#Sleeve Revision in California

[iminthetunnels]

do you really go out in the sun all the time with no protection and never get burned? how do you do that? or are you using an all natural sun screen?

yeah i rarely get burned, same with my son. we are out in the sun every day. the only time i sunburn is if i go to the beach so long sleeves or a hat. my son doesn’t burn at all tho. he gets slightly darker. im mindful of him tho. also i still go out in california 110 degree weather with blazing sun. i do like 15-20 minute stretches where im fully out in the sun. my skin is very freckled and also very smooth. im super baby faced. ive pretty much used sunscreen 2 times in my life lol. when i can afford it, i used sea buckthorn oil. good natural sunscreen. i cover up with a hat, long sleeves uv shirt, pants and hiking boots. this is also in any kind of weather 90+

most sunscreen is not nanoparticle zinc oxide, not made properly and container titanium and other harmful ingredients. yes it is harmful. most sunscreen beauty influencers push, doesn’t properly cover from UV rays, its literally poison. not to mention the cosmetic industry hasn’t been properly revised in 80 years. don’t get me wrong, use sunscreen but do ur research on which ones. they are also snake oil. i have a huge opinion on the cosmetic industry and its not a coincidence that there’s a sunscreen trend. sunscreen has always been a “save ur skin, u won’t get wrinkles” n dare i say white washing and skin lightening. so like. i can go on and on abt how annoying this is. yes, i do just go out into the sun with my sunscreen, but i believe i do have better protection against the sun. years of working in the holistic field taught me sunscreen is snake oil (holistic field also has a sunscreen craze)

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

Be Mine, this Quarantine

"Dude." Dean nervously chuckles, scrubbing his face with his hand. The other one holds the phone to his ear. "I haven't even been able to ask this guy out to dinner. And you're asking me to ask him to go into isolation with me?"

"You're being dramatic again." Sam tells him, matter-of-factly, as if Dean's the one being unreasonable here.

Sam is the one who specifically called him on a Sunday from California to remind him to self-isolate, but "do it with someone like Castiel, okay?" - like he's supposed to be taking care of his older brother from fucking Stanford, like Dean knows anyone else like Cas, and like he's ever going to be able to propose something of that sort to Cas.

"He has a third-floor apartment." Sam points out, revisiting all of his super valid points. "You share a dorm with three other guys. And he just seems like the kind who'd be the correct amount of a germophobe." Dean rolls his eyes - although he also agrees. "Dean, you share so many classes with him that if nothing else, you could revise your entire semester together - and to top it all off, you're like best friends."

Benny comes to Dean's head and he starts to protest.

"You text him, Dean." The eyeroll and bitchface are audible in Sam's voice. "You, who exits all text chains you've ever been added to because quote unquote you're not an adolescent teenager with a celebrity crush, or looking to be catfished - you, Dean Winchester, text Cas."

That - wasn't far from the truth.

He wouldn't call them texting buddies or anything, but Castiel always sends a good morning text, and Dean always sends him a picture of his breakfast (because that's what he's up to by the time Castiel wakes up) and sometimes Dean's late for class because he lost track of time while talking to Cas, and sometimes they stay up all night together discussing the most inconsequential things like why mattresses matter to Dean and bees matter to Cas, and - yeah. He should probably call them texting buddies.

"Whatever, bitch." Dean throws back, taking the small losses his way as long as he wins the final battle. "Fine, we're friends. That doesn't automatically mean we'll be able to live together."

"You cannot actually mean that." Sam scoffs. "You're the best kind of neat freak I know, because you just end up doing all the tidying up by yourself. And you can cook." Dean huffs. "Admit it, jerk. Compatibility in a shared living space shouldn't be your concern."

Sure, Sam makes some good points, but Dean has the biggest card up his sleeve - which will trump all of Sam's meticulously presented arguments.

He's sorta in love with Cas.

But to say out loud to his little brother, it comes out as, "What if Cas doesn't want me there?"

Sam pauses.

Point, Dean Winchester.

"That's exactly why you need to talk to him." He finally says, but he sounds more thoughtful like it finally entered his twenty two year old brain that Cas might not want to shack up with Dean.

"Like hell, I will."

"I swear on your bullshit, Dean," Sam threatens. "I won't hesitate to take a cheap-ass flight, straight to Cas's apartment."

Dean balks. "You're not getting on any planes right now, Sammy -"

"And you're asking him." Sam declares, and if he were in front of Dean, he'd be crossing his arms on his chest which usually implies the end of a debate in Sam-the-to-be-lawyer speak. "Promise me."

"What will I even say?" Dean retorts, indignant. "Like, do I just go up to the guy like 'hey, wanna have me impose on you for a bunch of weeks?'" Sam snickers like Dean's trying to be funny. "'I promise to clean and make you food if you let me live with you during a pandemic'?"

"Something like that." Sam laughs, and Dean has to smile - because that doesn't happen very often and when it does, it reminds him of a past where they were much closer than California and Kansas. "Tell me how it goes, okay?"

"Nothing's going -"

"You promised."

"I didn't fucking promise a thing -"

The line clicks, and Sam is gone. Dean lands back on his bed, and wonders briefly if it'd be easier to die.

*

He calls Cas - because they're not goddamn texting buddies, no matter what Sam says - and asks if he's free for lunch.

Cas says yes and actually sounds excited about it.

*

When Dean reaches their usual diner, he takes longer than usual to park the Impala - all the while thinking about how he's going to frame the question to Cas, because he's fought it out with himself and knows that he's going to do it. He'd also taken longer than usual to drive there from the University apparently, because when he reaches, Cas is already there.

He's sitting on a table for two - probably just because that allows him to have a seat against the wall and Cas is kind of adorable about small things like that - and he's slumping over his phone.

But he puts it down when Dean approaches, and as Dean takes off his jacket, Cas puts his phone back in his jeans and uses his fingers to fidget instead. When Dean sits, a little amused, Cas is the one who speaks up first and in a hurry.

"Would you like to quarantine with me?"

Dean blinks. He takes a moment to think and then asks, "Did Sam get to you?"

"Uh, your brother Sam?" Cas frowns, shaking his head. "No, why would he?"

"Nevermind." Dean believes him. Though he cannot believe what just happened.

"So?"

"Oh." He's supposed to give an answer, because Cas doesn't know how much Dean's been thinking about it. Though, in his defense, most of the time, Cas tends to be so goddamn intuitive that Dean feels like he can read his mind.

Nonetheless, Dean tries to answer as casually as he can. "Yes. I mean, of course. Thank you for asking."

That's Dean Winchester in a sentence.

He tries to shoot for the normal, and ends up in affirmative-response-to-a-promposal territory.

"Are you sure?" Cas asks, sounding slightly less sure than before.

Did you not hear me say 'of course, thank you for asking' after that yes?

"Yeah, buddy." He pulls the menu from Cas's side of the table to his, sliding it on the table. "So what are we eating?"

"I'm not forcing you into this, am I?" Cas interrupts, hand on Dean's wrist jolting his attention back and ruining his complete 'casual' cover, because now Dean's sweating too. "Just because I asked, and just because we're friends - you don't have to say yes to anything, okay?"

"I know that." Dean gives Cas his best reassuring smile, though it's a little non-assured from his own core.

"I wake up late and I'm not sure when I sleep." Cas confesses, eyes worried. "The flat is clean only because I stuff everything in the closets. And I have a neighbor - you remember Balthazar, right? He just returned from France."

"How long ago is 'just'?" Dean repeats, and then adds. "And frankly I'd assumed he was simply being pretentious when we met."

"Two months." Castiel bites his lip. "And he is. The accent is fake."

"We'll survive." Dean announces, grinning broader. "Plus I can't wait to hear that guy minus the accent now."

Castiel makes an exasperated sound.

"Cas, how do I put this?" Dean sighs, knowing that things would eventually come to this. "I would be grateful if you'd let me stay with you, and -"

"Sometimes I wander around the house with my cat past midnight." Cas volunteers, out of the blue.

Naked?

Dean's brain jumps there and then he drags it back from the gutter - or, you know, the land of tempting imaginable scenarios.

"I want to live with you, you dumbass."

Cas pauses like that's at all surprising. "You do?"

"I was literally trying to figure out how to ask." Dean rubs the back of his neck, feeling his face heat up. "And then you did, okay? And then I said yes, and I wanted us to not talk about it all lunch because later we're going to have important shit to figure out like food and beer and toilet paper and -"

"When exactly you'll move in." Cas offers, and when he puts it like that, a little bit of Dean melts.

"Uh-huh."

"Okay." Cas smiles, and finally it's that smile - eyes all crinkled, nose all scrunched up, the very definition of gummy - and fuck, Dean's very much in love with him and has just dug himself a huge, apartment-shaped hole, but he'd fucking like to live with him too, and he's a fucking liar if he isn't being a little hopeful about it too.

"We'll not talk about it." Cas declares. "And before, you'd asked me what we were eating?"

Dean nods.

"Well, I asked the waitress for recommendations for something memorable and she offered me the specials menu." Cas says, innocent as though everyone in the city doesn't know not to ask for the specials' menu at Reed's diner.

Dean starts to pray.

"So, kale pecan pesto." Cas announces. "And yes, I had to Google what that is later and no, I'm not showing you."

"God-fucking-dammit, Cas." Dean glares at him. "These might be our last diner meals for the foreseeable future, I don't want to have rabbit food -"

And then Cas winks at him like that's something he's allowed to do, and Dean's suddenly flustered again - and if that isn't an apt summary of how living with Cas is going to be like, he doesn't know what is.

[elirabbit]

Lover Music Video - Queer Interpretation

Below is my queer interpretation of the Lover Music Video.  I know it’s a long posting but I think it is worth a read. Due to the length, it will be posted in two parts.

Topics covered in the first posting:

1.     Yellow Clothing Symbolism in the Rooms

2.     Yellow Clothing Symbolism in Her Closet

3.     Snow Globe Symbolism

4.     New Year’s Day and Daylight Songs

5.     Cruel Summer and After Glow Songs

Topics covered in the second posting:

6.    Lover Room

7.    1989 Room

8.    Reputation Room

9.    Red Room

10.  Yellow Room

11.  Marriage Symbolism

12.  Celebration Cake Symbolism

Music Video Theme for Each Room:                                                                     Room / Album / MV Theme:                     Green/Taylor Swift /Age of Innocence    Yellow/Fearless/Deep Love Turned Her World Upside Down   

Purple/Speak Now /Gay Hopes & Self-Expression                             

Red/ Red/Madly Truly Deeply                  Blue/1989/Fish Bowl 

Black/Reputation/Isolation, Self-Reflection, & Healimg                       Pink/Lover/Future Love

Note:  For those who have read my first two postings of this topic, please know I am including my original interpretations with additional commentary. The new & revised interpretations were derived from a more structured, thorough data collection and analysis process than the original postings. 

1) Yellow Clothing Symbolism in the Rooms

In each room, Taylor and her partner wore the same colored outfits as the room color except for the Fearless and Red rooms. In those 2 rooms, they wore yellow outfits. IMO, the yellow outfit symbolizes a "golden love" and represents two people who are deeply in love with each other. Also, the more a person wears yellow, the more she is deeply in love.  

Fearless Room: Taylor wears white shorts with yellow/blue plaid checkered lines and a yellow shirt with white sleeve trim.  Because she is wearing a balanced amount of white and yellow, her “golden love” rating is “deeply in love”.

Red Room: Taylor wears the most amount of yellow clothing (solid yellow hairband, big solid yellow earrings, solid yellow dress, reddish-brown heels).  Because almost everything she wears is yellow and has so much accessories, her “golden love” rating is “madly truly deeply in love”.

1989 Room: Taylor wears blue - yellow dress.  Because half is yellow, her “golden love” rating is “deeply in love”.  

My MV interpretation is Taylor was deeply in love with Emily Poe during Fearless era, madly deeply truly in love with Dianna Agron during Red era and to a lesser degree, still deeply in love with Dianna during part of 1989 era. Those partners who were dressed in yellow means Taylor believed they were also deeply in love with her. Since Emily Poe wore the same balanced amount of yellow/white, she was equally deeply in love.  Dianna (in Red room) wore yellow pants only so she was deeply in love, not madly deeply truly in love as Taylor. It makes sense that Taylor perceived her commitment issues as a barrier from loving her equally in return.  

I know Kaylors will be upset but I am gonna say it anyways. I don't think Taylor was deeply in love with Karlie Kloss (represented as the partner in the 1989 room). She did love her. I think she wanted a long-lasting relationship with her. Their love just wasn't on the same level as her previous ones.

2) Yellow Clothing Symbolism in Her Closet

All her clothes and accessories in closet are solid yellow which symbolizes she wants to fall deeply in love again and is ready for “golden love” based on the abundance of yellow clothing. A yellow outfit for every occasion. Reminds me of the Daylight song lyric “Like Daylight, It’s Golden Like Daylight”.  She wants to “step into the daylight and let it go”. In essence, I believe she wants to be happy and find a deeply in love type happiness with someone again like she did before with Dianna.

 3) Snow Globe Symbolism

Snow Globe scenes recount her love journey as already described by Jennyboom21. The MV scenes in the Snow Globe will reflect on her key queer experiences to date). The scenes start in the hallway of the house, shift to the different rooms inside the house or cross section view of the house, and ends in the hallway.

Hallway scenes show the couple embracing each other while standing inside a red hallway.  This hallway has a series of doors on both walls. It reminds me of the 1989 tour’s set design for I Know Places. I think the hallway scenes symbolizes how her three serious relationships began (first hallway scene) and ended (last hallway scene) in secret i.e. in “places we can hide”.  Assumption here is Kaylor ended before she wrote the Lover song.

The many scenes inside different rooms or of the entire house recount key moments from her 3 relationships (Emily, Dianna and Karlie) or expresses her queer hopes and desires with a future lover.  

4) Happy New Year’s and Daylight Songs

In the Red room, the couple is throwing a party. Room is filled with people, drinks, and party paraphernalias. Hanging on the back wall are the words “Happy New Year”. I believe this is the backdrop for New Year’s Day song on the Rep Album. This means song is about Dianna. MV scene reenactment of the sign, glitter on the floor, and party trash plus the lyrics referencing “Please don’t ever become a stranger whose laugh I can recognize anywhere” seals it for me. In an interview, Taylor explained New Year’s Day song is about permanence. This idea of permanence is a common theme associated with Dianna-centric songs.

