometimes. Sure, the trap-inflected beats can feel quite recycled as the record progresses, but the singer’s brutal insights into life and love more than make up for it.

A debut you can’t help but adore…

- Bianca B.

#music #amy shark #love monster #new #reviews #albums #Bianca B

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cranberrybogmummy · 7 years

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Excerpt of Drifting part II, Chapter II

In a little while Stan had dressed and down in the kitchen, it was neat like nothing of the debauchery of last night happened. Mrs. Patterson smiled when she saw him. She was washing dishes in the sink.

“Hi there how do you like your eggs and toast?” She said, stepping away from the sink and wiping her hands on a dish towel.

“Uhhh over easy and almost burnt,” Stan said.

“Gotcha.” she replied with a wink.

She moseyed over to the other counter and started making him breakfast. She really was a pretty good cook Stan mused as he ate. Also he was bored.

“Where’s Rick, I mean Rich?” He asked

“Oh he’s in the cellar working his project. He said no one can else can go down there not even to clean,” Mrs. Patterson said.

“Anything I can do around the house?” Stan asked. He normally hated chores, but it beat sitting around watching fuzzy tv.

“Well, I guess the lawn needs mowing, and maybe set out some poison for the mice in the attic.” Ms Patterson said putting her chin in her hand.

“Sure.” Stan nodded.

Stan decided the lawn could wait until it cooled down that evening. For now he’d go to attic with the rat poison, Mrs. Patterson gave him and deal with the vermin and a flash light. He found the trap door to the attic on the second floor near the back of the hallway, he pulled a string attached to it and it opened up, a small wooden ladder slid out. He climbed up into the attic, The air up here was stuffy under the eaves among the pink insulation. He casually sprinkled the poison in the nooks and crannies. He wasn’t here to poison vermin, he needed to find out about Rick and his family. He opened the first cardboard box he found, which turned out to be christmas decorations, the second box was winter clothes and mothballs and so on. Was there nothing? Had Rick already been up here and destroyed everything? Then he stumbled on an old accordion file folder in it was a certificate of marriage, in spanish between Viola Ernestine Van der arrt and Hernando Christopher Sanchez. From what Stan could make out it was from San Juan, in Puerto Rico. There was an old black and white photograph of that young woman, heavily pregnant of the dark messy hair, scowling in a wedding dressing next to a older Tall, thin faced, balding bespectacled man with smiling wearily in a suit. He could see the resemblance to Rick in both of them. There were other photos: Viola holding a dark haired infant. Viola, Hernando, a toddler shirtless Rick and an older woman on a tropical beach. Then nothing, more papers something in legalese Stan and no patience for and photographs of Rick a little older maybe four heavily tanned, glaring into the camera as he twisted in his mother’s arms, she was paler. They were in heavy winter clothes. A Christmas picture all the Van der aarrts gathered near a decorated tree, Viola looking haggard, Rick still four the same age, paler, hair slicked back, and still seething with anger. Stan looked back at papers, what he could make out is that Viola Van Der Arrt was getting custody of her four year old son. An old photo album of Rick’s boyhood followed. There were a few older images of him his Father, Mother and an old lady labeled as ‘Abuela Sanchez’ in Puerto Rico. In these toddler Rick was shirtless, messy haired and very tan he looked happy. The images of Rick from four and up didn’t look happy, (expect in one album labeled summer memories. Which showed Rick or ‘Rich’ in this house. out on the lawn or splashing in a creek). Most the of the pictures Rick was surround by grown ups in suits and his mother who was grinning in a forced way. Rick always looked angry, or exhausted or resigned in these pictures, a few of them had that psycho Doug Blevins in them. Stan shoved them aside, he explored another box, that was mostly full of spiral ring binders with scribbled mathematical formula, diagrams, and loads of paperwork. And a framed diploma from MIT, saying that Richard Van der arrt was graduating Suma Cum laude. Stan looked at the date, Rick must have been about seven or eight when he received this. Stan found a few other diplomas, same deal. And loads old paperwork, he couldn’t understand it, so he pushed it aside. Maybe it was time to scatter more rat poison. It was hot and stuffy in here after all, maybe going out on the mow might be better, get some fresh air. That’s when he tripped over a box labeled in a scrawling hand: ‘Vi’s diaries (1956 -1970).’ Maybe this would shed some light on whoever Rick was. So Stan carried the heavy box down from the attic and hid it under his bed.

