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Print Finishing Techniques for Offset Printing in Jaipur
Why do some brands dominate the market while others donât? Because they are conscious of its importance and are skilled at representing the brand materials to clients. After the print has dried, the print finishing techniques are what make it worthwhile to buy the paper products.
Print finishing techniques give the product life, protect it, make it strong and attractive, and give the buyers a unique sense of it. Incorporating offset print finishing techniques with the human touch makes it a jack of all trades. As a result, the brand enjoys greater market recognition for its print finishing solutions and succeeds in forging enduring relationships. There are several print finishing solutions available, but choosing the right one for the right purpose can make you win. To make the most of prints, we are providing the finest printing press in jaipur and how you can utilize them in making the brand.
Techniques for Print Finishing
Here we have listed the four main techniques of offset print finishing with their advantages, uses, and types for better understanding. Letâs deep dive into the following print-finishing methods:
Varnishing Â
The offset printing material must be kept safe from dust, moisture, color fading, and scratches after printing. For this reason, varnishingâthe process of coating a materialâs surface with a thin, translucent layerâis necessary. Gloss, matte, and satin are just a few of the varnishing variations.
The advantages of varnishing include:
It improves the way that print media looks.
Durable
Make the texture smooth.
Make sure it looks good.
Lamination Â
In that it uses pressure, heat, and adhesive glue to apply a protective coating to the materialâs surface, lamination is similar to varnishing. The main benefit of lamination is that it gives the material strength and may be simple to clean. Lamination is necessary to give professionalism to printed products such as business cards, brochures, book covers, and other items.
There are several different kinds of lamination.
A glossy finish
Matte coating
Lamination with a soft touch
Debossing and embossing
Have you seen printed materials with a 3D effect or elevated characters? If the response is âyes,â the technique is referred to as embossing. Registered, blind, and sculptured embossing are the three main varieties.
The following are the primary advantages of embossing finishing on printed materials:
This method makes texts more vivid.
Make the prints pleasing to the eye.
Improve the printsâ quality.
It should be readable.
Cards, stamps, notebooks, gift cups, and many other items are among the items that embossing is most frequently used for.
Debossing Â
Characters are raised on the upper side in embossing, but they are pressed inward to give the appearance of being sunken in debossing. To put it another way, embossing is the opposite of debossing. When discussing debossing types, registered and blind debossing are the two options. Debossing is typically done to make a productâs design stand out and look good.
These finishing methods are appreciated and will always be in vogue. So embossing and debossing are the finest techniques to try out if you want to make your product packaging, invitation cards, a catalogue printing company jaipur, and business cards stand out.
Foil Stamping
After embossing and debossing, foil stamping is a popular method of print finishing. By applying pressure and heat to the glossy foil, this stamping operation is carried out on the materialâs surface. The finishing that is visible after this foil printing lights up and draws the viewerâs attention. This will support your decision about whether you are printing invitation cards or product packaging. Metallic and pigmented foil printing are the two main forms of accessible foil stamping.
Foil stamping was employed in the product packaging by the perfume company Bella Vita. Therefore, if you want to influence your buyer, pay attention to how the product is finished.
Selecting the Best Print Finishing Method
The best and correct print finishing method has been described above; however, most business owners struggle to select the method that will work best for their projects. For this reason, we are outlining the following elements to take into account while selecting the appropriate print-finishing techniques:
Objective â Â
A brand must be very clear about the clientâs goals and their own for their own projects as well. Planning for conversions, brand recognition, or attracting users to their platforms The task of finishing it will be simple if you are aware of the objective.
Target market â
The demographics and psychographics of the audience you are trying to reachâwhether they are professionals, members of Generation Z, or regular peopleâwill help you decide which print finishing methods to use for your next project.
Money â
To get the most out of any common print finishing method, high maintenance and cutting-edge equipment are required. Prior to making your choice, make sure to plan your budget and select the best print finishing methods that fit both your customersâ needs and your financial constraints.
Prioritize firmness and endurance
Customers always place a higher priority on goods that should be long-lasting and durable. Similarly, brands should choose print finishing methods that are robust and long-lasting. Are you looking for the best offset printing services in Jaipur? Check out the services on our website.
Conclusion Â
The first impression is what determines whether a brand will have a positive or negative reputation because it lasts longer. Utilizing print finishing solutions improves the intelligence and authenticity of your goods. This enables the observer to develop a strong desire for the item on the storeâs other side. The renowned and effective print finishing methods with the best printers in Jaipur to enhance the look of print materials include varnishing, embossing and debossing, lamination, and foil stamping. Therefore, if you are a business owner and want to alter the perception that people have of your brandâs print materials, try to focus on the post-print techniques.