Notice that New Year’s Day is the last song on the Rep album. This is important because I am seeing a pattern with her albums starting with Red. Last song on Red is Begin Again which is about her experiencing new love with Dianna. Last song on 1989 is Clean which is about moving on from Dianna after their last breakup. Now the last song on Rep, New Year’s Day, is about wanting to continue her relationship with Dianna. Does this mean her last song Daylight on the Lover album is also about Dianna? Based on this pattern, golden love symbolism expressed in yellow clothing for Dianna, and the Daylight lyrics “Maybe you ran with the wolves and refused to settle down”, “I’ll tell you the truth but never goodbye”, and “like daylight, it’s golden”, my answer is yes. Side note: The wolves reference represents Dianna’s commitment issues.  “Never goodbye” was already expressed in New Year’s Day and other Dianna-centric songs about how Taylor doesn’t want her romantic relationship with Dianna to ever truly end. Golden love symbolism repeats in the Daylight song.

5) Cruel Summer and After Glow Songs

3 board games appear in quick successive flashes in the MV. First board game appears in its unopened box. Printed on the box are the board game name “Devil Rolls The Dice, Angel Rolls There Eyes”, a marketing slogan “The only game that questions your answers!”, and the distribution statement. The game’s name is in the Cruel Summer song lyric. The distribution statement has a manufacturing location (Los Angeles California) and a number (0527) appears above Los Angeles which I interpret to be a date (05/27). My interpretation is Taylor’s Cruel Summer experience started May 27th in Los Angeles.

I will skip over the 2nd game for now.

Third board game is also an unopened box. Printed on the box is the board game name “Breakable Heaven”, slogan “The Game for Two Players”, and a distribution statement. “Breakable Heaven” is also in the Cruel Summer lyric. My interpretation is Taylor’s Cruel Summer experience ended on July 19th in Los Angeles.

Second board game Scrabble is in progress. Printed at the base of board game is “King of Hearts” and two-word tiles are already laid out on the board. Words are “After” and “Glow”. This one is open to multiple interpretations. I’ll share two.

First one is Taylor is apologizing to Karlie. Why? Most agree the song King of My Heart is about her new budding relationship with Karlie. Throw in the After Glow song to the mix. The combination acknowledges her role in the demise of the Kaylor relationship and mourns the loss of love. Assumption here is Kaylor ended before Afterglow and Cruel Summer was written. The piece I cannot reconcile with this interpretation is the order placement of this game. It takes place during Taylor’s Cruel Summer experience. And Cruel Summer is about someone new. Someone who is different than her last relationship (Kaylor) based on the lyric “And it’s new, the shape of your body”. Maybe my 2nd interpretation fits better.

Second one is Taylor’s acknowledging her role in damaging a new relationship (the new King of My Heart who is the object of Taylor’s affection in her Cruel Summer experience). Taylor’s new love interest is either someone new or an ex-lover (Dianna).  

Sometime later this week, I’ll post the second half of my queer interpretation.

[readbeneaththelines]

Just The Person I Need

Kwon JiYong is a Multi Million Dollar business man thrown into parenthood when his brother and sister-in-law die in an accident. leaving A son and daughter behind. Y/N is a nanny that loves what she does. What happens when their lives become intertwined? Will she be Just The Person He Needs?

Characters: Business Man!Kwon JiYong X Nanyy!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut somewhere along the way

Word Count: 1361

cr. to gif owner

He sat at the large conference room table, his lawyer Ko Simon, on his right. Across from them were two small children and another lawyer.

“Mr. Kwon, as stated in your brother’s will, his children’s care will be transferred to you. Mina and S have been informed of the adoption process and they are aware of everything involved to complete the adoption. Are there any questions or requested revisions from you or Mr. Ko?”

Kwon JiYong straightened himself in the overstuffed office chair, leaned over to his lawyer, then nodded in agreement. He grabbed a gold and Mother-of-Pearl encrusted pen from the breast pocket of his pin-striped suit blazer. Reaching for the stack of papers, he looked up at the man across from him.

“Where do I sign? Also, when can they move in with me permanently?”

His gaze moved between the two children before him. Mi-Sun was his niece aged six and Se-Jun was his nephew aged eight. His brother Dae-han and Sister-in-Law Eun-ji, were killed in a car accident two months ago. Their children have been living with JiYong since that fateful evening. He loved these kids as if they were his own. When his brother was still alive, they would get together twice a week. Mi-sun and Se-jun would spend a weekend each month at his estate. He was anxious to finalize the adoption and work on getting both of them settled, hopefully making the process as smooth as possible. 

“Once the papers are filed, they will officially be yours. Since they are already living with you, I believe this should not change. Anything we can do to not cause undue stress would be in their best interest.”

Smiling at them, JiYong nodded in agreement. He wanted to do everything he could to make things as easy as possible on his niece and nephew. His own heart was broken at the loss of his brother, he couldn’t begin to imagine how they were feeling. He spent many night over the past two months, comforting a crying child as they woke up from a nightmare, talked about their parents, or saw anything that reminded them of ‘mommy and daddy’. He didn’t mind, of course, since they were a huge part of his life. Adopting them only seemed like the next natural course of action to take. 

After signing the packet, he rose from his seat and walked around the large table, coming to kneel between the two childrens’ chairs. Resting a hand on each child’s shoulder, he smiled broadly at both of them. The kind of smile that reached both ears, a genuine smile. 

“Okay you two, are you ready to head out and grab some lunch? You two have been so patient and I know you’re both hungry. How about we swing by the Bar-B-Que place near my work and grab some food?” 

They nodded emphatically at the suggestion. Mi-sun reached for JiYong’s neck, wrapping her small arms securely around it as he stood up. Grabbing Se-jun’s hand, he hoisted his niece onto his hip. Together, the three of them thanked both lawyers and headed towards the heavy doors of the conference room. It really was a funny sight if you were a bystander. A young business mogul, dressed to the hilt in the most expensive suits, and two young kids clinging to him for what seemed like dear life. 

Kwon JiYoong never saw himself as a father, never thinking that he would settle down long enough from work to start a family. His brother’s death hurdled him quickly into that role, and he wouldn’t change it for the world. He would always want what was best for both of them, the best schools, the best clothes, the best of everything he could offer. Not to spoil them per se, but to provide them with some semblance of a calm and relaxed life after what they had experienced. 

Mi-sun had somehow inched her way into a piggy-back ride, while Se-jun dangled from JiYong’s left forearm. Setting them both down, they walked hand-in hand through the Bar-B-Que diner’s threshold. The owner’s wife, Mrs. Kim, greeted them with a toothy grin. She had known JiYong and Dae-han since they were babies. He still made time once a month to visit the elderly couple, even occasionally rolling up the sleeves of his Armani shirts to help clean tables at closing. Ji-yong would never forget where he came from, the hardships he and his brother faced growing up, and he would never let those two kids forget their past while helping them face their future.

“So, you two, what’s on the agenda for today? Wanna go shopping for some things to go in your rooms, or do you just want to hang around the estate and play outside?”

“What’s an adgedna, Uncle Ji?” Mi-sun’s small voice asked. 

“Agenda, Mi. It means plans for the day. Everything you want to do, you write it down on paper so you won’t forget.” he told her as he tousled her long hair. Her smile warmed his heart as she thought about what she wanted to do.

“I want to look at some gaming systems, if that’s okay Uncle Ji. I might want to look for a new bed too. I mean, I really like the one in my room now, but it is just so big!”, Se-jun spread his arms wide, as he spoke of the California King bed he was sleeping on.

“Okay then, after we eat, we will go shopping for beds, games, and princess clothes, right Mi? Then we can go home and get your rooms ready for everything. I want you both to know that I am really excited and very happy that you are going to officially be mine. I hope you both feel the same way.” 

“Of course Unca Ji, I’m very excited about it!” Mi-sun squealed as she hugged him. Se-jun wrapped his arms around JiYong’s neck and squeezed tight. He didn’t talk very much since losing his parents, and JiYong wanted to give him space to open up on his own.

After lunch, they drove to Lotte World Tower and Mall to begin the long day of shopping. Mi-sun picked out a pale pink canopy bed, with matching dresser and nightstand for her room. She chose a brightly colored rug and chair that would complete the “princess” theme in her room. Se-jun opted for various shades of blues and greens for his bedroom suite. Opting for the newest gaming system and a few games, he finished his shopping rather quickly. JiYong ordered everything to be delivered by the next morning and swiped his credit card, not even paying attention to the exorbitant total. 

On the drive home, Mi-sun fell asleep while Se-jun played a game on his Uncle’s phone. Pulling up in front of a large castle-style house, he parked near the front steps. He lifted his niece from her booster seat and carried her tenderly to the couch, laying her on top of a white down-feather blanket. Wrapping the edge snuggly around her, he walked his nephew upstairs to his room. 

“Okay Se, hand over the phone, I need to make some calls to work. Miss Hyun-mi will call you down for dinner, okay?” He held his hand out, waiting for his phone as Se-jun finished the game he was playing.

“Thanks for everything today Uncle Ji. I am pretty happy that we get to stay with you forever.”, Se-jun spoke as he hugged his Uncle waist tightly. Ji-yong could feel his nephew’s breathing changed as he began to cry.

“Hey there. I am really excited too. I really am. Thank you for being happy about this. I was worried that you both might be a little unsure, so thank you for telling me.” He hugged his nephew tight then patted the top of his head before he turned to walk downstairs. As he descended the steps, he heard the young boy playing, a smile stretching across his face.

Stopping to let the staff know they had returned, he made his way towards his home office. Well, to describe his office as just an office would do it injustice. It was bigger than most single family homes. It stretched over half the expanse of the main mansion’s first floor. There was a conference room and main office along with an assistant’s office. The south wall was floor to ceiling glass that looked out over a boat dock and vast lake. The scenery was breathtaking, and JiYongmade sure his desk was facing the large windows. This was his own fortress of solitude. A place where he can be himself and get away from all the madness of the outside world. Here he could let his guard down, return to the peace that he found being alone at times. He loved those two kids, but sometimes, just sometimes, he needed to get lost in his own world. Here was where he could do that. Sitting down at his desk, he checked his messages from the day. His assistant called, reminding him that he was to be at a meeting first thing in the morning. The next message was one of his partners, informing him that one of the companies that they oversaw had seen a decrease in profits over the last quarter and he wanted to get his input as to what the next step was. After an hour, he had checked all his messages and returned calls that needed to be followed up on. Leaning back in his chair, he ran his hands down his face. He didn’t know how he was going to manage two kids, a multimillion dollar company, and keep his sanity. All he knew was he had to find a way, and quick.

@min-shookga-yoongi @beautifulseoulliar @agustd-suga-yoongii @astronomyturtle @aspaceformyself @dreamyoongi @holy-yoongi@trashkazuya @maxinaptak @micky1518 @rosiemilas @karri570

@seoulsunshineandstories @kwonnansi @xjamlessparkx @berryjam17

@kingsuckjin

[aggresivelyfriendly]

Hi babes! Are we still breathing? How much though have you given Harry’s pores, whiskers, dimples, nipples(all four)? Share with me about that and this chapter!! Hope you like my world building and Character introduction! Thanks do my advance guard @emulateharry, @dirtystyles, and @bleedinglove4h tripod forever!!  Talk to me!

Chapter 2- Sweet Thing

Harry could pinpoint exactly the moment the rest of the world, well his world, realized just what they had been missing in Jillian. She'd been a late bloomer, and only a few gross examples of "guys" had noticed her.

Like Mark Martin.

If there was one positive side effect to Jillian's inadvertent social debut, it was that the likes of Mark finally realized she was way out of his league.

Harry had already known it. Honestly.

But it was so painfully obvious by the end of the homecoming dance, he could only drive home alone and curse himself for being a fool and a coward. For not asking her on a date, formally. Jillian would have left with him. It would have been different. He could imagine it. Then they'd've laughed and joked and she might fix his collar and her nails would nick his neck and he'd get goosebumps, and she'd smile at him in a brand new way. He knew all her smiles, but this one would be brand new, to both of them. Harry would be overcome, and he'd get over his fear and press his lips to hers.

He didn't ask though.

It may have been a date to him, but he didn't ask her, so how was she to know? Jillian wouldn't have abandoned him for any party if they were on a date. If she said yes. Which was why he hadn't asked.

Maybe his dad was right; he should have just grown a back bone and told her. Told Jillian he liked her, more than liked her,  she drove him crazy and he was going to Stanford or Berkley, like he'd been planning, secretly. They were gonna move to California, not him to England, for school. That she should apply too. She never talked about going to school herself, just living with him and working. There was no reason she couldn't get a degree. She was much smarter than anybody gave her credit for, herself included. Her mind moved fast, she just needed some background knowledge. Harry could tutor her. He'd talk to her about that too, his plans, and revising her own too.

He was going to. Once they got through the dance. He'd worn a vest so she couldn't see where he was sure to sweat through his button up. It had already taken every bit of his gumption to execute. his plan. It would just take him a bit more time to work up the backbone. Harry knew he would have backed out, of all of it,  if he hadn't had the idea so close to it happening. Had it not captivated him. He was sorry he didn't back out. Kind of.

It had started on Wednesday. On their drive home. They were driving from the high school to her shift at Dairy Barn and he had studying to do. He was going to drop her, go to the library, and come back to pick her up. All of that still happened, but there had been an unexpected pause in their progress. At the library, the idea kept repeating in his head. The dress was just at the thrift shop. They'd seen it when he was driving her to work after school.

"Look Harry!" She was breathless, but her voice was a red octagon. The momentum threw them forward when he hit the brakes. He figured there must be a bird in the road or something.

"What?" He threw his eyes across the road like he was watching a tennis match. There was no bird, or dog, or sheep, nothing. "Why'd you yell?" Jillian was not a yeller, if you knew her, she already had your attention when she spoke.

"Look! That dress." She pointed to the thrift shop right across the way. She looked so enchanted. He pulled in without second guessing. It was pretty, she looked better imagining it than the dress itself, but his imagination, of her in it, surpassed even the yearning look on her face.

"Do we have time for you to try it on?" He was a little dreamy thinking about her in it, his voice thin as a wispy cloud. It was a slip of a dress, with a sweetheart neck and slim straps, A blush pink. It matched her cheeks after too much sun or too many giggles.