` It was still mid-afternoon, well better mow that lawn. The lawn was huge, wished he had a tractor or something kind of riding mower as the sun beat down, he sweat and reddened under it. Sometime in the middle he took off his shirt.Around three Mrs. Patterson came out with a ham sandwich and tall cold beer. Yeah it was old Canoe, the worst, cheapest beer, but on a day like this the very fact it was cold, light and beer made it perfect for the sweltering heat.The lawn was done at four. The sun still high in the sky, Stan slunk off to the shower cuz he stunk worse then a goat. Stan knew this because he’d met some goats out on that Peace Ascendant Family commune when he was out in Texas with Carla… under the cold water of the shower, it was okay to cry no one could tell. He’d blocked out the memory after he got out the shower, about an hour later later. The hi-fi speakers down stairs boomed with rock music, which meant one thing, Mrs. P was gone and Rick was out from the basement. Stan toweled off and put on a clean pair of shorts and a tank top. Rick was scarfing down dinner, hardly looking up, a protective arm looped around his dinner. Stan could see the remains of potato salad, baked beans and baked chicken thighs with some kinda herbs on them. The potato salad, wasn’t cold, the beans and chicken weren’t hot but it was food and Stan wasn’t about to complain about a free meal. He sat down and began to eat

“Find anything good?” Rick said.

Stan choked on his food sputtering, he drank some water and finally swallowed, coming up with a gasp. “What do you mean, Rick?”

“Mrs. P said you were putting down poison for the mice in the attic. So I f-f-figured you dug up a bunch of shit about me.” Rick said, He lent back in his chair, pulled out a zippo and lit a joint.

“Nothing…” Stan Lied. “Just a bunch of junk up there.”

Rick rolled his eyes. “Yeah sure.” Rick oozed sarcasm.

“Fine.. fine I found out you were some kind of boy genius who graduated all these fancy-ass schools before your balls even dropped.” Stan said. “Can I have a toke?”

Rick passed him the joint. “Look, it wasn’t my idea, my Mom always thought she was soooo smart, despite the fact she was only slightly above average, when she found out about me, she saw her ticket for academic glory.”

Stan took a hit, he was feeling better. “So that’s why she got custody from your Dad.”

“Heh, Naw… that her way of shitting on him. She didn’t even really want me. “ Rick sighed. “Ya know, when your a kid and your really happy? Yeah, that was Puerto Rico for me with my Dad and my Abuela. I’d just ya know run around, half naked and do kid shit, build my own toys… radios…and blow up stuff, you know I did kid shit, maybe play a game. But she and to come and take it away, cuz she was shitting on my Dad. It was downhill from there…Pines.”

He passed the joint, Stan took a hit. “So you were only really happy when you like four?”

“Yep.” Rick sighed and giggled. He took a hit, passed it

Stan took a hit, passed it back. “Yeesh.” Stan sighed. “It all ended for me, at 17, I thought me and my brother we’d be together forever, but he decided he wanted nothing to do with a dum-dum like me.”

“I only have two degrees, in case your wondering. I decided if they were gonna try me act like trained monkey, I might as w-w-well fling shit.” Rick said. “School sucks, it;’s a place for smart people Stan.”

They finished the joint. Minutes ticked by of them sitting there stoned, not talking.

“Yeah…. Whadda you wanna do now?”