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Caught - Part Two
Sam x Reader
Masterlist
Summary: You're arrested and interrogated as an accomplice to the notorious Winchester brothers.
Warning: Talk of past violence, death of parents, murder, rape, torture and domestic abuse/violence.
Words: 2.8k
Beta: Â ilikaicalie
Part 3, 4 & 5 are available now on my Patreon for a monthly pledge of 2.50. This pledge includes early access to all my stories and Patreon exclusive content. Â >> CLICK HERE <<
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Youâve had the dreams since you were a kid. They were mostly about small stuff like the weather or the score of a football game. They were vivid dreams, so mundane that you would have deemed them insignificant if it werenât for the fact that they always came true.
It didnât end there. Just like the visions, the other things came small and slow as you grew older. You could roll a pencil off the desk without touching it or make the lights go out without getting anywhere near the switch.
Small stuff, bad stuff, that your mother caught you doing when you were fourteen and put the kibosh to your wild imagination.
âNo child of mineâŠâ she mumbled, dragging you upstairs by the arm.
She was deeply religious, and couldn't bear the idea of you being part of something she deemed âthe devilâ. In her mind it was all the same, Ouija boards, fortune tellers and pentagrams, it was all worshipping a horned beast.
That was the road to hell and she wasnât about to let you walk it.
Five Years Ago
Sam holds open the door of Pinkieâs Diner and follows you inside. It sounds ridiculous but heâs so close you can feel the energy coming off him as if heâs vibrating on some frequency youâre attuned to.
The smell of greasy fries and fresh coffee wash over you like a welcomed familiarity. With one hand on your arm, Sam leads the way to a back booth, ensuring that you sit before taking a seat himself. The waitress does a double-take when she gets a good look at your battered face. Her eyes shift to Sam, then his bruised knuckles.
You can only imagine what the two of you must look like. Heâs working the whole pissed off hulk vibe and you look like the poster child for the domestic violence hotline.
âYou kids alright?â she asks, tapping her pad with the eraser end of a pencil.
Are you alright? No, no youâre not.
âWeâre fine,â Sam grunts. âTwo coffees please.â
She gives you a look but doesn't say anything else before walking away.
He stares at you for a solid minute before asking the question thatâs been eating him up inside. Â âHowâd you learn how to do that?â
âDo what?â you ask quietly, dropping your head to stare at your hands. You know exactly what heâs talking about.
Sam sits silently but you feel him fixated on you, he might as well be twisting your arm. âI didnât learn how to do anything, I justâŠIâve never done anything like that before. It was always dreams and then today...I donât know. I just watched you and I knew I could help.â
âI donât believe you.â Samâs hostile, imposing his own personal brand of interrogation. He snaps forward in his seat, both hands balled on the table. He looks like a wild animal, poised and at the ready to tear you apart if you so much as breathe the wrong way.
If you hadnât spent the last twenty-four hours in a car with him you might be scared, but youâre fairly sure you make him just as nervous as he makes you.
âI donât need you to believe me,â you growl, eyes narrowing. âYou show up out of nowhere in the middle of that shit storm, kidnap me, drive me out into the boondocks and now youâre calling me a liar? Youâre the one whoâs fucked, buddy.â
You slap the table in frustration, the grief rising into your throat. Samâs watching something behind you and you turn to see the waitress leaning over the counter talking to one of the patrons. Theyâre both staring at you, whispering to one another.
âThat doesnât make sense,â Sam continues, lowering his voice as his eyes flick back to you. âYou canât just get that strong out of nowhere. Thereâs no way. I worked for a year and Istill needed...help.â
âI donât even know what that means!â you hiss. You want to be mad but youâre too tired for this shit right now. Hours of unchecked adrenaline have worn off and youâre a shell, numb and drained. Nails dig into your palms as you clench both fists. âI just came home to find-â You have to stop, choking on your own words as tears well up. âI walked into the kitchen and those two guys had my mom pinned to the fucking counter and they were cutting her. I couldnât even scream I was so scared. The other guy was holding my dad but I knew he was already dead, there was so much blood, no one could survive that. I must have surprised them, but all I remember is being punched in the jaw and everything went black. When I opened my eyes, you were there.â
Youâre sobbing quietly, so sleep deprived that you canât even begin to control your emotions.
âItâs okay.â He sighs. âI shouldnât have talked to you like that.â Sam relaxes a little, reaching across the table to pat the back of your hand. âIâm sorry about your parents. I tried to get there in time. I tried to save them.â
The waitress arrives with two cups of coffee, setting them in the middle of the table.