She glanced at her watch, bit her lip. He saw her decision made but she didn't voice it for a few more moments. "No, and I can't afford it. I have nowhere to wear it anyhow." She smiled at Harry, mist in her eyes be damned. "I just," she gestured at the window. "It's so pretty."

It was so pretty. Harry thought about it for a while, wondered if someone had lovingly made it, or it was bought in New York City years before and just took up space. Told its story to himself about how it wound up front and center in the small shop on their Main Street. He spent an hour of his study time wondering and making up his mind. That's what he told himself. In truth, the decision was made when she'd shouted for a closer look, then grieved the loss of the dress, or when Harry imagined her in it.

The tears, they made Harry weak. They didn't fall down her cheeks, but he'd seen the gloss on her eyes. He wanted to be strong for Jillian, but she made him weak. Truth was, he'd do anything for her.

After he dropped her off at work, he found his stash of birthday cash. He'd been saving up for a certain chemistry set, but this need was more immediate. Jillian may not have known it, but she had somewhere to wear it, the tear inducing dress. Homecoming was in three days. She had written that off with her Dairy Barn shift, but work would be so slow, she'd get off early. He'd surprise her.

It was a foolproof plan.

Well, there were places several it could go wrong. She could have to close the Dairy Barn, the dress could not fit her, or she'd scoff at the idea of going on a date with him.

It wasn't a date! He'd stress that if she asked. They were best friends, and this was their last year.  Neither of them had even been to a dance. They should go.

He'd just cherish it as a date, in his head.

The money felt crisp in his hands, unused dollars bills had that smell too. The one that filled his nostrils when he'd opened the birthday cards. Harry wished he was allowed to get a job. His dad always insisted that he focus on his studies instead. So, Jillian paid for their occasionally meals when she couldn't share her employee food and chipped in for gas.  Harry carefully hoarded money he was gifted.

Would it be enough?

"That's all?" He heard himself ask when the dress rang up.

"Do you want to pay more?" Mel, the store owner asked him. She was staring at him with an unlit cigarette in her mouth. She smoked in the street, which was weird because everybody just smoked inside, but the clothes in her shop smelled better for it. At least the ones that weren't musty.

"Um, no?" He was just surprised. It was well under what he expected.

"It'll look pretty on her." She turned away and was fussing with a bag and a hanger. It gave Harry time to find his voice.

"Who?"

Mel smiled and handed Harry the makeshift garment bag around the side of the counter. "Be sure to lay it out to avoid wrinkling."

The smile perplexed him. Was he made of glass?

He did as Mel said, carefully hooking it over the bench seat of his car so it hung onto the floorboard with the protective wrap on it.

He bought the tickets at lunch while Jillian was getting her food. He'd gotten lucky that there was no line. He was ready. Except he hadn't asked, and though she liked the dress, and he couldn't imagine this happening, what if she didn't like the way it looked on her.

It had sat in his closet for three days killing him. He and Jillian didn't keep secrets. Maybe because she had to keep so many from everybody else, and he didn't have anybody but her to share things with.

On Friday morning, after she'd slept over again, Jillian sat with her tea at the table, "You look like you have not slept a wink?" She'd touched his hand and it launched him forward twenty years to sharing a table and tea with her in their own house. But she was asking if he slept.

He hadn't. He may never again now with that image to haunt him.

She'd never gone in his closet, when he was lucky enough for her to wear his clothes, he always got them for her. He'd be mortified if she found an old pair of his briefs or something. All night though, the possibility of her walking over to grab one of his long sleeved button ups, one of his usual fantasies, had flipped it into a nightmare. She'd see. The pink dress hanging in the back. He saw it every time.

He was jumpy that whole morning on the way to school. Jillian had come out of his bedroom.

"Harry, your book bag!" She'd called in her melodic twang.

His feet had actually left the ground.

"You are so jumpy. Want to talk about what has you on your guard?" Jillian was always a little jumpy. He liked to come up behind her and say "BOO!" She'd jump and turn around and smack him on his chest. Then they would laugh together. It never worked on him.

"Nah, I had a dream. And that um, that tree outside was scratching the window. It's just the change of seasons. I miss summer." He put on a shiver and was rewarded with a smile and head shake.

"There are places where there is no winter." She let it lie. Her constant convincing amused him. Her being there was amenity enough.

"Are those places where people are gentle and wear flowers in their hair?" He asked with a blank pair of eyes. Undressed eyes, he could barely see her. He slipped his glasses up his nose with his pointer finger in a practiced move. His muscles would remember the move long after he stopped using the glasses when he didn't need them.

"Yes! That's exactly where it's summer, always." She laughed. He often made jokes of the lyrics of her favorite songs. San Francisco was going to be a favorite no matter what, on its name alone. Harry liked to make her smile. It worked as a distraction from his nervous condition.

He had to make it through the day. It was a rough one.

Harry got a C on a pop quiz.

"Mr. Styles, can you stay after class?" Mr. Brisco said as he entered their peer graded quizzes into his book and Harry tried to get to his next class.

"I'll be late." Harry protested.

"I'll write you a pass." He looked at Harry, looked behind his glasses where Harry imagined bruise like circles. "Is everything alright? This is not your usual standard." He gestured to the large red C with a scrawled 'loser' by his not so secret grader. It was Lance Hinkle, quarterback, BMOC, asshole.

"I'm alright. I slept poorly." He shrugged. "It won't happen again."

"Why don't you write me a paper on Nicholai Tesla, for extra credit. Due Monday." He extended his hand and Harry shook it. It was good to be well liked by your teachers, sometimes.

He really wanted to say no. He wanted to spend the weekend with Jillian, especially after taking her to the dance in the dress.

He needn't have worried. She was busy. They weren't gonna wind up in his truck all Sunday afternoon near the lake.

He took the opportunity though, and had plenty of time to complete it. Because his plan backfired.

Well, really it went seamlessly. She did get off early, and when he arrived, he had the dress, and she loved it.

And she looked as amazing as he expected.

He just wasn't the only one who noticed.

"Harry! You didn't."

He hadn't answered. It was rhetorical, it was obvious he did. They drove the short distance to his house and she just went inside. The hum of the engine matched the warm buzz in his chest. He relived her seeing his surprise 15 minutes before while he waited.

She liked it.

The look on her face, when she'd walked out, pulling her ponytail down on her way. Jillian was exhausted and bemoaning having her shifts cut. Worried. Her brow was knit as tightly as the sweater vest he had on. Jillian would have usually noticed how he was dressed up, not just trousers, those weren't out of the ordinary, or a button up shirt. His was usually short sleeved and plain white. Today he had on dark grey trousers and a long-sleeved blue shirt with a small print, and his fair isle vest. He looked nice, his hair had extra pomade. His trusty glasses with their heavy black frame completed his look.

He'd tried.

But her tired eyes woke up as soon as they lit upon the dress he'd hid for three days. And lost sleep over. It was all worth it.

"Harry!" She'd reached for the hanger with speed but stopped just before she picked it up. The hinge of his truck door was still settling after she had wrenched it open.

She'd slowed so much, the dress slinked down to nearly the pavement like a pink waterfall when Jillian hoisted it higher to protect the hem. "Oh! It's so pretty. Prettier than I thought! Oh but Harry! It's too much!"

"No, it was not nearly so expensive as I thought." He protested. He'd have blown every cent for her face.

"The thought Harry!" She'd looked at him then. "You look so nice."

He shrugged that right off. "It's pretty standard nerd fare for me." He demurred.

"No! The little print, it's psychedelic!" This was high praise from Jillian. "Is this for the dance?" She hoisted the dress two inches higher.

"Yeah, yeah." He swallowed the bullfrog lodged in his throat. Not a date. "We don't usually go. I was just thinking...." he shrugged like this speech wasn't rehearsed. "Let's see what high school has to offer before we fly away to the sunshine."

"Oh Harry!" She flowed and jumped up like a spun top, but rather than drop into his seat with the same energy, she reverently sat down and slipped the dress over her neck by the hanger. He assumed following Mel's advice without needing to hear it. It looked amazing like that, draped over her sharp turns and long flats. He couldn't wait.

He reminded himself it wasn't a date.

The drive home was full of her happy chatter and his listening ear. He liked that she could keep up conversation with only a nod or jest as his contribution. It was why they were like complimentary angles.

He kept the engine running, reminisced, and he was reminded how little polish she needed to shine when she came out not 15 min later. She got in the truck carefully.

He was thankful that Mel had suggested heels too, and that he knew her size. She tried to smooth her ponytail bump the whole way to the gymnasium. It had created a nice swoop, but he knew better than to correct her. He could almost hear her say,"What do you know about ladies hair? And I don't like it, so that's more important, my hair my ideas!" She'd been into women's lib as well as black rights lately. Ready to freedom ride and do voter drives, they were just too rural, and too Yankee. He'd already convinced her not to drop out. Twice.

Jillian found Vaseline in her bag and put a little on her pink lips, cheekbones, and a tiny slick over her eyelids. Perfect.

The moonlight bathed the truck cab and he had a momentary idea to convince her to go to the lake instead. To dance on the bank to the radio.

Maybe he should have, everything might have been different.

They walked in, hand-in-hand, which wouldn't shock anybody, so much as their presence would. They already wondered what the pretty but classless girl was doing with the nerdiest boy in school. They didn't say anything to Jillian, yet, but Harry wasn't spared from their comments.

"Does she have a thing for four eyes or something?" Steve Adler, class president and would be valedictorian, but for Harry, sneered at him one day. They had an antagonistic thing going before Harry out A'ed him. Harry corrected him in chemistry once. Since then, Steve was not a fan.

Steve was one of the first people to see them, on stage getting his crown, of course, most people were facing away. His attention caught was noticed. There was sort of a swell, a murmur.

"I'd like to thank my parents for my face, and god for my brain and height, and Jane for the dance." He leered. Then stopped short when he saw Jillian under the door light. His eyes tracked her from where her dress covered the less than stellar shoes, up over her round hips, lithe waist and ample breasts. He looked shocked when he registered her face. The shock stayed a minute when he clocked Harry. It turned to a sneer quick.

His face journey caught the crowd's attention, and Harry lived a fantasy and nightmare all at once. Jillian was on his arm, but the entire school was looking at him, them.

"Um," he wanted to clean his glasses, but Jillian had clenched his hand tight. "Do you, do you want some punch?" He'd thrown his hand to the side and they'd moved from under the inadvertent spotlight.

Jillian followed him easily, and stood close, with a hand on his bicep like a safety blanket while he poured them juice. The music had never stopped, in actuality, but it had definitely turned back up post speech and record scratch. The stage was clearing.

Couples were pairing up.

Should he ask her to dance?

Before he could get it out, her teasing tone rolled over his ears. "I know you don't!" She rolled her eyes. "But will you dance with me, Harry?"

Before he could say the obvious yes, he'd be happy to stutter his way through the steps with her, Steven was there.

He still had the crown on his head.

"Hey, um," he looks embarrassed for just a moment. His eyes flashing around in their lids. "Jilly!" Nobody has called her that in years, Harry thinks maybe the last person was Mrs. June, their 5th grade teacher. "Do you want to dance?"

Jillian looked back at Harry and shrugged. He hadn't answered fast enough. Or asked himself.

He wasn't sure if she said yes, but she hadn't said no.

He watched as she was held in Steven's arms. He drank his punch and diverted his eyes to where Jane stewed.

He thought the first song was unbearable, but then there was another, with Dale Turner, captain of the basketball team, and track star Will Whaisse. He would have left. Except he wasn't sure how she would get home.

Harry hated feeling sorry for himself. Being here was encouraging it. He should leave. He could be home studying, and Steve could bring Jillian home. He had that new mustang.

He had to talk to her though, on his way out. He decided this as his foot crossed the line at the threshold. The force of his turn brought his glasses to the end of his nose. He was pushing it up and nearing the edge of the dance floor when he saw her. She was 20 yards away, her neck on a swivel and her feet moving in a way he expected would land her on her face. From experience. That was without ill fitting high heels, and she had still grown into her body better than him.

Her eyes found his, and he didn't need his glasses to see her expression. Relief, maybe a smidgeon of apology. They moved together like there was apiece of thread being spoiled from his heart to hers.

"Harry, will you dance with me now?" Jillian asked when he reached the free throw line. She was just under the basket. He kept walking.

"Yes, I'll dance with you now." Always.

Her arms circled his neck and his found her lower back, where her hips flared out. This was lower than he had ever purposely touched her. The times it had been accidental haunted him.

Jillian's arms widened at his shoulders and she laid her head on him. It reminds him of a prolonged hug. Like he remembers his mom giving him that last day. Jillian does that, exuberantly hugs him, but never for more than 30 seconds, tops. He has counted. She did hours ago, when she got out of the car to put on the pink dress that looked better on her than he could ever imagine. This long cinch of their bodies, snuggled up tight. It's his linchpin. When she turned her head in along his clavicle and he felt her breath at his jugular, he was bleeding love.

He might tell her. On the way home. That he had always wanted to be her forever. When they were young he thought that meant friends, but now he meant wife. They could get married, if she wanted.

Then it would be his job to protect her, officially. He already tried. To provide for her, he could work at the university. They could have a little apartment in San Francisco she could fill with flowers and fabrics, music and laughter. It would be a nice life. He could hold her like this in their kitchen. They'd dance before dinner.

The chance, at that life, the one in his vision, it's enough to make him brave.

"Jillian." He'd be sad her head came off his collarbone, but looking down into her eyes was good too.

The music had stopped and Harry hadn't registered it was the last dance. It's the perfect time. The only Time.

Before he could get anything out but an exhale, Steven Adler was standing right next to her. Talking about some party everybody was going too.

Except Harry. Who was not invited and had curfew.

He didn't sleep, not much. He'd been tossing and turning. After he'd written his paper too. He knew enough about Tesla for a basic five paragraphs. His bed felt like a tomb, so he heard the faint knock at his window somewhere between the darkest part of night and dawn.

She's there. Jillian. The sun was changing the sky behind her. Harry can't see any tears, but something, something's off.

He didn't ask, and she didn't tell. That night, she just got into his twin bed with him, still in the dress he bought her, and nodded off. He worried about his dad finding them in bed together, but they were fully clothed, and he was so tired.

And she came back to him.