#Stanchez #tw: drug use #Fanfiction #Rick & Morty #Gravity Falls #Stan Pines #grunkle stan #Rick Sanchez #Grandpa Rick

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watsonrodriquezie · 7 years

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Hair Loss: Looking beyond Genetics

Conventional wisdom teaches us to accept our fate when it comes to hair loss. “Runs in the family,” we’re often told—and sometimes it does (but that’s usually not the full story). “It’s just part of getting older,” people say, too—and there we again find only partial truth at best.

But the Primal path is one of thoughtful scrutiny, not blind acceptance. While most people would file hair loss under aesthetic concerns (ranging from neutral to negative depending on social norms and personal views), it’s not always that innocuous. Let’s look today the bigger picture behind hair loss and the situations in which it signifies a genuine health concern.

Hair Loss: Genetic Destiny?

To those in the know, androgenetic alopecia (AA) is the number one form of progressive hair loss. The term can be a little misleading: while it translates to male-pattern baldness, it also encompasses a condition called female pattern baldness. The “andro” derives from dihydrotestosterone, the so-called male hormone that specialists believe to be the primary cause of AA. It’s estimated that half of men over the age of 50 and half of women over the age of 65 have this form of hair loss, and the young people can be affected as well.

The theory goes that every hair follicle on your scalp is genetically predisposed to either be susceptible or resistant to increasing levels of dihydrotestosterone as you age. Those whose hair follicles are sensitive to this hormone will see a steady decline in hair as they age, while those who dodged the genetic bullet can retain their hair into their later decades…provided they don’t succumb to any number of other hair loss factors.

The theory implicating testosterone developed back in the 1940s, when James B. Hamilton reported the notable lack of hair loss in “old eunuchs who were castrated prior to sexual maturation.” It stood to reason that testosterone, which Hamilton assumed wasn’t being produced in any significant quantities post-snip, was the cause of hair loss in “intact” men. In 1980, a team of scientists refined this theory when they discovered a group of pseudohermaphrodites living in the Dominican Republic who had normal testosterone concentrations but lacked an enzyme that converted testosterone into the “hair follicle damaging” dihydrotestosterone.

The rest was history. Pharmaceutical opportunists caught onto the findings, and began pumping out early equivalents of today’s Rogaine and Propecia. Research-wise, not a lot of progress has been made since.

The Problem with a Fatalist View on Genetics

An study published last year in the International Journal of Trichology got me thinking. Researchers examined the medical and family history of 210 patients with female pattern hair loss, finding that close to 85% of the patients had a history of AA. Nothing new there.

But there was more at play: the study also found that the hair loss patients also had a high incidence of hypothyroidism and hypertension, and most were deficient in vitamin D. Clearly, all of these factors are influenced primarily by diet, stress, and other easily-altered variables.

This presents a problem for the fatalist alopecia soothsayers and drug companies alike. The issue with flat-out blaming genetics for something like hair loss is that there’s always confounding factors. For example, if someone has a family history of hair loss, does that family also have a gluten/dairy/egg/nut sensitivity that they don’t know about? Does that family have a ravenous sweet tooth, and therefore consume vast quantities of delicious but inflammatory sweeties? It’s easy to blame genetics for all of life’s maladies, but the waters muddy a little when a “predisposition” is intertwined with unhealthy habits, diet, or food allergies.

An alternative hair solutions blogger Danny Roddy agrees. Drawing on extensive research from Dr. Ray Peat, Roddy firmly dismisses the “genetic determinism” mindset and argues that the decades-old research upon which our current hair loss notions are based is inherently flawed. Roddy suggests that baldness and most genetic-derived hair loss conditions are due to environmental factors.

Crucially, Roddy also points out that those with androgenic alopecia don’t actually exhibit higher than normal levels of testosterone, implying that there are other elements at play here. Many recent findings also suggest that the so-called “sensitivity” of androgen receptors in the scalp doesn’t vary between balding and non-balding people.

The point here is that mainstream perceptions of common hair disorders may be a little off the mark. The other thing to remember is that “risk” doesn’t equate to “inevitable.” Just because your DNA puts you at a greater risk of losing your hair, that doesn’t seal the deal. Let’s examine a few other salient factors.