âAnything else I can get for you two?â Indignantly she eyes Sam who looks irked by her unspoken accusation.
âYou hungry?â he asks and you nod yes. âTwo burgers and fries. To go, please.â
âIâd like a cheeseburger,â you add, wiping tears from your cheek with the sleeve of your shirt.
âYou got it, sweetheart.â She offers you a sad little smile and walks away.
âWhy donât you tell me how the hell you did that?â you whisper, staring at him. âYou pull some Chuck Norris moves and then black smoke is coming out of people. â
âYou helped with that,â he counters, cocking his head.
âItâs not like I knew I could...until I did it.â You drop your head. Youâve always been so desperate to fit in. To be like everyone else. But after the last twenty-four hours, itâs never been more obvious that you couldnât be less normal. Youâre an oddity, but it seems like maybe this guy is too.
âAnd what exactly is it that you did, Y/N?â
âI donât know.â You roll your eyes, tipping the back of your head against the booth. Youâre exasperated and exhausted. âI just grabbed your hand, closed my eyes and concentrated and bam. Exploding, sizzling black smoke was coming out of peopleâs mouths.â
âLook me in the eyes and tell me you've never done anything like that before,â Sam insists, both hands sliding palm down across the table as he leans closer.
âI swear to God, I have no idea whatâs going on. Iâm scared and hungry. I canât think anymore. Please, Sam. Just lay off for a little bit, will ya?â
This seems to strike a chord, he nods toward the motel across the parking lot. âWe can get a room for a couple of hours. You can sleep if you want.â
âSo weâre getting rooms together now?â you raise an eyebrow.
âY/N,â he shakes his head, at the end of his rope as much as you are. âYouâre just gonna have to trust me.â
Thereâs something about him. Maybe itâs his eyes, Sam has kind eyes. But you also watched him kill with the ease and precision of someone trained to do it. He might be trustworthy but heâs also lethal. âAre you going to throw me over your shoulder again if I try to leave?â
âNo, I wonât try to stop you,â he confirms. Sitting back in the booth, tucking his arms under the table.
âBut?â You swirl your finger in a circle. âCome on. I know thereâs big olâ but coming.â
âYou need to stay with me. Youâre not safe.â
âNot safe? Not safe from black smoke?â
âAmong other things.â
âWonderful,â you mutter, more to yourself than him.
A fifty dollar room and a cheeseburger later youâre feeling a little less like walking death. You shower, peeling off dirty clothes youâd rather burn than put back on. There are little splatters of blood on everything if you look close enough, even your underwear is a reminder of what happened, little red dots that soaked through your jeans.
âYou think thereâs a laundromat around here?â you ask, inching out of the musty bathroom with a tiny motel towel wrapped around you.
âProbably, but you canât go like that and I canât leave you alone.â Heâs careful not to look at you, surprisingly respectful for someone who easily breaks so many other rules.
Sam digs through his things, offering you a wrinkled shirt from his backpack. âItâs clean.â
âThanks.â
The flannel falls almost to your knees, itâs long enough that youâre willing to brave going to sleep without putting dirty panties back on. You crawl into the bed furthest from the door and watch Sam watch TV until your eyes finally close.
Present Day
âTalk to me about what your life is like?â The psychiatrist sits across the table from you. Heâs an unassuming, mousy little man in his late fifties, maybe heâs older but itâs hard to get a read on him.
âBoring,â you huff, picking at the peeling laminate covering the table top.
âI find that hard to believe,â he counters, smiling softly at you. âThey found your fingerprints at a break-in. That doesnât sound boring at all to me.â
âI donât usually participate in that part of things,â you admit, sitting back in the chair. This is an intricate dance between honesty and a story you need to weave. They already know a lot, thereâs no point in denying most of it.
âTell me then, what is your role in all of this?â
âLaundry,â you shrug, looking him in the eyes. âCooking, cleaning, moral support.â
âSo, Sam and Dean go out and do the dirty work and you what? Keep the home fires burning?â
âPretty much.â
âThat must be hard. Isolating. Do you ever stay in one place for very long?â
Is he fishing for information for the cops? Youâre not sure. This could just be him honestly trying to get a handle of what your day-to-day life entails.
If only he knew. The bunker is a full-time job. Itâs huge and when youâre not playing doomsday housewife, there are rooms of files to be organized and documents to be scanned and electronically catalogued. Thereâs always something to be done.
âSometimes,â you admit. âWhen itâs safe.â
âAnd Sam leaves you on your own?â
âYeah...â you nod, beginning to understand where this is headed.