[dragonlady761]

“The Snake Awakens”

As he drove towards the hospital, Terry recalled past events with John Kreese. Terry and John left Vietnam in 1973. After all the shit that happened Terry wanted to put the war behind him as soon as possible. He enrolled in college and threw himself into his studies. He kept busy by joining two fraternities before he graduated. Occasionally, Terry would call John at his mother’s house. Mostly, John would tell Terry how proud he was of him. John would hardly ever talk about himself. John mentioned that his disabled mother had cancer and was dying. Terry told John he was dropping everything to come help him. John told him to stay in college. Too not worry about him. That’s an order. Terry reluctantly listened.

Terry studied hard and got his Bachelor’s degree in 1976 and his masters in 1978.After graduating college, Terry founded Dyna Tox industries. In 1979, Terry Silver traveled all over Europe working with Nuclear plants. Terry was in Europe when he called John. John said his mother died and he was reenlisting in the Army. Terry was shocked and tried to talk John out of it. John said he had to fight in order to stay alive. Terry wished him luck.

 In 1980 Terry returned to the United States a multi -millionaire. He decided he could finally concentrate on his love of Karate. He went to California to find John Kreese. He wanted to restart Cobra Kai. But John was nowhere to be found. Terry got his new personal assistants Milos and Margret to help find John. It also helped that Terry had lots of money to pay private investigators to find John. Despite all this help, Terry couldn’t find John.

One day in downtown Los Angeles, Terry walked down the street to go to his new skyscraper. He noticed a man sleeping in the alley covered with an Army jacket from the Vietnam war. Something told Terry to go up to the man. He pulled the jacket off and saw the man’s upper arm. It had a tattoo of a cobra with a fist around it. The man jumped up and hit Terry. Terry screamed, “Captain, it’s me Quicksilver.” Terry ripped off his shirt sleeve. “Look, Cobra Ka: The way of the fist.” He then saluted John. John collapsed sobbing. “Go away!”

Terry refused. “How long have you been on the street?”

“For almost two years. After my mother died, I had nothing to live for. The Army wouldn’t take me back. Called me unfit for combat. Now please go away. You’re better off without a loser like me.”

“Bullshit, I wouldn’t be alive today if it wasn’t for you.” Terry said. “You’re my brother and Cobra Kai  never dies.”

John sat up. “Tell that to the rest of our class. Oh wait, you can’t they’re gone; because. I failed them.”

Terry bent down and hugged his friend. “That wasn’t your fault. You had no idea those kids had dynamite.  Besides, you took me under your wing the very first day I’ got to Vietnam. You taught me Karate. I owe you everything.”

“You owe me NOTHING.” John said.

“You know what, I got an idea.” Terry said. “We’re going to open Cobra Kai Dojos all over California. You’re going to be the main instructor. You can teach civilians The way of the Fist. Strike Firs, Strike Hard. Okay Captain?”

“On one condition, we add “No Mercy” as the third rule.” John said.

Terry nodded with tears in his eyes. “Alright brother, you’re the captain.”

Things improved for John Kreese after the Dojos were opened. John was happy for almost five years.  

Then in 1984. that punk kid Danny and his instructor Mr. Miyagi ruined everything. Terry decided he’d do anything to get John back on top. He couldn’t bear to see his friend hit rock bottom again.  He vowed revenge. He was going to make them suffer. John told him he didn’t have to do that. The revenge plot didn’t work.   Terry realized too late that the failed revenge plot did a lot more harm than good for his dear friend. He should’ve listened when John tried to talk him out of it.  

Then John tried to reenlist in the Army again. They still said John was unfit for combat. All these major defeats plunged John into a deep depression. The poor man gave up all hope.

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

I revised this to include events directly after the Vietnam war. I got a lot  of data on Terry Silver from the Cobra Kai/ Karate Kid fandom Wiki. 

[theteej]

Father’s Day.

I'm sitting, drinking cooling hot cocoa, barefoot in my newly cleaned apartment. In just over forty-eight hours, I'll be on a plane to Aotearoa, looking forward to seeing dear friends, tackling new archival challenges, humbly recognizing how little I know about the complicated indigenous and imperial histories of Aotearoa and Turtle Island, and embarking in general on an epic five week trip of self-discovery and fun.

Today has been...hard.  I decided, for my own sanity's sake, and for practicality's needs, that I spend it all cleaning, washing, organizing.  I packed my suitcase.  I scrubbed my bathtub.  I took an extra dose of advil to calm my rising anxieties that a stiff left ankle marked a return of the gout that plagued me two weeks ago.  But, as always, this day cast its same long shadow.

Some years I repurpose this stupid shared familial celebration into a genuine joy at the amazing parenting my mother did, serving as every parental figure I needed and raising all the good parts of me.

Some years I get day drunk on margaritas and read comic books and celebrate friendships and chase the brilliant moments of light offered in a fleeting Sunday afternoon, rather than dwell on the brokenness, the shadows, that this day means for me.

This year, I got very, very busy, and did a lot of WORK.  That's always been a survival mechanism for me.  Today I revised an article three hours after receiving the readers' comments.  I scrubbed my kitchen floor.  I made vegan blackberry pancakes from scratch and then made maple syrup when I realized I didn't have any.  

Making a substitute syrup is easy.  You just mix brown sugar, and water over medium-high heat, and then keep whisking as it starts to boil.  Then you turn off the heat, and keep stirring before you pour in a little maple extract.  It takes five to ten minutes, and it's one of those wonderfully calming things you can do where you feel utterly in control, and like everything is going according to plan, at least for the time being.  There is no panicking, no anxiety, just stirring. I was five years old the first time my father hit me so hard I fell off a chair.  He was thirty-three.  I was sitting at the dining table, working on multiplication tables; I had gathered that mastering something at an early age earned me accolades and praise of the elderly white women in my elementary school, and my brain held easily to the simple formulas. I distinctly remember looking at 3 x 7 = 21 before the sudden shock, the unexpected pain, the disorientation of finding the numbers gone and my face in the soft beige carpeting.

He was drunk, I suspect.  He was angry.  I had not paid attention to him.  I had not reacted fast enough.  I had not read the room.  I had not planned.  I hadn't done something.  The reactions and the lessons came to fill my mind as easily as those grids of numbers did. 3 and 7. 21. Listen for when he's angry. Don't say things. Be prepared. 3 and 8. 24. Listen for footsteps in the hallway.

For two terrible years after my parents' divorce, my father had partial custody.  I had two years of patchy meals, of long sleeves over arms, of taking meticulous notes for an imagined child protective services--I always imagined that the person reading the notes would be like my elementary school teachers, elderly white women who'd moved to California in early life, their skin slightly leathery behind thick glasses and strange perfumes.  Maybe they'd read.  Maybe they'd do something.  My father was thirty-five when the threat of an intervention from CPS made him back down.  I was seven when I accepted as gospel that the toxic jumble of muscles, gold chains, keening need, and liquor was never going to provide anything that I could use.  But the anxiety, the planning, was already as baked into me as those times tables.

If you stir at the right speed, you'll avoid syrup boiling over.  The mixture deepens, darkens, thickens, and the sweetness begins to hang in the air.  You can get lost in the sight of the few small bubbles beginning to rise to the surface, tiny emissaries from an Atlantean abyss somewhere within the saucepan.  You can lose the quiet calculations that have been burned in you since someone else named Tyrone was thirty-five and you had to plan, and plan, and be prepared and now you're always busy because if you're not, then something will catch up with you, and you'll find yourself disoriented, dizzy, and wondering how you ended up on that carpet, unprepared.

I don't care for Father's Day.

[sextechnews]

Global Industry Analysts Predicts the World Sex Toys Market to Reach $54.6 Billion by 2026 - PR Newswire

SAN FRANCISCO, Jan. 4, 2022 /PRNewswire/ -- A new market study published by Global Industry Analysts Inc., (GIA) the premier market research company, today released its report titled "Sex Toys - Global Market Trajectory & Analytics". The report presents fresh perspectives on opportunities and challenges in a significantly transformed post COVID-19 marketplace. World Sex Toys Market FACTS AT A GLANCE Edition: 6; Released: December 2021 Executive Pool: 487 Companies: 63 - Players covered include California Exotic Novelties, LLC; FUN FACTORY USA, Inc.; Kanojo Toys; Meiki Toys.com; Tenga Co., Ltd.; TOMAX USA and Others. Coverage: All major geographies and key segments Segments: Type (Adult Vibrators, Dildos, Erection Rings, Other Types); Distribution Channel (Online Stores, Specialty Stores, Mass Merchandisers) Geographies: World; United States; Canada; Japan; China; Europe (France; Germany; Italy; United Kingdom; Spain; Russia; and Rest of Europe); Asia-Pacific (Australia; India; South Korea; and Rest of Asia-Pacific); Latin America (Argentina; Brazil; Mexico; and Rest of Latin America); Middle East (Iran; Israel; Saudi Arabia; United Arab Emirates; and Rest of Middle East); and Africa. Complimentary Project Preview - This is an ongoing global program. Preview our research program before you make a purchase decision. We are offering a complimentary access to qualified executives driving strategy, business development, sales & marketing, and product management roles at featured companies. Previews provide deep insider access to business trends; competitive brands; domain expert profiles; and market data templates and much more. You may also build your own bespoke report using our MarketGlass™ Platform which offers thousands of data bytes without an obligation to purchase our report. Preview Registry ABSTRACT- Global Sex Toys Market to Reach US$54.6 Billion by the Year 2026Sex toys are also known as marital aids or adult toys and are used to enhance a person's sexual pleasure when making love or masturbating. Sex toys are even known to have medical benefits when the user has a medical condition or sexual dysfunction. Sexual Selfcare and wellness are being taken very seriously by consumers and a surge has been observed in the demand for creams and lotions for feminine wellness and sex toys for both sexes. Several manufacturers are focusing on health, beauty, and self-care and are launching new products and devices such as mini massager and air pulsing arouser, personal lubricant, and toy cleaning wipes. Sexual wellness products such as gels and toys that are affordable are being introduced in the market and the stigma around selling sexual items in conventional stores is fading away. The change is anticipated to be because of the demographic shift, as the millennials have a different view of sexual wellness in comparison with the baby boomers. Gradual fading away of the stigma associated with masturbation, even among married couples is benefiting the market for sex toys. Their adoption and use is growing especially among single women wanting to masturbate solo with sex toys such as vibrators, clitoral stimulators/suction vibrators, internal vaginal toys, cock rings, blowjob sleeves, and anal toys, among others. The acceptance of the growing LGBTQ community is another major factor driving demand for sex toys. Steadily growing popularity of male sex toys, increase in online sales, development of technologically sophisticated products, and growing population are other factors driving growth in the market. Amid the COVID-19 crisis, the global market for Sex Toys estimated at US$35.1 Billion in the year 2020, is projected to reach a revised size of US$54.6 Billion by 2026, growing at a CAGR of 7.6% over the analysis period. Adult Vibrators, one of the segments analyzed in the report, is projected to grow at a 8.2% CAGR to reach US$25.9 Billion by the end of the analysis period. After a thorough analysis of the business implications of the pandemic and its induced economic crisis, growth in the Dildos segment is readjusted to a revised 7.1% CAGR for the next 7-year period. This segment currently accounts for a 24.3% share of the global Sex Toys market. The U.S. Market is Estimated at $12.6 Billion in 2021, While China is Forecast to Reach $8 Billion by 2026The Sex Toys market in the U.S. is estimated at US$12.6 Billion in the year 2021. The country currently accounts for a 33% share in the global market. China, the world's second largest economy, is forecast to reach an estimated market size of US$8 Billion in the year 2026 trailing a CAGR of 10.4% through the analysis period. Among the other noteworthy geographic markets are Japan and Canada, each forecast to grow at 6.1% and 7.3% respectively over the analysis period. Within Europe, Germany is forecast to grow at approximately 6.4% CAGR while Rest of European market (as defined in the study) will reach US$4 Billion by the end of the analysis period. Erection Rings Segment to Reach $7.8 Billion by 2026In the global Erection Rings segment, USA, Canada, Japan, China and Europe will drive the 8.7% CAGR estimated for this segment. These regional markets accounting for a combined market size of US$4 Billion in the year 2020 will reach a projected size of US$7.1 Billion by the close of the analysis period. China will remain among the fastest growing in this cluster of regional markets. Led by countries such as Australia, India, and South Korea, the market in Asia-Pacific is forecast to reach US$753.7 Million by the year 2026. More MarketGlass™ Platform Our MarketGlass™ Platform is a free full-stack knowledge center that is custom configurable to today`s busy business executive`s intelligence needs! This influencer driven interactive research platform is at the core of our primary research engagements and draws from unique perspectives of participating executives worldwide. Features include - enterprise-wide peer-to-peer collaborations; research program previews relevant to your company; 3.4 million domain expert profiles; competitive company profiles; interactive research modules; bespoke report generation; monitor market trends; competitive brands; create & publish blogs & podcasts using our primary and secondary content; track domain events worldwide; and much more. Client companies will have complete insider access to the project data stacks. Currently in use by 67,000+ domain experts worldwide. Our platform is free for qualified executives and is accessible from our website www.StrategyR.com or via our just released mobile application on iOS or Android About Global Industry Analysts, Inc. & StrategyR™ Global Industry Analysts, Inc., (www.strategyr.com) is a renowned market research publisher the world`s only influencer driven market research company. Proudly serving more than 42,000 clients from 36 countries, GIA is recognized for accurate forecasting of markets and industries for over 33 years. CONTACTS: Zak Ali Director, Corporate Communications Global Industry Analysts, Inc. Phone: 1-408-528-9966 www.StrategyR.com Email: LINKS Join Our Expert Panel https://www.strategyr.com/Panelist.asp Connect With Us on LinkedIn https://www.linkedin.com/company/global-industry-analysts-inc./ Follow Us on Twitter https://twitter.com/marketbytes Journalists & Media SOURCE Global Industry Analysts, Inc. Read the full article

[plasticsurgeryclinics]

Bypass Surgery in Ensenada

Bypass Surgery in Ensenada, process, purpose, success rate, results, reviews, risks, lose, profit, before and after, recovery time, side effects.

[jemej3m]

Palettes

(a continuation of the Colours universe) 

(panic attacks, mentions of rape/abuse)

“Jer,” Alvarez grinned. “You hot-wired bastard. What in fuck’s name have you done now?”