Hair Loss and Stress

Stress is bad news for your health. And your hair is no exception. Acute, extreme stress provides the primary mechanism by which your hair can start falling out, a condition known as telogen effluvium. This type of stress could come in any form—emotional trauma, physical pain or injury, that kind of thing. Cutting off blood flow and nutrient cycling to your hair follicles is the body’s way of focusing on the vital areas that are critical for survival during what it perceives to be a time of extreme hardship.

A recent study published in the American Journal of Pathology was one of the first lab tests to actually illustrate the short term effects that telogen effluvium can have on mammals. Using substance P as an acute stressor on mice, researchers were able to demonstrate that psycho-emotional stress altered hair follicle cycling, reduced the duration of hair growth, and exposed hair follicles to inflammation.

The second hair-fall mechanism is chronic stress. Low-level but continuous stress, perhaps in the form of incessant background noise, poor diet, or drawn out work troubles, has been shown to contribute to hair loss. Chronic stress can also occur as a negative feedback loop, whereby the stress of worrying about your hair falling out actually contributes to it’s continuing demise—the self-fulfilling prophecy.

The solution is obvious but not always easy: identify the stress and minimize it. The building blocks of stress management are always going to include diet: eat nutrient dense foods like organ meats, a wide range of vegetables, grass-fed dairy and pastured eggs. In addition to providing a wide range of other vital nutrients, these foods are also rich in biotin, which has been shown to be an effective treatment for certain forms of hair loss. Otherwise, you know the drill: scale back on the stress-inducing lifestyle factors, take more time for yourself, ensure regular nature immersions, and consider beginning a meditation or other relaxation-focused practice.

Hair Loss and Hormones

Despite the doubt surrounding genetic precursors to hair loss, there’s no question that hormonal imbalances play a key role in the state of your hair. Long-accepted hormonal contributors to hair loss include:

low ratio of estrogen to testosterone in women, which often occurs during and after menopause

underactive thyroid hormone in both men and women

excess testosterone in both men and women

insulin resistance in both men and women

While prescribing hormone-specific solutions for your hair is a whole article in itself, the key here is to focus on but one word: balance. As cliched as it sounds, true health is achieved by balancing all the systems, processes, inputs and outputs in your body…and the same is true for hair loss. Your first step might be to do a hormone test, or it might be to get back to basics with diet and lifestyle.

Luckily, a Primal way of life is a great way to start balancing out your hormones. Encouraging a shift away from excess carb consumption should go a long way towards improving insulin sensitivity, while steering clear of gluten and other potential food allergens (and making sure you’re getting ample selenium) can allow your thyroid to regain some semblance of normalcy. Excess testosterone typically isn’t an issue for folks like us, as a diet rich in whole foods helps to regulate its production and restore ratios between estrogen and testosterone.

Beyond CW, there’s a potential gollum lurking in the shadows: prolactin. Prolactin is secreted by the pituitary gland during pregnancy, and during times of stress. Prolactin is the mortal enemy of progesterone, one of the “female” hormones that also plays an important role in men. Progesterone blocks the effects of testosterone, leading some to believe that reducing the levels of prolactin in the body and thereby promoting progesterone secretion is a key element of supporting healthy hair growth. Because there’s very little research to back up these claims, aside from the musings of Dr. Ray Peat, this is a difficult one to explore further.

Nonetheless, reducing prolactin activity in your body certainly can’t hurt. Getting plenty of zinc, along with calcium and its cofactors should help to keep prolactin in check. Reducing alcohol intake and cutting out sugar can also encourage estrogen regulation, which plays a role in prolactin secretion. Experiment with foods and ratios, and see what works for you.

Hair Loss and Disease

I could ruminate all day on the various health conditions that lead to hair loss. Cardiovascular disease, hypertension, diabetes, hypothyroidism. The list goes on.