âHe must really trust you...to leave you alone without worrying that youâll run away.â
âHe does,â you respond simply.
âDid you ever try?â
âTry what?â Your eyes narrow, watching him jot down notes on his legal pad. âDid I try to get away from him?â
âYes,â he confirms, pulling off his glasses to look at you. âDid you ever try to tell someone what happened to you? Or attempt an escape?â
âYeah, a couple of times.â You smile to yourself thinking about those first months.
âAnd what happened?â
âThe first time the men who killed my parents came for me. Sam had to save my ass yet again from certain death. And the second time he caught me and talked me into staying.â
âThat must have been some conversation,â he offers quietly without looking up.
âIt was.â Your mouth twitches as those memories flood back. Samâs earnest declaration of affection and a kiss that said everything else. A sad little motel room with decaying wallpaper and the feeling of his hands on your skin. The stretch of him inside you that first time. You fucked on a squeaky mattress while Dean waited in the car for his brother to convince you to come back. âHe made a lot of really good points.â
âHas he ever hurt you?â he asks, tapping the inky tip of the pen on the paper.
This is where things get...delicate.
You need them to keep you here. Youâve been in holding at the local sheriffâs office for two days now. When they do move you, itâll be to a more secure facility. It doesnât matter if thatâs a psychiatric hospital or the county jail. Both of those places are hard to get out of. You need to stay here, where itâs easy for Sam to get to you. Heâll come for you, itâs only a matter of time. That is if heâs alive, but you have to have faith. Itâs all youâve got anymore.
If you refuse to talk about it, theyâll label you as uncooperative and formally arrest you. After processing youâd be sent to the county jail. If they think youâre nuts, finally broken after years with the Winchesters, youâll be committed, at least for a while.
This place is best. Security is minimal, but you doubt youâve got too much longer. They have to know that Sam will try to get you out.
âY/N,â Dr. Harold repeats himself. âI asked if Sam has ever hurt you.â
If you say no, if you try to explain that the people in the video they have are not you and Sam, heâll think youâre delusional. You have to admit to at least some of it, despite how sick the very idea makes you feel.
âNot on purpose.â
There. Thatâs honest.
âIâm going to show you some photos and I want you to tell me what happened.â He opens a folder, pulling the first page. He turns it in your direction sliding it across the table. âYou were calling yourself Tabitha Ripley.â
They found your fake IDs. They have more than you realized, every fake name youâve used over the past five years.
Youâre staring at a hospital admission form and three grainy photos from various angles. Your face is beaten and swollen. Two black eyes swelled shut and a broken nose that made your entire face blow up like a balloon. You looked like that for weeks.
And it wasnât just your face, youâd broken an arm and a collar bone in that fight. It was a vampire that intended to avenge the death of his nest. It followed Sam home and nearly killed you before Dean came back early and saved your bacon. That was the attack that finally spurred Sam to teach you how to defend yourself.
âI, umm,â you gulp, remembering of the weight of the creature on top of you with its arm around your throat. Youâd thought that was it, you were going to die on the shag carpet of an abandoned house. âI was mugged.â
âI see.â He makes a mark on his paper. âWhat about this one? You were calling yourself Holly Costagan, I believe.â
âShit,â you breathe out. Youâve tried to put this incident out of your mind. Out of all the awful things that have happened to you, this was by far the most traumatic.
They were hunters. Four men who were convinced that Sam was the enemy, that he was going to end the world somehow. When they couldnât find Sam they took you as their consolation prize and tortured you. The black and blue fingerprints around your wrist, the burn on your forearm, and the remaining scar are a painful reminder of the older man holding your arm over the stove.
There are still several dozen scars on your back from the tiny cuts they made, insistent on asking questions you didnât have the answers to. They had you for a week before Sam broke down the door and killed all four of them.
Your hands shake as you trace over the hospital photos.
âThis wasnât Sam.â You close your eyes, unable to look at them anymore.
âAnother mugging?â The doctor asks, his tone is gentle, he wants you to share. He probably thinks he can help you if he can get you to open up.
âYeah,â you confirm staring at your hands. âAnother mugging.â
âWe can help, you know,â he offers. âYouâre not the only one. Lots of women donât leave. You donât need to worry about what people will think, weâre professionals and we understand what youâve been through. We have doctors who can help you heal. But we need you to cooperate with the police. I canât do anything for you if you're in prison.â
This is it, right where you need to be. They think youâre abused but rational. Theyâll keep you here for questioning and you can stall, for days if need be. A traumatized victim can ask for breaks, draw out the process long enough for Sam and Dean to come and get you.