The Foxes beat them last week, and rightly so. Copying that team’s crazy antics was necessary, but Jeremy knew that the decision would have doomed them. Another loss against the Ravens meant they were out of the championships. It was the Foxes versus the Ravens now, and Jeremy was the most confident in the tiny team kicking the Ravens off their first-place podium, unlike the rest of his team, who were expecting the Foxes to trip at their final hurdle.

As captain and as it being the final game, he’d taken press duty off of his team’s shoulders, and announced Jean’s transfer. Jean hadn’t technically said yes, not yet, but it was looking positive. This would be just a little push.

Jeremy rolled his eyes, but he was grinning too. Alvarez knew he couldn’t be bitter for the life of him. “Just a new backliner, that’s all.”

Her eyes lit up with understanding. “Ah. Does Coach know?”

“As if I could get anything past him.” He patted Sara’s cheek and turn to the team.

There were a lot of them. With the usual Trojan attitude, no one was disappointed, but some definitely looked a little anxious. They were doing serious cuts to the line next year: For some, it could be their last game if they didn’t pull their weight.

Jeremy would hate to deliver the news, but he had to do what was best for the team.

~

Jeremy was second guessing himself for the first time since his anxiety-ridden time in high school, and it wasn’t a pleasant feeling.

Jean was volatile. He spoke to no one but to criticise, and he most certainly didn’t listen. Within the first week of summer training, Alvarez had Jean crowded up against the court’s inner walls as Laila crouched beside a sophomore backliner who was on the ground.

Jeremy had caught Alvarez’s hands before she could shove Jean again. “Touch anyone like that, and I’ll scalp you, Moreau. You mark my fucking words—“

“Alvarez.” Jeremy had yanked her back.

“This isn’t Evermore.” She hissed. “You cost us a red card, and I’ll fucking kill you. We don’t play like that here.”

Out of all Jean’s strange tendencies (Staring at the ceiling instead of sleeping, making coffee but not drinking it, eating at strange hours, scratching at his own skin and tugging at his own hair, grinding his teeth so loudly that Jeremy could hear it as they stood next to one another in the crowded athlete’s dorm—He was rooming with Jeremy. There were countless odd habits that Jeremy could list, and none of them seemed healthy) this was by far the strangest. Starting a fight, stepping out of line, and then saying absolutely nothing, doing nothing to fight whatever was thrown at him afterwards. He stopped and stared, like he was waiting for something.

And—if Jeremy was to guess by the state he’d been when he arrived in California—there was a horrible reason behind it.

So, yeah. Jeremy was second guessing himself. The summer vacation ended, and those who had made it through the team’s cuts were settling back in. Jeremy had watched Jean retreat into almost complete silence—he didn’t even answer yes or no when Jeremy asked if he wanted coffee in the mornings anymore: He just nodded or shook his head, eyes hooded, bags like shadows.

He wasn’t okay, and Jeremy was team captain. It’d been his decision to bring him here: It was his job to make Jean okay.

He had to start somewhere, so he decided to start with Jean’s routine. He went by a strict routine, Jeremy knew: Woke up very early to study, then usually accepted Jeremy’s offer for coffee and accompanied him to the athlete’s foodhall for breakfast. Then he disappeared for classes, and Jeremy wouldn’t see him until afternoon practises. Jean was never there for dinner, and got back at midnight precisely, sometimes out of breath from running, sometimes not. He would always—always—pause to look at Jeremy, because Jeremy was usually doing something out in the main area of their suite, and Jeremy would see the briefest flicker of emotion—something along the lines of pain, or fear, Jeremy hadn’t worked it out yet—before disappearing into the bathroom and then turning the light off and getting in bed.

Jeremy always tried to be quiet after that, but it didn’t matter: Jean was always awake until after Jeremy was.

Jeremy decided to intervene.

“Coach,” He put his hands on his hips. “I need a day off and Jean’s class schedule for tomorrow.”

Rhennman hadn’t asked any questions, and Jeremy was prepared.

~

This isn’t stalkerish, is it?

Jeremy was waiting about 100 feet away from the lecture hall’s entrance, waiting.

Nah, it’s fine.

Second guessing himself, again. Jean was messing up his mental strength.

Jean walked out of class and turned left and Jeremy perked up, bouncing off in the same direction.

Once he got within yelling distance, he called out. “Jean! Hey, Jean!”

Jean paused but didn’t turn around: Jeremy knew that Jean knew it was him. Jeremy was kind of memorable, probably for more annoying reasons than not. He jogged to catch up the rest of the way.

“Hi!” He smiled.

Jean narrowed his eyes.

“Where you heading, lunch?”

Jean looked down at the textbook in his arms, and spoke, for the first time in what had to be a few weeks. “I have another class.”

He pronounced his ‘th’s like ‘ss’s and Jeremy wanted to laugh because it was so endearing. He refrained himself, though. Jean wouldn’t appreciate being laughed at. “So did I, but it’s been cancelled. Mind if I tag along?”

Jean gave him a significantly confused look, but shook his head.

“Alright, lead the way, baguette boy.”

Jean’s mildly alarmed expression was an obvious tell. Jeremy grinned slowly. He was -- testing the waters. Yeah. 

“I’m working on the nickname.”

“Baguette boy.” He heard Jean mutter under the huff of frustration as he clutched his textbooks to  his chest, slipping between the crowd that slowly migrated towards it’s next desired location.

“I might revise out here,” Jeremy decided, eyeing the green in front of the three storey building they stood in front of. “Scoop me up after class?”

Jean averted his gaze with a jerky nod and headed towards the door.

Jeremy propped himself up against a tree trunk and crossed his arms, gazing at the doors like he could see Jean standing in front of them.

And then he fell asleep.

~

Jean spotted him almost immediately, and felt that little squeeze that he always felt at the sight of Jeremy’s bronze hair and skin and eyelashes, brushing against the apples of his cheeks.

Jean walked to stand over him and realised -- he was asleep.

Jean could leave, could disappear and resume his usual routine of going to the gym instead of eating, but it felt a little ridiculous to simply leave Jeremy here, asleep and on his own. Jean shouldn’t feel like ditching someone would weigh on his conscience—he’d never cared before—especially when it was someone like Jeremy. Nothing could crack that completely unnecessary grin. (Unnecessarily gorgeous, the voice in Jean’s head would whisper, but Jean cut that voice out a long, long, long, long, long—)

Jean walked away, determined.

He came back, anyway, with a chicken wrap and a carton of pancakes. The thud of Jean’s backpack dropping to the ground awakened Jeremy: He didn’t jolt out of sleep like Jean did, or wake up smiling like Jean thought he would. His eyes opened, and he slowly looked at Jean, who did not look at him, looked at the food, and the looked up and around him.

He sat up and said: “Hello.”

Sleep quietened Jeremy.

Jean sat and put the pancakes in front of Jeremy. Jeremy smiled—he was always fucking smiling—and took them. “For me?”

Jean nodded.

“Pancakes?” He asked and Jean swallowed.

“I can get you something else.” He sounded flustered. Jean hated letting panic get the better of him. Of course I get him something he hates—of course, of course—

“Pancakes are fine.” Jeremy promised. “Jean, really.”

“Don’t lie.” Jean mumbled.

“For goodness’ sakes,” Jeremy laughed, shovelling a forkful into his mouth. “Who doesn’t like pancakes? Thank you—these are really good.”

Jean breathed. As long as he breathed, as long as his eyes were open and seeing, then he was alive. Alive and surviving.

Jeremy continued to nod his head to himself, like he was listening to music. Jean ate in silence, and he was finished long after Jeremy. Jeremy had his head resting against the peeling bark of the tree, eyes closed again.

“What colour are you?” Because Jean genuinely didn’t know.

Jeremy opened his eyes and smiled, offering his hand. “Want to see?”

Jean froze.

Colours were a two-way thing. Jeremy would see Jean’s colour if they touched: It was skin on skin that sparked it.

Jean was red.

Jeremy couldn’t know.

“Here,” Jeremy pulled at Jean’s stretched sleeve over his hand, careful not to touch his skin. “Hold my hand?”

Their fingertips brushed inside of Jean’s sleeve: they hooked their fingers together, and watched the colour blossom from where Jean’s hand and Jeremy’s fingers were hidden in his sleeve.

White.

It was gorgeous on Jeremy’s tan skin.

“Of course.” Jean murmured. “You good samaritan.”

Jeremy laughed and drew back his hand, holding it and tracing over the slowly fading patterns, almost self consciously. He looked up and smiled.

Jean waited for the same question to be asked in return.

It never came.

“If you haven’t got any classes, we can go to the stadium. It’s still two hours before afternoon practise but—I need all the help I can get.” He grinned, getting to his feet.

Jeremy didn’t need any help: He was one of the best dealers that Jean knew. He didn’t let his niceness get in the way when they were playing, which was something Jean could admire: Putting personal shit aside and focusing on the game.

But, it was something of a relief to know that Jeremy wouldn’t press him for information, if Jean didn’t offer it. They walked side by side in comfortable silence.

Jean thought that maybe—just maybe—this could be okay.

~

The Trojans’ season began, and Jean played viciously. He had made it through the summer’s tryouts that had reduced the team down by ten working bodies, but he wasn’t going to let anyone think that he’d gotten through on pity points. No one on the team approached him out of their own volition except for Jeremy. Alvarez sent Jean a dirty look when Jean was yellow-carded for fouling the Trentworths striker he was marking. Laila put her hand on the girl’s shoulder, and Jean watched the anger dissipate from Alvarez’s stance from the dozen-or-so feet away he was.

“Careful, Jean!” Jeremy called.

“Sorry.” Jean let himself slip when he stopped jogging to stand in front of Jean, because it was Jeremy, and he was smiling.

“Don’t apologise.” Jeremy patted his shoulder, and Jean’s stomach lurched. “Just work on it. Third game of the season: You’re doing fine.”

Jean wasn’t fine. He nodded anyway.

Jeremy’s teeth flashed with another smile. One of his canine’s was chipped, reminding Jean to ask him about it when he remembered.

It’d only happened a few times, when Jean actually yelled in his sleep and woke Jeremy up, expecting to see Riko’s smile gleaming over him but being soothed by Jeremy’s soft voice and hushed when he whispered sorry, over and over. They would talk, really talk, to get Jean out of his head.

They won against the Trentworths and Jeremy rose up his eyebrows: A question. Jean nodded. He put his hands on Jean’s shoulders, and there were gloves and skin guards and padding between them, but it didn’t stop the knotting in his stomach.

~

Time progressed and winter hit, but the weather didn’t really change. Jean was sleeping more but sleeping worse. Jeremy made no comment, but bought him chamomile tea for him to drink before he attempted to go to sleep.

Jean stayed at the court until midnight and beyond, as usual. It was a Thursday night. He had no where to be the next morning: He was in his right mind to keep training all night. He certainly had the energy: There was an angry buzz keeping him upright, an insistent clench to every muscle in his body that was keeping him alert. He kept running and pacing and firing at the court’s walls and ceiling, doing and re-doing.

“Moreau!” Jean froze. “Get off the court—I’ve had enough.”

He slowly looked to the open court door to see Rhenmann beckoning him over. He could barely breathe from over-exhaustion as he picked up the balls and briskly walked to the court’s exit. He went to slide past his coach, but the man’s arm shot out to stop him. He froze before he could make contact.

“Give me your keys.” He said. Jean stared at him in disbelief. His coach offered his hand. “Your keys, Moreau.”

“You can’t.” Jean choked. It was the first thing he’d said to his coach since—since he’d thanked him for keeping on the team after the cut back in September.

“Jean,” His coach was a well weathered, concerned man. Jean had all the respect for him but none of the patience.

He hadn’t thought to be scared of what his coach could do.

“You are ruining yourself like this: This won’t help you get better. The only way you can improve your game is to work out how to work with your team. Give me your keys, and go to bed.”

“Coach, please.” He stared at the man’s calloused palm. “I have nothing, without this.”

“This is the most you’ve spoken to me all season.” He mused. “And bullshit. You have your team, your life. I’m not going to say you should consider yourself lucky to have narrowly escaped death like you did, because expecting to live a full life when you’re still healing is a cruel illusion to give someone. But I won’t let you run yourself to shreds at two in the morning. You’re here everyday.”

“Jeremy told you.” Jean said, flatly.

Coach arched his eyebrow. “He mentioned you’re never home before midnight. I pieced it together myself, thanks. Keys, Moreau. You’re no longer a Raven: Now you have to start acting like it. You can earn them back, if you wish.”

“How?”

“Be better. Do what you have to, to work with your team. To get a full night’s sleep. Get a big off that weight off your shoulders: It must be awful for your posture.”

Jean sent the man the flattest of looks, but he still trailed behind his coach to fish his keys slowly out of his bag. His coach took them all.

“My dorm room keys—“

“Jeremy will be there to let you in, won’t he?”

“But—“

“Change out, Moreau.” He disappeared down the hall.

Jean showered and changed. He walked to the locker room’s doorway, the almost maroon and gold theme more comforting than anything else, and switched all the lights off.

He should have known better than to turn the lights off.

It was true in saying that light provided colour: Without it, the life was bled out of the room and everything in it, including Jean.

He was back in the Nest.

Jean was paralysed, standing in the dark. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe. It was the Nest, with black walls and benches and dark red strip lighting, with shadows on shadows on shadows and knives cutting through smiles.

Jean couldn’t move. Breathe, move, run, fight, live, survive, go—!

When he could, he ran. He ran, feet slapping against the pavement and air tearing at his lungs with every ragged breath, bag lugging him behind. He was gasping up the stairs to his dorm room, his heartbeat the loudest thing in his ears when all was quiet at two o’clock on a Friday morning.

He fell against his suite’s door, fists limply banging to let him in. The door flew inwards and he tumbled inside a few steps, and then fell back against the door as it was swung closed, slamming it shut with the weight of his body. His eyes were open, but he couldn’t see: Everything was dark and nothing was safe.

“Jean!”

Jean could feel the hands reaching out, and snapped. “Don’t touch me. Don’t touch me!”

“Go away, Sara. Just—get back—“ Who’s voice was that? “Jean. Jean. It’s Jeremy.” Ah. Jeremy. “Can I hold your wrist? You’re wearing a jumper. Jean? Jean, talk to me. I promise I won’t touch your skin.”

“No, no,” Jean moaned, head rolling against the door. “Don’t touch me, don’t—“

“I won’t, I won’t—“ Jeremy promised.