To me, the one which slips under the radar time and again is autoimmunity—particularly in the case of alopecia areata. If your hair loss is patchy rather than general thinning or receding, look to common autoimmune triggers for the answer. Healing your gut should be the first line of defense, which may be as simple as cutting out grains and upping the probiotics. It could also require more focused action, with something more along the lines of an autoimmune protocol.

Hair Loss and Nutrients

I’ve already touched upon dietary changes that can be promoted to treat certain hair loss causes. Still, suffice to say that if you’re following a relatively Primal-friendly eating plan, but still lacking in certain nutrients, you may need to explore efforts more close in. Women should keep a close eye on ferritin levels, as iron deficiency has been associated with up to 90% of hair loss cases. Many women with thinning hair also respond well to lysine supplementation.

For men, zinc and copper deficiencies may play a role in hair loss—particularly in the case of androgenetic alopecia. Because zinc is often lacking in many a person’s diet, it’s worthwhile upping your zinc intake primarily from food sources like grass-fed dairy, red meat, and nuts.

At the other end of the spectrum, overdosing on vitamin A is also thought to contribute to hair loss. Vegetables like sweet potato, carrots, and dark leafy greens should be providing more than enough vitamin A to meet your daily quota, so cut back or cut out vitamin A supplementation if hair loss is an issue.

Thanks for stopping by, folks. What’s your experience been with hair health? Have any of you achieved hair loss reversal with certain key changes to your diet, lifestyle, supplementation or other means? To all celebrating today, Happy 4th!

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fishermariawo · 7 years

Text

Hair Loss: Looking beyond Genetics

Hair Loss: Genetic Destiny?

The Problem with a Fatalist View on Genetics

Hair Loss and Stress

Hair Loss and Hormones

low ratio of estrogen to testosterone in women, which often occurs during and after menopause

underactive thyroid hormone in both men and women

excess testosterone in both men and women

insulin resistance in both men and women

Hair Loss and Disease

I could ruminate all day on the various health conditions that lead to hair loss. Cardiovascular disease, hypertension, diabetes, hypothyroidism. The list goes on.

Hair Loss and Nutrients

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milenasanchezmk · 7 years

Text

Hair Loss: Looking beyond Genetics

Hair Loss: Genetic Destiny?

The Problem with a Fatalist View on Genetics

Hair Loss and Stress

Hair Loss and Hormones

low ratio of estrogen to testosterone in women, which often occurs during and after menopause

underactive thyroid hormone in both men and women

excess testosterone in both men and women

insulin resistance in both men and women

Hair Loss and Disease

I could ruminate all day on the various health conditions that lead to hair loss. Cardiovascular disease, hypertension, diabetes, hypothyroidism. The list goes on.

Hair Loss and Nutrients

0 notes

cristinajourdanqp · 7 years

Text

Hair Loss: Looking beyond Genetics

Hair Loss: Genetic Destiny?

The Problem with a Fatalist View on Genetics

Hair Loss and Stress

Hair Loss and Hormones

low ratio of estrogen to testosterone in women, which often occurs during and after menopause

underactive thyroid hormone in both men and women

excess testosterone in both men and women

insulin resistance in both men and women

Hair Loss and Disease

I could ruminate all day on the various health conditions that lead to hair loss. Cardiovascular disease, hypertension, diabetes, hypothyroidism. The list goes on.

Hair Loss and Nutrients

0 notes

cynthiamwashington · 7 years

Text

Hair Loss: Looking beyond Genetics

Hair Loss: Genetic Destiny?

The Problem with a Fatalist View on Genetics

Hair Loss and Stress

Hair Loss and Hormones

low ratio of estrogen to testosterone in women, which often occurs during and after menopause

underactive thyroid hormone in both men and women

excess testosterone in both men and women

insulin resistance in both men and women

Hair Loss and Disease

I could ruminate all day on the various health conditions that lead to hair loss. Cardiovascular disease, hypertension, diabetes, hypothyroidism. The list goes on.

Hair Loss and Nutrients

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