âOkay,â you nod, looking at him with a wilted smile. âWhat do you want to know?â
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Four Years- Sophomore Year
Settling back into the careful composure of his well worn scowl, Keith lifts his glass in Shiroâs direction.
âIâll stick with Shirogane, then, thanks,â he says brusquely as he raises the glass to his lips in an attempt to hide behind another swig of beer that he forgets isnât there until he sees the flash of Shiroâs eyes as they meet his gaze through the emptied bottom of his glass.
Heat sparks in his chest, sending a flare racing up his neck and across the rise of his cheeks at the sound of Shiroâs husking laugh as, in a show of dominance, he tossed back the rest of his own drink.
âLooks like weâre ready for something stronger.â
Part 2 of 5
AO3
Warnings: None for now aside from underage drinking and ridiculous flirting, because this is a slowburn and thatâs just how it goes. Will earn an E rating eventually. and by eventually i mean in the next chapter :3c
A/N: Originally I wanted to add lyrics at the start of each chapter from songs I felt encapsulated the feel for the chapter. But then I just couldnât bring myself to add lyrics from Tupthumping and format them like poetry, but I tried to work that in another way instead. Enjoy.
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There were a great many thing things that Keith Kogane had learned by his second year of college. The first, is that being in a fraternity wasnât actually that bad.
Not that heâd ever admit to Hunk that he was right.
Again.
But it had gotten him out of the hellhole known as dorm living and had even given him and Hunk a usable kitchen that didnât carry the high risk of tetanus. It had even come with a fridge that was almost always stocked as long as Hunk promised an endless supply of his âBeta Famous Bear Claws.â
Really, everyone won in the end.
The second, is that he was disturbingly good at drinking games. So good, in fact, that heâd earned the title of The Anchor and had been the Betaâs not-so-secret weapon in every drinking competition that they found themselves in.
His only true match, was known as The Champion.
Or rather, Shiro.
Though, how the Alphas decided he should be called that was beyond him when he currently sat with one more win under his belt.
And the only reason Shiro had managed to pull his most recent win from him, was because heâd used his dimple against him.
Keith still maintains that it was an illegal play.
The third, is that fate is a dick.
A dick that had paraded itself into his life in the form of one Professor Slav. A dick that had forced them into a group essay together that totaled half of their overall semester grade.
A dick that had landed him in a slightly sticky booth across from Shiro with two drinks between them and not even the excuse of any games.
We should celebrate, Shiro had said as soon as theyâd dropped their fluid mechanics essay off at Slavâs office.
Yeah, thatâd be cool, Keith had said, as if the mere mention hadnât sent his heart crashing into the roof of his mouth along with the acrid taste of bile. Itâs an exaggerated reaction, he knows. One that isnât really warranted given his otherwise calm and cool demeanor towards his classmate and frat rival.
Which brings Keith to the fourth, and final thing heâs learned. It was a revelation that he kept wrapped in all its bits of ominous cashmere, folded and tucked safely between the space of his third and fourth ribs where even he couldnât touch it.
Because touching it was dangerous.
Acknowledging the softness that lined his insides would be sticking his hand within the garbage disposal of his emotions that would surely cut him to bits and leave him bleeding out on the floor.
Acknowledging it would mean admitting what he had known that exact moment heâd walked into that calculus class his freshman year.
That heâs completely gone for Shiro.
And not in the perfectly acceptable way that could have been rectified by a drunken night and bad decisions. In the a way that left his heart a pale imitation of Atlas holding up the weight of Shiroâs smile.
A smile that is burning a hole through his sternum as he watches the Alpha grab his beer and raise it in salute.
âTo surviving Slav,â he says, sliding the words through his grin as he lowers his gaze to Keithâs pint before snapping it back up to his face. Deep within the silver there, he sees the fire of a challenge that stokes the flames within his own chest as he closes his fist around the cool glass and lifts it.
âAnd to being dumb enough to want to stay in aerospace engineering,â Keith replies before draining half of his beer if only for the excuse of looking away from the blinding glow of Shiroâs look.
âWhoâd have thought that we would actually work well together,â Shiro hums thoughtfully as  Keith resurfaces, looking him over as he wipes a lazy line along the condensation thats gathered along his own glass.
âDid we?â He asks dumbly, eyeing whatâs left and calculating if he could finish it off in one more go.
The answer? Yes, yes he could.
The real question is, should he?
âI think so,â Shiro says easily, his dimple working its way further into the corner of his mouth as he watches Keith, some secret enjoyment turning his gaze bright. If Keith didnât know better, heâd think that Shiro knows exactly what heâs thinking.