“Stop!” Jean yelped, head hitting the door hard enough to rattle the wall it was attached to. It hurt. Everything hurt. He still couldn’t see anything but illuminated hands, reaching out to grab him and hurt him. “Stop touching me!”

“No one is touching you.” Jeremy promised, voice unsteady. “Jean, come back to me. It’s me, Jeremy. You hate me, kinda. I think it’s because I’m too loud. You’re in California. You’re not in the Nest. Riko’s dead, Jean: It’s just me. Jeremy.”

“Jeremy.” Jean gasped. “Is it just you?”

There was a pause. Some muffled sounds. Then: “Yeah, Jean. It’s just me.”

Jean reached blindly and came up with t-shirt material in his fist. He pulled on it, and fell forwards into what had to be Jeremy. It didn’t matter that he smelled like lavender, that his skin was soft and that his laundry detergent made his clothes even softer. Jeremy’s hands were pressing gently into Jean’s back, firm and warm.

Jean finally opened his eyes, and was watching the white splash across Jeremy’s skin where Jean had his face buried into Jeremy’s shoulder. He was shaking too violently to care whether or not this betrayed his undeniable attraction towards Jeremy, but he was too relieved by Jeremy’s presence to try and process if this changed anything.

“Don’t look.” He knew the red was dancing across his own skin. “Jeremy.”

“I won’t.” Jeremy promised. “But—stay.”

Jean closed his eyes. They stayed like that for a while.

~

“Jean.”

Jean didn’t look up, so Laila Dermott crouched down in front of him, hand extended as though to tip up Jean’s chin. She stopped a reasonable distance away.

He was just lacing up his shoes after practise: Knowing he wouldn’t be able to come back later scared him. He’d stolen Jeremy’s court keys to avoid him for three days, but Jeremy had realised and taken them back. He’d have to go back and eat dinner, and remain in the dorm with Jeremy, and his heart was slamming in his chest. They’d talk about it, there was no doubt about it. Nothing had been too heavy until that point, but nightmares were different to full-fledged panic attacks.

“Hey.” Laila smiled gently. This was definitely odd: Laila usually didn’t spare Jean anything more than curious glances. “I know this is odd, but—would you come with me? This evening?”

Jean sat up, cocking his head. “Where?”

“There’s an outlet sale downtown: A big department store is closing down.” Laila smiled a little wider. “Sara has a final and hates shopping, and Jeremy is an impulsive buyer, so bringing him along is usually an awful idea.”

Jean was absolutely sure Jean would be the last on the list of shopping companions. “How late?”

She shrugged. “It’s a Tuesday, but they want to empty all their stock. We can grab dinner whilst we’re at it, how about that?”

Jean wanted to ask why, but he shrugged and stood up instead.

“Perfect.” Laila clapped her hands together. Her easy calm reminded Jean of Renee, of whom Jean hadn’t responded to for a long, long time. Renee didn’t deserve that. Jean should call her. “Would you rather walk or skateboard? We can catch a bus, too.”

“I’m sorry,” Jean started. “Skateboard?”

Laila laughed. “I prefer to practise as much as I can: We have money resting on who can master tricks first, Jeremy and I.”

Jean was affronted.

“We’ll walk.” Laila decided. “Come on.”

They walked. Laila Dermott talked about small things that weren’t tedious, but didn’t hold too much meaning to them. Jumping from one pavement square to the next, relaying the rhyme she and her younger sister—she had a 16 year-old sister, five years younger than her—would play on their way to elementary school.

“You grew up in France, didn’t you?” She stopped avoiding the cracks in the pavement in favour of looking at him whilst they walked.

Jean nodded.

“How much French do you still know? Jeremy took it all through high school and does it as part of his international studies minor. He could help you…revise?”

“I’m fluent.” Jean’s mouth was a thin line. Jeremy spoke French. What.

“Oh, well.” She laughed, head thrown back a little. “I guess you can help him, instead.”

Jean nodded, staring at the pavement in front of him.

He should find Laila attractive. He should be staring at her lithe figure and wispy, dark brown hair, her delicate cheekbones and pale, unmarked skin. Even if she was in love with burly Sara Alvarez, he should be lamenting over her thin lips stretched over white teeth, and the complex green of her eyes.

He couldn’t, though. There was someone else who occupied the fore-front of that aspect of aesthetic appreciation, with blue eyes that were much more spectacular and a smattering of freckles that Jean was obsessed with. And as much as he tried to tell himself otherwise—as much as he tried to remind himself what that would mean for him with his history of abuse, how horrific it was, why he would even consider liking Jeremy after all that—

He didn’t like Jeremy. Jeremy was just gold skin and blue eyes and bronze hair and a smile that was terrifying genuine, and Jean trusted him implicitly.

“Almost there,” Laila said, throwing her skateboard onto the ground and hopping on. “Catch up, Moreau!”

~

Four hours later, Jean walked out of the department store with three bags of his own, and Laila grinning with exhaustion and satisfaction.

“There. No more ratty black sweaters.” She put her hands on her hips with a nod, before grinning again. “Now, I’m not saying it’s going to happen, but—if Jeremy drags you along for Christmas, at least you’ll have something to wear.”

“What?” Jean echoed. He’d said that a dozen times too many that evening.

“Our ride’s here!” Jean looked over his shoulder to where Laila was waving to see Jeremy’s Camry. “Quick, quick, my feet are killing me.”

Jean’s bags were shoved into the boot, and Jean was shoved into the front. Laila laid down in the back seat with a dramatic groan.

“If you’re so tired and sore, why did you do this?” Jean asked, quietly.

Jeremy beamed, pleased at Jean’s communicative progress. Jean flushed.

“Because, silly.” Laila smiled. “I wanted to.”

Jean sat back in his chair. There was something in his throat that he couldn’t name, and couldn’t swallow.

They parked. Got out. Laila disappeared into her suite, and Jean and Jeremy disappeared into theirs.

“I can’t find my keys.” Jeremy said, a moment later.

Jean threw him a flat look. “I don’t have them.”

Jeremy grinned. “I left them in the car. Be right back.”

Jean walked his bags into his room. Did he have enough room for his new things? He poured them out on his bed and sifted through them, taking off tags and folding them.

Jeremy paused in the doorway to their room. “Alright?”

Jean nodded.

“No silent treatment, please.” Jeremy requested, quietly coming to stand next to him. His fingers brushed over cotton t-shirts and jumpers, hoodies and sweaters, and pairs of navy and denim and white trousers.

“I’m alright.” Jean allowed.

Jeremy nodded, eyes scanning the pile. “You bought a lot of things.”

“I couldn’t reign her in.” Jean wanted to smile at him, but didn’t. “She was very enthusiastic.”

“I told her I could have done it.” He sighed dramatically, pulling up a deep blue hoodie.

“She says you have no impulse control.” Jean said, quiet.

Jeremy looked offended, reaching in to yank something out of the pile as Jean folded a crotched sweater. “I can control myself, she just wanted time—oh, this is nice.”

Jean looked, and blinked.

It was a light pink dress shirt. A soft pink, like the sunset, like the flush across Jean’s cheeks when he stayed out in the sun too long, the only colour he allowed people to see on his skin. It was the closest to his old colour—his real colour.

“You don’t like it?” Jeremy asked, watching him. “I think it’s very nice.”

Jean jerkily shook his head.

Jeremy let out a small huff, which could have been an exasperated laugh. “Was that a yes or a no?”

“I can’t wear that.”

“Okay.” Jeremy folded it and put it aside. He didn’t ask any questions and they folded the rest of Jean’s new clothes in silence.

~

Jean couldn’t bear it.

It was almost the Christmas break, and he was itching to call Neil Josten. To make sure he wasn’t doing more stupid things. To make sure he was alright. It was a very strange urge: He’d never truly cared about whether or not Neil was making a fool of himself until they’d been tethered together for three of the Nest’s weeks. It’d been awful. Neil dragged a lot on himself, and tried to take as much off Jean at the same time.

Jean hated it. He hated it. He hated watching Riko rip Neil to pieces, having to hold Neil in one place. He had never forgiven Kevin for being a bystander whilst Riko did the same to him, but—then he’d done the exact same thing to Neil.

He called Renee on the Thursday before the Christmas break started, and she picked up immediately. They usually called on Sunday afternoons, for quiet chatter that always soothed Jean’s anxiety. “Renee.”

“Jean.” He could hear her gentle smile. “Is everything alright?”

Jean eyed the closed bedroom door. “I don’t—Is Neil alright?”

“Aside from constantly kicking up the mud at the bottom of the lake, press wise, he hasn’t gotten himself into much trouble lately. Andrew has him pinned. Is this because of last year?”

Jean closed his eyes. “Yes. I don’t know if I should talk to him or not.”

“Maybe you should just ask him.”

“And if he simply hangs up before I get a chance to apologise?”

“Why are you trying to apologise?”

“I know he doesn’t remember much but—but I—“

“Jean.” Renee said softly. “You didn’t have a choice.”

“I did. I did.”

“Jean, self preservation does not mean you wanted to do anything Riko forced you to. Alright? We know what Neil is like, we know that it meant Riko didn’t go easy on him: We saw. But that is—in no way, shape, or form—your fault. Talk to him, if you don’t believe me.”

Jean nodded.

“Jean?”

“Okay.”

“Good. Is that all?”

“Yes.”

“Alright. Goodnight, Jean.”

“Goodnight, Renee.”

The line went dead.

~

Neil didn’t hang up. He listened to Jean’s self-loathing, and then promptly told him to shut up. Neil didn’t deliver truths easily and told him about how he hated Jean at first, but he did thank Jean for keeping him alive. Jean didn’t think he had—kept Neil alive, that is—but he was already breathing easier. He answered Neil’s questions. He told Neil to stay safe.

“I hope California’s treating you better than it treated us.” Neil said. “Bye, Jean.”

Jean didn’t know what that meant. Or who else the us included.

The door to the bedroom open, and Jeremy was wearing Jean’s favourite smile: Soft, creased eyes, merely a lift to the corners of Jeremy’s lips. “Hello. Who was on the phone?”

“Renee. Neil.”

“Neil Josten?” Jean leaned his head back when Jeremy walked to stand in front of Jean’s knees, offering a single hand. Jean nodded: Jeremy put it on his clothed shoulder.

He was sure that his skin reacted to Jeremy’s hand, despite there being clothing between them. It was warm and tingly, where his fingers firmly gripped Jean’s muscle. “How many reporters will he make retire in his career, do you think?”

“As many as he can.” Jean wanted to frame Jeremy’s face with his hands, kiss lines down his throat and the hard V of his hips. It was such an overwhelming urge that all Jean could do was stare, almost awed, up at the other man.

Jeremy slowly put his other hand on Jean’s other shoulder. “Hopefully Minyard will act as a filter.” He paused, hesitant. “They’re dating, you know.”

Jean jerked. “What?”

Jeremy’s smile fell—just a little. He stepped back, arms dropping to his sides. “Kevin told me.”

“You talk to Kevin?” Jean’s stomach hurt.

“Sometimes.”

Jean couldn’t look at him. “Right. Well.”

“Jean?”

Jean shook his head and stole out of the bedroom into the living room, crossing to pass the kitchenette and shutting the suite’s door behind him.

Jeremy didn’t follow. He let out a breath of relief, and shoved his hands into his pockets.

He left.

~

Jeremy was sure, now. He made a mental note to never mention Kevin in front of Jean: Something fucked up had happened between them, if the pained twist in Jean’s expression had told Jeremy anything.

He waited on his bed for an hour, an hour and a half, two hours. Midnight passed. Worry clawed up his throat and threatened to make him keel over and vomit.

It was two-forty-eight when he gave up and called Alvarez. She was awake, and if the breathlessness of her voice said anything, Jeremy had probably just called at a very inconvenient time.

“The fuck, Jer?”

“Jean’s gone.”

“Christ.” There was rustling: Muffled noises and urgent whispers. Alvarez came back onto the phone and Jeremy knew it was wedged between her shoulder and and ear as she got dressed. “What happened?”

“I don’t know: He called Neil Josten about something, and I was talking and I think I fucked things up.”

“What, between you two?”

“What?” Jeremy flushed. “No! No, he doesn’t know that I…I mean, I’m pretty sure now.”

“Sure that…?” Alvarez prompted. “Be a little less vague, Jer.”

“That he’s homophobic? That he’s not gay, for sure. I don’t know: It went so fast.”

“Oh, Jer.”

“Not the priority now! He walked out almost three hours ago and I’m—scared.”

“We’ll find him. Does he have his phone on him?”

“I don’t know his number.” Jeremy mumbled.

“Fuck, Jer. We’re coming, we’re coming.”

“Well, I was.” Laila’s voice said in the background. “But since we got so rudely interrupted.”

“Shut up, babe.”

“Blame Jean.” Jeremy had bitten his thumbnail down to the quick. “I’ll see you soon—“ He heard he door opened. Jeremy let out a sigh of relief, bolting from where he’d been perched on the edge of Jean’s bed. “Never mind, he’s here, he’s here—“

“Oh, for fuck’s sake—“

Jeremy tossed his phone back onto the bed and threw the bedroom door open, stomping across the room.

Jean stared at him, eyes slowly widening the closer Jeremy came. Jeremy stopped in front of him, toe to toe, chest to chest. Jean looked down at him, merely apprehensive.

“Don’t do that again.” Jeremy was angry, at himself more than Jean, but angry all the same. Jean understood the tone of Jeremy’s voice and looked even more apprehensive. Jeremy never got angry. “Where were you?”

“I needed space.” Jean decided.

“Text me, for the love of God, next time you decide to disappear for three hours after bolting out the door.”

“Jeremy, you’ve hardly ever worried about my whereabouts the entire semester—“

“I worry!” Jeremy snapped. “Every time!”

The crease between Jean’s eyebrows vanished. “Why is this so different?”

“Because it was my fault! Or, at least, the only time I’m certain it was my fault. You—Just don’t—You can’t do that, alright? I’m an anxious mess enough as it is, Jean.”

“Then why are you here?” Jean accused. Defensive.

“Because -- I care? What kind of question is that?”

Jeremy could see Jean’s swallow get stuck and he closed his eyes. Slowly, he nodded. “I’m sorry. I should have texted you.”