The very thought paints his cheeks red as he scoffs and rolls his eyes to the ceiling.
âThat makes one of us.â
Regret hits him almost immediately as something a lot like hurt turns Shiroâs gaze downcast, pushing an awkward silence along their booth thatâs painfully pointed. If he were being honest, they really had worked well together, but that isnât really the point, is it?
No matter how well they may have worked together, it didnât change the fact that Shiro is off limits, painted with a big fat X.
Swallowing down his apology, Keith cuts his gaze to the other bar patrons, mentally cataloguing each face that turns their way. Heâll never hear the end of it if any of the Betas catch him sharing drinks with Public Enemy No. 1.
Sighing loudly, Keith slumps further into the booth, turning his attention back to Shiro only to be met by his unwavering stare.
Itâs the kind of stare that carries confidence and nonchalance, as if Shiro doesnât care who saw them there. Though, now that Keith thinks about it, he supposes that only makes sense.
Salâs was, for all intents and purposes, sacred ground where all rivalries were checked at the door since it was the one bar in town that didnât look too closely at IDs. As long as no one made things difficult, they could overlook the differences in the laminated photos.Â
That very rule made it the kind of place where even the most vehement of enemies would be able to share a drink side-by-side.
Of course, it was also the kind of place where drunken students would input the same song in the jukebox to play for an hour straight.Â
At first, it had been funny. Now, it feels like an ill omen.
The song, a drinking tune made popular thanks to the 90s, kicked in once more as it listed off an obscenely long list of drinks. Keith is pretty sure that if anyone drank all of those, theyâd be knocked down and definitely wouldnât be getting back up again.
Granted, staring down the barrel of Shiroâs gunmetal eyes, he thinks he might just give it a try.
âSo tell me about yourself,â Shiroâs voice is a burning ember stoked within the crashing roar of the bar patrons around them as he leans forward, gaze filled with intent as he breaks the awkward silence of their booth. It makes Keithâs heart flip a perfect 10 from the judges within his chest as he opts to throw back the last of his beer if only to buy himself a bit more time.
The smooth IPA washed down his minor panic, leaving nothing but feigned confidence in its wake as he emerged from behind the emptied glass.
âIâm not sure what else you want to know, Shirogane,â he says just as smoothly, leveling him with a careful arch of his brow as he settling back into the booth as he raised a finger with each point he made.
âIâm a Beta, I clearly like the pain of this major, and Iâm the one that kicks your ass every weekend in beer pong. What more do you want to know?â
Deep lines crinkle the edges of Shiroâs almond eyes as he pulls his forearm up to rest his chin on his open palm. It makes him look younger, almost wistful.
âShiro,â he answers, tucking his grin behind a careful sip of his beer.
âWhat?â Keithâs voice is a flatline as loses his train of thought to the slow drag of Shiroâs tongue along the slick liquid that coated his top lip.
âMy friends call me Shiro,â the Alpha bites out, turning his smile predatory as his eyes glow with the dumbly breathless nature of Keithâs voice. Friends, was not the right word at all.
Friends, held a connotation that he never wanted a part in.
Friends, was something he wouldnât have even wanted to be even if they hadnât landed themselves in rival fraternities that pitted them against each other every weekend.
What Keith wanted, was something a lot stronger. He wants late nights, secret smiles and names gasped into the darkness of night.
What he wants, are early mornings, soft sunlight with softer kisses and his eggs over easy.
That, however, is a secret that he would take with him right to his grave, because Keith was a lot of things, but he wasnât a traitor. No matter how enticing Shiroâs crescent smile and starlit eyes are.
Settling back into the careful composure of his well worn scowl, Keith lifts his glass in Shiroâs direction.
âIâll stick with Shirogane, then, thanks,â he says brusquely as he raises the glass to his lips in an attempt to hide behind another swig of beer that he forgets isnât there until he sees the flash of Shiroâs eyes as they meet his gaze through the emptied bottom of his glass.
Heat sparks in his chest, sending a flare racing up his neck and across the rise of his cheeks at the sound of Shiroâs husking laugh as, in a show of dominance, he tossed back the rest of his own drink.
âLooks like weâre ready for something stronger.â
The words, accompanied with a wink, carry Shiro away as Keith opened his mouth around a silent protest just seconds too late. A dryness fills his throat as he watches his classmate push through the crowd, ignoring the lingering eyes as he passes until he reached the bar.