“Do you even have my number?” Jeremy said, voice weak. Jean, standing completely motionless and colour bled from his skin by the kitchenette’s stark white lighting, was all angles and planes. The shadows cast across his cheeks, his hair that flopped gently over his forehead, the fullness of his mouth. He wasn’t conventionally gorgeous. There was nothing chiselled about his muscle structure, and nothing pretty about the scars that Jeremy had seen, and his cheekbones made him look gaunt and almost malnourished (Which he had been, but that slowly changed). But he was gorgeous. Jeremy wanted to hide him from public view until he was healed and okay, until all the fractures and cracks were sealed and healed, until Jean was comfortable enough to smile the tiny, tiny smile he had when he thought no one was looking.

“Yes.” Jean cracked open a single eye. “Coach forced me to program it into my phone: I’ve never needed it. You’ve always been right there when I’ve needed you.”

His grey eyes were like clouds, the heavy rainstorm clouds that rarely coveted California for more than an hour at a time. Jeremy could get lost in them.

“Thank you.” Jean continued, closing his eye again and letting his head hang. “For being patient with me. I know I’m still not—I know I’m not Trojan material. I’m trying, though.”

“I know, Jean.” Jeremy was desperate to tip up his chin and force Jean to look him in the eyes, but he wouldn’t. “That’s all we ever ask, that you try. Can I— can I put my hands on your shoulders?”

“You don’t need to ask.”

“Okay.”

Jeremy carefully placed his hands. Jean’s head still didn’t lift up.

“I needed to get out before I said something I regretted.” Jean’s head tilted to look at Jeremy’s hands, the circles that his thumbs were drawing. “I was—I am—jealous.”

Jeremy didn’t move, but hummed in acknowledgement. When Jean said nothing, he prompted him. “About Kevin?”

“Always.” Jean shook his head, slowly. “He got out of the Nest.”

“So did you.”

Jean’s teeth ground together: They were close enough for Jeremy to hear. “He left me behind.”

“He’s sorry.”

“He’s never sorry for anything he says, or anything he does.”

“The only reason he calls me is to check on you.” Jeremy murmured. “He is sorry, Jean.”

“He waltzed out of there like it was nothing!” Jean snapped, his jaw clenched tight, words hissed out from between his teeth. “He knew what would happen to me, but he didn’t care, because ouch, Riko hurt his hand, and it was too much for poor, little Kevin.”

“Jean,” Jeremy said, voice hushed with horror. “His hand was shattered.”

“I was forced to play with broken ribs!” Jean snarled. “I had to play when my leg was torn out of my hip socket, when my kneecaps were splintered from being shoved onto my knees too many fucking times, I—“ Jean’s body convulsed, and Jeremy held onto his shoulders tighter. “I don’t care if Kevin is sorry. I cannot forgive him.”

“Jean.”

“Jeremy.” He was on the edge of hysterics, voice rough and eyes wide and desperate when his head snapped up to finally, finally look Jeremy in the eye. “I cannot forgive him. Not when he stood by and let it happen.”

“Jean.”

“He stood by and watched.”

“Watched?” He was shaking under Jeremy’s hands. “Watched what?”

“This.”

Jean’s fingers circled Jeremy’s wrists and brought his hands up to frame his cheeks, and Jeremy watched red bloom across his jaw, dusting across his cheeks in a ghastly blush, coating his fingers and the skin of his arms visible with the sickening blood-red.

The red imitated blood in the worst ways possible: It looks so real when it started dripping from his eyes, nose and the corners of his mouth. Jeremy’s fingers were trying to wipe it away before he realised how useless that was. This was Jean’s colour. This was his past, painted on his skin.

Jeremy couldn’t take it any long, yanking Jean to close the relatively small distance between them in a fierce embrace.

Jean was reluctant to hug back. “Aren’t you—“ He choked out. “Sickened?”

“By you? Never.” Jean smelled like sea spray. Maybe he’d walked down to the shoreline during his disappearance.

“Good samaritan.” Jean whispered.

Jeremy smothered his laugh in Jean’s shoulder. They didn’t move, and Jeremy was no longer torn. It didn’t matter if he liked Jean but Jean didn’t like him back, if he was unattainable, or if this actually meant something more. He would remain here, as the support Jean needed and had never had before. He wasn’t going to go anywhere.

~

Jean stayed with Renee for Christmas, whilst Jeremy returned to his enormous and chaotic family for the break.

Jeremy found himself missing Jean’s quiet.

Jean found himself missing Jeremy’s warmth.

They were happy to see each other when the break was over, though neither said it aloud.

~

Despite predictions and expectations, it wasn’t Jean who earned the Trojan’s their first red card in many, many years.

It was during the spring semifinals versing the Ravens, and Jean was fierce. Fierce and triumphant.

And then, in the briefest flash of a moment, the dynamic changed from competitive to toxic, when something Jean didn’t hear was snarled in Jeremy’s direction.

Jean watched Jeremy sweep the Raven striker’s feet out from underneath him and grab his helmet’s grate, slamming his skull back into the court so hard that it shook underneath them. He yanked Jeremy back as Jeremy yelled incoherent things, more concerned about Jeremy’s potent anger than the striker who slowly rolled onto his side. It was a freshman, but Jean knew Jacobson, the other striker who stepped over the freshman and strode straight towards the two of them.

“Let me go, Jean!” Jeremy snapped. The Trojans’ stadium was in uproar, and the referees were running onto the court as both teams gravitated closer.

“That’s a red card!” Jean panted, holding Jeremy back with arms around his waist. “You don’t need a restraining order too!”

“Pathetic.” Jacobson snarled. “I didn’t think you could stoop any lower after hearing you cry with a dick up your ass, Moreau, and yet here we are.”

Jeremy thrashed. “Don’t you fucking dare—!”

The referees made a wall between them and the situation was nulled.

Jeremy was sent off immediately: The Raven freshman was dragged off by Jacobson and the Ravens sent on two subs. Jean played, numb. The buzzer shook him to his bones: They’d beat the Ravens by a single point. They’d never beat the Ravens before, but celebrating didn’t matter. He stumbled off to find Jeremy instead of shaking the Raven’s hands, tearing off his helmet and gloves when he found Jeremy sitting on the bench, Rhenmann standing over him. Jeremy watched him come.

Jean grabbed him by his shoulders and shook him. “Are you fucking serious?”

Jeremy looked up at him, determined. He was turning the red card over and over in his hands.

“Jeremy.”

“Take him back to your dorm before the team hassles him.” Rhenmann offered.

Jeremy followed Jean out.

~

They’d driven in Jeremy’s Camry to the stadium, so Jean took Jeremy’s keys and drove back. They showered and changed in silence: Jean started towards their suite’s door, and Jeremy followed him once again.

They walked down to the boardwalk and trailed along the shoreline. Jean took off his shoes to walk in the sand. He hadn’t visited the cliff face since midterms before spring break, but he still knew his way there. They walked across rocks and crevices until the city’s glow was behind them, and there was nothing except for waves, stars and a cool breeze.

“I haven’t been here since my freshman year.” Jeremy said, when the silence stretched too long and thin.

Jean didn’t say anything, not for a while, content to have the salt spray whip his hair around, sitting comfortably.

“I couldn’t let them get away with what they were saying, Jean.”

“And you thought that earning the Trojans’ first red card would fix that?”

Jeremy smiled out at the water. “I’m going to frame it.”

Jean shook his head with exasperation. “You don’t need to protect me, Jeremy.”

“No,” Jeremy agreed. “But I want to fight for you.”

Jeremy, Jeremy, who’d put up with all of Jean’s stressful antics and strange habits, who had sat with him through every panic attack and soothed him after every nightmare. Jeremy had trusted Jean enough with his own anxieties, giving a part of himself to Jean so that there was someone to pick him up when he was meant to be the one picking everyone else up. Jean had never had that responsibility before. It was good. California and it’s golden boys were good to Jean.

Jean had given up making coffee that he never drank, and slept instead of staring at the ceiling. He  only sometimes stayed later after practise, playing against Jeremy in opposing positions, and sometimes that ended in one pinning the other to the court floor in a playful brawl.

It was shopping with Laila and half-assed piggybacks with Alvarez and being comfortable enough to sip a beer with the team and letting himself look at Jeremy and smile, just a little bit: These things were proof that it would get better. Easier.

There was a lot of things that Jean was allowed to want, now that he had the time and freedom and peace of mind. One thing in particular, however, was more important than others.

“I want to kiss you.”

“Yeah,” Jeremy agreed, still looking out to the water. “That’s long overdue.”

“Jeremy.”

He slowly turned to look at Jean, wearing the smile that he knew Jean loved. “Yes, Jean?”

Jean hooked Jeremy’s chin with two fingers and kissed him. He could feel the red curling across his skin, but he was no longer afraid of it.

He wasn’t afraid of anything.

~

It took years for the red to fade back into Jean’s pink, but so did Jean’s healing process.

“Jean.” Jeremy murmured one morning, when light was only just filtering through the blinds. Jean slowly peeled open his eyes to see Jeremy looking pointedly down at their joined hands.

Jean’s skin was no longer the angry red that had tainted it for too long: It hadn’t been for a while, now. Slowly, slowly fading, back to the colour of soft sunsets and kiss-swollen smiles. Their conjoined hands were covered in a swirling concoction of Jeremy’s white and Jean’s pink, something soft and rare and just for them.

Jean’s head fell back against the pillows, eyes closed, smiling with practised ease. Jeremy kissed the corner of his mouth quickly, before slotting himself back into Jean’s side and they eased back into an early-morning doze. Their shirtless torsos were splashed with colour as they slept, a canvas of whites and pinks across pale and tanned skin.

An interesting palette for a pair of sunshine and shadows, but it worked. It definitely worked.

[acountrygirlsfun]

Okay I'm in a winter mood so give me 1 from the christmas list (winter expectations vs. winter realities), like maybe foolish, California-raised-winter Stiles going to school in New York and being a giant ball of rage and sweaters because WIND AND SNOW AND WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT RAINS ICE??? and Derek (neighbor or fellow student or prof) who drags him out shopping for decent winter gear

@redneckyacht this isn’t exactly what you asked for but i hope i got close ;) 

Derek bustled himself throughthe crowded sidewalk to get into his favorite coffee spot. It’s a tucked awaylittle place that makes espresso as strong as Starbucks without the price tag.He’d found the place a long, long time ago when he was a teenager and needed anescape from his family. Today though, all he’s escaping is the wind. It’s onlyOctober but the wind has already got that bite to it that means he’ll beordering a hot coffee today.

The chime sounds in the storewhen Derek shoulders his way through the door and the familiar barista greetshim with a smile. The place is practically teeming with people and it surpriseshim. He must be frowning because Allison laughs at him.

“Don’t worry, Derek,” she sayswhen he makes it to the counter, “it’s just midterms. Your precious hiding spothasn’t been ruined.”

He huffs at her, unsurprisedthat she read him like a book. As much as his sisters like to claim he’sreclusive and non-emotive, he doesn’t go out of his way to make himselfunreadable. He’s just private. That’s all.

Which means he’s in somewhat ofa pickle: there are no open tables.

Derek orders his latte with alittle caramel drizzle, pays and turns to find somewhere to sit while he warmsup. But there are no open spaces. The comfortable chairs by the front windoware occupied, as are the tables and the stools along the bar. The booths alongthe wall are all full of people with books and notebooks spread out in front ofthem.

He walks to the end of the bar,to wait for his coffee, when he spots an open seat.

A young man is sitting in thebooth back in the corner, no one is across from him and he has only a laptopopen in front of him. His large iced drink is nearly gone, so he’s been therefor a while. He takes another sweeping glance around the shop but no one hasgotten up to leave and there’s white flakes starting to flutter outside thewindow. He swallows his slight discomfort and it’s decided. He’s going to sharea table with a stranger.

Allison calls out his name thathis coffee is done and Derek turns around.

“Thanks, Allison,” he saysquietly with a smile and she returns it, like usual.

“You’re welcome, Mr. Hale,” sheanswers just as quietly.

Oh yeah, he is one of the Hales. Hopefully that won’t pose aproblem in getting his seat. Most people don’t know who he is. But even thoughhe’s not his mother (the mayor), his sister Laura (chef at The Den), hisbrother Alex (the senator’s aide) or his sister Cora (the budding professionalphotographer), people sometimes do recognize him from those rare times everyoneattends an event together.

He has no problems being one ofthe less-accomplished children of Talia and James Hale. He’s got Genevieve onhis side of being normal anyway. AndJacob and David are still deciding what they’ll do after high school this yearbut Derek thinks they’ll be just as average and content as he and their oldersister are. Half of the siblings being in the public eye is more than enough inDerek’s opinion.

With fingers mentally crossedand coffee in hand, Derek approaches the booth. The man is quite focused andeven as Derek’s fingers start tingling as the feeling returns to them he feelsbad for interrupting what is obviously a determined train of thought.

“Excuse me,” he says gently butthe man still flinches in surprise and Derek winces visibly and hunches hisshoulders a little. “Sorry, I hated to interrupt you but there’s nowhere elseto sit. Can I sit across from you? I’ll be quiet as a mouse,” Derek assures himbut the man is already nodding and smiling slightly.

“Yes, sure! I’m almost doneanyway so it’s no trouble,” he says and Derek is glad he is sitting downbecause the man’s voice makes him feel kind of funny.

“I’m Derek,” he says after he’sput his coffee on the table and is shrugging out of his overcoat.

“Stiles,” the man answers andDerek gives him a questioning look.

“That’s my name, Stiles. It’skind of a long story why but my real name is unpronounceable so I’ve beenStiles since about kindergarten,” he explains and Derek nods along inunderstanding.

“I’ve been Derek since birth,”he replies making Stiles laugh shortly and Derek finds himself entranced withthe way his expressive brown eyes crinkle at the edges. And Derek could swearthey actually twinkled.

Stiles shakes his head but turnshis attention back to his computer and Derek pulls out his phone. But thelatest news stories can’t hold his attention while he sips his coffee and getsproperly warmed up from his time out in the cold. He doesn’t really know howsubtle he’s being in his glances but he can’t help it.

Stiles is just very…he’s veryattractive. And Derek hasn’t explored these types of feelings for anothermember of his sex since college. “Since college” he thinks and scoffs tohimself. He’s only been out of school for a year and a half. But it’s probablybeen closer to three since he found himself appreciating another guy as much ashe is Stiles.