From here, Keith gets a front row seat to the snug fit of his jeans, and the way his navy henley pulls across his shoulders, the fabric set just this side of too tight in a way that would make him go weak in the knees if he was standing.
Good thing he wasnât.
Even from behind, Keith can see the confidence that holds Shiroâs head high as he starts to speak with the bartender. He can imagine the easy smile that would work itself high in the full of his lips, drawing his cupid bow taut and deepening that damned dimple. Something dark curled itself low in his gut as he watched the bartender toss back his head with a laugh, the sound of it snatched away by the sound of Chumbawumba calling out for one Danny Boy. Light flashes off his glasses as he returns his gaze to Shiro, his own mouth split wide as he reaches beneath the bar.
Keith shaking his head as he watches, shaking the blackened thoughts from his head as he turns away, biting down on his lip until he tastes the sharp tang of blood. If he didnât know better, heâd think the tart taste on the back of his tongue was jealousy.
Good thing he did.
A tray of shots materializes in front of him, their contents sloshing over their sides as theyâre dropped unceremoniously with a clatter on the table before him, causing him to jump as Shiro pushes himself back into his side of the booth.
âAre you up for a game?â Shiro asks, the silver of his eyes muted with a dark challenge as he licks across a sharpened canine. Itâs a feral move that cracks that pesky space between Keithâs ribs wide with the brambles of sticky, sharp desire. It buries itself deep into his bones, forcing the gaps further and further apart until he isnât sure heâd be able to keep breathing.
Crossing his arms over his chest in an attempt to hold it together, Keith tilts his chin high in defiance.
âIâm always up for kicking your ass, Shirogane,â he growls, pushing the words through his gritted teeth. A storm cloud rumbles across Shiroâs face as a hungry shadow turned it hard in a fleeting moment that makes Keithâs heart race.Â
The air thickens between them, catching with the same static that fills the air before a tempest as they hold each others gazes over the tray of sharp smelling alcohol.
It would be something of a perfect moment if only Keith could hear something other than that damned song starting over yet again.
âWhatâre the rules?â He breathes, shattering the moment as Shiro shakes his head briefly, his gaze returning to their teasing shine as he reaches for the glasses between them.
âSimple,â he says with a shrug as he divvies up the shots until there are an equal amount on either side of the table. Six a piece.
Keithâs stomach turns. Â
âI ask a question, if you donât want to answer, you drink. You ask a question, if I donât want to answer, I drink.â
Itâs said easily, as if it the statement isnât filled with all the makings of a trap. Shiro was handing Keith the opportunity to make this last as longâ or as shortâ as possible. All he needs to do, is leave all his questions unanswered.
Six shots werenât that many in the grand scheme of things, after all.
Keithâs certain heâs done more than that before.
Granted, that night had ended in a promise that heâd never drink again.
But hey. He never said he was perfect.
âEasy enough,â he agrees against the better judgement that screamed at him in the form of a strangely Hunk shaped angel on his shoulder. Smiling all teeth, he grabs one of the shot glasses and gathers it between his palms.
He takes a vodka drink, indeed.
âIâm glad we can agree.â A small shiver dances it way down the grooves of his spine as he watched Shiroâs hand fold around his own. âAnd in a show of good faith, Iâll let you go first.â
Violet catches steel as they eye each other. Lightning gathers along Keithâs skin as he hums lowly in faux thought as he thumbs the lip of his shot glass.
âWhy aerospace engineering?â He asks finally, reveling in the way Shiroâs eyes widen at the tameness of the question. Itâs a throwaway question meant to test the waters of Shiroâs intent, and Keith is sure heâs found it in the moments of silence that pass before he pulls himself back together to offer a low chuckle as he letâs his head hang with it.
âWould you believe me if I said I just love space?â Shiro asks, open and honest before him, coloring his tone a shimmery shade with a hidden plea to leave it at that. It flushes his system with curiosity as he letâs his eyes openly roam over the Alpha as if he could pull the truth from within his mind before shrugging noncommittally.
âDonât see why I wouldnât.â And though he tries to play it off coolly, Keith realizes that he means it. Through the weekly competitions and their short time as essay partners, Shiro had never given him any reason to question his sincerity. It was most of the reason why his heart always seemed to batter itself against the inside of his chest whenever he was near.
Shiroâs fingers rolled the shot glass back and forth within his grasp before he spoke.
âWhat about you?â
Keithâs reaction is instinctual as his hand twitches around the slick glass. He knows that he should throw it down for the sake of being one shot down and a bit closer to freedom. That would be the smart thing to do.
But thereâs a heat pooling in his stomach and licking the inside of his veins and he wants. He wants so badly, that heâs sure heâs going to burn with it.