Stiles has these broad shouldersthat are stretching his long sleeve shirt for all it’s worth. And his hair isfluffy and soft looking. His long fingers dance across the keyboard as hetypes. His mouth is- nope. Derek cannot let himself think those kind ofthoughts for the person across from him. Not yet at least.

He doesn’t know how long he sitsthere, half his attention on Stiles the other half on his phone but it’sdefinitely not long enough. Stiles stops typing, clicks around briefly and thenthe laptop is snapping shut and Derek startles a little when Stiles looks athim directly after.

“So Derek,” Stiles starts, agleam in his eye.

“Yes, Stiles?” he asks, humoringhim, happily.

“Care to do this again?” he asksand Derek smiles.

“Yes I would, although, maybenext time we can talk a little more?” he asks a little sarcastically.

“Oh yes, because next time Iwon’t be up to my ears in midterms,” Stiles says seriously and then reachesacross the table, plucks Derek’s phone from his lax grip with those longfingers and presumably types his number into it.

The phone next to Stiles’ laptopbuzzes and Derek sees his number on the screen.

“There,” Stiles saysdefinitively and hands Derek his phone back. “I’ll let you know when midtermshave ended and I rejoin the land of the fully conscious,” he explains with awink as he packs up his stuff to leave and Derek manages to gather himselfenough to smile back.

“Look forward to it, Stiles,” hesays as Stiles starts to walk away.

“Look forward to it,” he saysagain quietly into his coffee, surprised by just how much he means it.

Derek is waiting it what hasquickly become his and Stiles’ booth at the coffee shop for Stiles to arrive.It’s been over a month now since they first met and Derek has learned moreabout Stiles in that time then he did in his whole relationship with Jennifer.Of course, it helps that Stiles enjoys talking.

He’s learned that Stiles camefrom California to go to school in New York. And that he stayed in New York tofinish grad school. He’s in his last semester and when he’d been working whenthey first met, Stiles had actually been writinga midterm, not preparing for one as Derek had thought. He’s basically done withhis education but he has teaching hours to complete and only revisions on histhesis.

But Derek has learned otherthings too, things Stiles hasn’t had to talk about. He knows Stiles both misseshis former home and yet doesn’t want to go back. He thinks Stiles has had somekind of loss in his life from the way he talks sometimes, eyes getting a faroff look. He also learned that Stiles hateswinter.

Derek has tended to hold histongue when Stiles complains, mainly because it’s really amusing how the manturns into a bundle of rage beneath his numerous layers of clothing andouterwear. Derek hasn’t gone so far as to snap pictures of Stiles when he’slike that but it’s been very difficult not to.

He also has tried to curb hisurges to try and offer suggestions of how Stiles could be warmer but. Stiles isa grown man and he’s been in New York for at least the last 5 years. And Derekis self-aware enough to know that just because he can afford nice qualitywinter gear doesn’t mean everyone else can. So, he’s kept his mouth shut in aneffort not to offend the guy he’s trying to date.

They’ve met for coffee 6 timesin the last 4 weeks and Derek knows that Stiles is interested. And Derek knowsthat he is interested. He just doesn’t know if he’s ready to tell Stiles abouthis family and put that kind of pressure on things. He doesn’t want to wait though,doesn’t think it would be fair to develop a relationship and then springDerek’s position as a New York socialite on Stiles after the fact.  But are 6 non-dates enough time before trustingsomeone with this kind of information?

Derek feels himself make thedecision when he sees Stiles walk into the shop from the frigid weatheroutside. He’s no longer an angry ball of sweaters and scarves but looks trulymiserable as he walks back to their booth. Derek texts their driver to comepick him up in 10 minutes at the coffee shop.

Laura may be the Hale childknown for rash decisions, especially in the significant other department, butDerek is willing to risk it.

Stiles orders his drink and thenhurries to come sit down across from Derek.

“Hi,” he breathes as he startspeeling off layers.

The thin soggy mittens getpulled off his long, red fingers. Frostbite.

Derek’s resolve hardens further.

His ears are pink, his cheeksand forehead, too.

“We’re getting you better winterclothes,” Derek greets. “Today,” hestresses.

“What? Why?” Stiles asks, tiredand no real heat to his questions.

“Because you’re frostbitten and chilledto the bone and your coat is worthless,” Derek says plainly and Stiles perks upat his last word.

“It kept me warm in California,why wouldn’t it keep me warm here?” he counters and Derek shakes his head.

“Not all winters are the same.And not all winter coats are the same. Look I grew up here right? Trust me whenI say there are better options out there, please,” Derek says softly, reachingout to hold Stiles’ cold hand.

Stiles groans and entwines theirfingers together.

“Oh you’re so waaarm,” he enthusesand Derek smirks. His point is made he thinks.

Allison makes her way around thecounter with Stiles’ coffee and puts it down with a pointed glance at theirhands and then at Derek.

“Tell me you’ve taken him on adate somewhere other than this coffee house,” she says, hands finding her hipsas she looks down at him a little to emphasize her concern.

Stiles squawks but Derektightens his hold on Stiles’ hand.

“I’m about to take him on ourfirst date, thank you very much,” he replies to her narrow eyed glare, happythat his phone buzzes with a text from the driver saying he’s arrived.

“If it’s alright with you, wecan go right now,” Derek asks towards Stiles whose eyes are wide and his cheekshave gotten pinker if that was possible.

“Yeah, yes,” he agrees easilyand Derek grins at him.

“Okay, great!” Derek says andthen looks up to see Allison rolling her eyes at them.

“Boys,” she mutters as she walksaway and Derek tugs on Stiles’ hand before letting go.

“Grab your coffee, leave yourmittens and let’s go,” he says and Stiles shrugs – the mittens are in tattersat this point anyway – before he stands with his coffee in one hand and reachesout to grab Derek’s again with the other.

Derek ducks his chin a littlewhen he smiles before he starts walking towards the door and out to the waitingcar.

“So I have some things to tellyou,” he starts as they make it out to the sidewalk and Derek spots the car upthe street waiting.

“Okay,” Stiles answers, onlyslightly wary.

They make it to the car andDerek decides confidence is key so he just reaches for the door and opens itfor Stiles to get in first.

“Hop in,” Derek says, smileprobably showing his nerves slightly.

Stiles doesn’t really questionit, just gets in and skootches over for Derek. With the door shut and thewarmth of the car surrounding them Derek relaxes a little.

He tells Dave where he wants togo and then turns to Stiles.

“My mom is the mayor,” heconfesses and Dave just rolls up the partition in silence.

Stiles looks at Derekexpectantly.

“Yeah? And?”

“And- and I needed to make sureyou knew that before things got too serious,” Derek says plainly and Stiles’face softens as he reaches out for Derek once again.

“I’m glad you trust me enough towant this to get serious,” Stiles answers, “but I’ve known who you are thewhole time,” he adds gently.

Derek thinks on that for amoment before he says, “Well, that makes the next part easier. I’m going to bepaying for this first date but if you want, you can get us a snack from thebakery.”

Stiles grins before leaningforward to press a kiss to Derek’s cheek.

“I look forward to it, Derek,”he replies and Derek can feel himself grinning as they sit back and let Davemaneuver them through NYC traffic.

He is too.

[trenetralaya]

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[toldnews-blog]

New Post has been published on https://toldnews.com/world/united-states-of-america/asylum-seekers-japan-john-singleton-your-tuesday-briefing/

Asylum Seekers, Japan, John Singleton: Your Tuesday Briefing

(Want to get this briefing by email? Here’s the sign-up.)

Good morning,

We’re covering a new effort to restrict asylum seekers, the reappearance of the Islamic State leader and today’s Tony Award nominations.

Asylum seekers could face more restrictions

President Trump on Monday issued new measures — including application fees and work permit restraints — aimed at asylum seekers at the southwestern border and ordered that cases in clogged immigration courts be settled within 180 days.

Mr. Trump has given officials 90 days to come up with a plan to carry out those instructions.

Catch up: The administration has already tried to restrict the daily number of asylum applications, who qualifies for asylum and where migrants must wait for a resolution.

The details: About 20 percent of asylum seekers gain the right to live and work in the U.S. Applicants must show evidence of past persecution and establish a “well founded” fear that they would face danger if they returned home.

U.S. measles cases climb past 700

The outbreak is now the worst in decades, federal officials said on Monday, and the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention renewed a call to vaccinate children.

More than 500 of the 704 cases recorded as of Friday involved people who had not been vaccinated, many of them under the age of 5, the C.D.C. reported. In New York, an epicenter of the outbreak, two Orthodox Jewish schools were closed for failing to comply with an order to exclude unvaccinated children.

ISIS leader shows his face

The Islamic State on Monday released an 18-minute video of its leader, Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi. It was his first appearance since 2014, when he declared himself the leader of the terrorist group.

In the video, Mr. al-Baghdadi praised the bombers who killed more than 250 people in Sri Lanka and said “jihad will continue,” despite the loss of territory in Iraq and Syria.

On the ground: Retaking the Islamic State’s territory in Syria was hailed as a milestone victory. But our reporter found cities there in shambles: overwhelmed by rubble and still under attack from ISIS.

Related: Sri Lanka’s president called today for the lifting of a temporary ban on several social media networks that was intended to prevent the spread of misinformation after the Easter attacks.

Income: billions. Corporate tax bill: $0.

For decades, companies have been able to avoid corporate taxes, but the number of those paying zero roughly doubled last year as a result of provisions in President Trump’s 2017 tax bill. Amazon had an effective tax rate of below zero — receiving a rebate — on income of $10.8 billion.

Several Democratic presidential candidates have called for change, arguing that corporations should be accountable for wage inequality and its effects on low- and middle-income workers. Our reporters went to Ohio to see whether that message was resonating.

Yesterday: The Labor Department said that workers for an unidentified company could be treated as contractors rather than employees, signaling the Trump administration’s approach to the growing gig economy.

If you have 7 minutes, this is worth it

Who killed Atlanta’s children?

Forty years ago, the city was terrorized by a serial killer who abducted two dozen children, mostly African-American boys. No one was charged, but most cases were closed after a suspect was sent to prison for killing two adults.

Last month, Atlanta’s mayor, Keisha Lance Bottoms, ordered the cases reopened and the evidence retested using the latest DNA technology. Ms. Bottoms said she hoped the new investigation would “help bring some peace to the families who for so long have felt like they were forgotten.”

Here’s what else is happening

Targeting the Muslim Brotherhood: The Trump administration is said to be pushing to designate the Islamist political movement as a foreign terrorist organization. The move follows a White House visit by President Abdel Fattah el-Sisi of Egypt, who is politically opposed to the group.

Trump sues banks: President Trump, his three eldest children and his private company have filed a lawsuit against Deutsche Bank and Capital One to prevent the lenders from responding to congressional subpoenas.

Snapshot: Above, Emperor Akihito, left, at the Imperial Palace in Tokyo today, when he became Japan’s first monarch in more than two centuries to abdicate. Akihito’s eldest son, Naruhito, succeeds him.

In memoriam: John Singleton’s debut film, “Boyz N the Hood,” earned him an Oscar nomination for best director, the first for an African-American. He died on Monday at 51.

Tony Awards: The Broadway musical “Hadestown” was nominated in 14 categories, while “To Kill a Mockingbird” and “Network” were snubbed for the biggest awards. We have a full list of the nominees.

Late-night comedy: The hosts noted a Washington Post report that President Trump has made more than 10,000 false or misleading claims: “Man, if Trump had a dollar for every lie he’s told, he’d say he had a billion dollars,” Stephen Colbert said.

What we’re reading: This essay from Polygon. “Like many of us, Shawn Kittelsen was fed up with the effect on his health from long hours spent sitting,” says Jennifer Jett, an editor in Hong Kong. “He got results with virtual-reality exercise games like archery, boxing, rock-climbing and, his favorite, light sabers.”

Now, a break from the news

Cook: For big flavor in record time, make herby pork larb with chile.

Watch: Lisa Hanawalt, the illustrator behind “BoJack Horseman,” has created “Tuca & Bertie,” about two 30-something bird-women. “It was important to me to show that women are gross,” she said.

Read: “Spring” is the most political book thus far in Ali Smith’s earthy and humane series. Its heart is worn far out on its sleeve, our critic writes.

Go: Bereavement wears a black bathrobe in “Grief Is the Thing With Feathers,” playing at St. Ann’s Warehouse in Brooklyn.

Smarter Living: If you have a sports-related injury, take a cue from the writer of our Running newsletter, who sustained a stress fracture. Revise your goals to take the time to heal, and make avoiding re-injury a priority. Remember that some workout is better than no workout, so reward yourself for keeping fit.

And we have guidance on how to declutter and speed up your smartphone.

And now for the Back Story on …

A colorful British pastime

The World Snooker Championship is underway in Sheffield, England. A variation of billiards, snooker is a mass-audience sport in Britain, thanks in part to a quirk of television history.

In 1969, the country’s first color channel, BBC2 — whose controller at the time was David Attenborough — seized on the game, with its green table and colored balls, as a supremely effective way to get hours of programming from its few color cameras.

And gripping programs they were, full of soft-spoken announcers and occasionally hard-drinking players. Plus, tracking the balls made you want a color TV set. (“For those of you watching in black and white,” ran one famous line of commentary, “the pink is next to the green.”)

Regular broadcasts grew in popularity even when color TV became routine. Britain’s record TV audience after midnight remains the 18.5 million who stayed up to see the 1985 world championship come down to a single ball.

Snooker has never been quite as exciting, but this year’s final culminates on Monday.

In the U.S., it will be broadcast via an online subscription service; in several other countries, you can watch on Facebook.

That’s it for this briefing. Student loan debt has become a hot-button issue, and we’d like to understand how paying for university varies around the world. Tell us your story here.

— Chris

Thank you Mark Josephson, Eleanor Stanford and Kenneth R. Rosen provided the break from the news. Peter Robins, an editor in our London newsroom, wrote today’s Back Story. You can reach the team at briefing@nytimes.com.

P.S. • We’re listening to “The Daily.” Today’s episode is about the power struggle at the National Rifle Association. • Here’s today’s mini crossword puzzle, and a clue: Sea ___ (sight off the California coast) (5 letters). You can find all our puzzles here. • Wirecutter is a New York Times company that reviews appliances, tech and gear for the home based on research and hands-on testing.

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