More importantly, heâs sure heâd enjoy it.
âI want to be free.â The words leave his lips before he can pick them apart. They carry a weight that hangs between them as Shiro nods in understanding that stokes the flames charring his insides.
âThereâs something about the idea of making it up there that sounds like the best kind of escape.â
Pausing, he drags his gaze up from the clear liquid in his glass, filling his smile with wickedness  as he winks.
âAnd I just love space.â It earns him a bright laugh that dances over him as Shiro raises his shot toward him.
âTouchĂ©.â
âWhyâd you choose the Alphas?â Keith throws out quickly once his laughter has died down, pulling his brow up in question as Shiro swallows down his shot without pause. Thereâs a sharp click of glass against wood as he drops it on the corner of their table with a hiss.
âWell color me intrigued,â he says with a laugh as Shiro grabs his next victim, shrugging a shoulder as he keeps his eyes down.
âIâd tell you if we were friends but apparently we arenât.â His smile goes sharp, filled with the same bite as a wolf. It only grows more pointed as his voice dips into nonchalance.
âWhich, why donât you want to be?â
Air seizes in Keithâs throat as panic stings his edges, leaving him buzzing as he tries to swallow it down. Suddenly, the shot warming against his palm feels like bullet as he realizes taking it would only prove he had something to hide.
Though, from the way Shiroâs grin widens, heâs sure he already knows.
âYouâre an Alpha,â he tries, ignoring the way his voice sounds strangled even to his own ears. Keith doesnât even want to imagine what it sounds like to Shiroâs.Â
Like the confession he was hoping to avoid, maybe?
The very thought fills his throat with the bitter sting of bile.
Tsking softly, Shiro raises a finger at him and wags it slowly as he falls into mock disapproval, shaking his head in time with each hardened sound.
âThat, sounds like a lie, and a lie is two shots,â he says mercilessly as he uses that same shaming finger to push another one of Keithâs shots toward him. It stares up at him, itâs clear stare reveling that of Shiroâs silver as he cuts his glance between the two before he sighs.
At the very least, Shiro is letting it go, and heâll play by the rules if it meant being able to hide the truth beneath the acrid taste of vodka.
The first shot burns the entire way down.
âMaking up rules as we go, are you?â Keith hums, not putting much force behind it as he grabs the second.
It chases the firstâs flames with a kamikaze crash.
âGuess youâll never know.â Shiroâs laugh is kindling to the fire that the vodka has already set, and Keith can feel it snapping and popping as it grows at his core. Mixed with the pleasant buzz of his first beer, thereâs a happy kind of tingle thatâs making his fingertips feels like lightning clouds as he palms his third shot. It bubbles up within him until he finds himself laughing as well.
He can feel the weight of Shiroâs gaze on him, but he doesnât care, because in that moment he can pretend that maybe this is something more than two classmates celebrating the end of a partnership neither of them had even asked for.
âWhoâs the guy youâre always with?â The next question comes after his laughter has dried up, and it causes him pause as he tilts his head, pulling his brows together in question.
Thereâs only one person that Shiro could mean, and thatâsâ
âHunk?â He asks, though he supposes Shiro wouldnât actually know. That would make the question moot, though he figures it should be anyway.
Shiro doesnât have much of a reason to care who his friends are.
âHeâs my best friend.â
Silver cuts into him, carving deep grooves into his skin as if he was trying to decide if Keithâs answer is a lie. It tickles his insides and turns his cheeks a light pink as the alcohol makes him warm beneath the stare. Suddenly, Keith wonders if maybe he does have a reason, because something about that look feels exciting.
Feels like maybe Shiro understands the way his fingers are screaming out to touch.
The corner of his mouth twitches up around a smirk as he leans forward on his forearms.
âWhy, are you jealous?â He breathes. Shiro holds his gaze as he snatches up his next shot, throwing it back and baring his throat before dropping it in his shot glass graveyard.
A thrill runs through Keith that makes the edges of his vision light as he mirrors his stance and pushes himself forward against the table.
âDo you want me to be?â Shiro returns, barely hiding his smile as Keith opens his throat around another mouthful of vodka. Itâs accompanied by the sound of his triumphant laughter mixed with the sweet, dulcet sounds of Tubthumping.
âWhy do you want to be my friend so badly?â Keith volleys before the glass hits the wood, not even bothering to drop it by the empties.
The game had gotten interesting, and there was no point in pretense anymore.
Shining steel flicks downward as Shiro considers his words, mulling them over between the teeth heâs running over his bottom lip. And then heâs looking up and painting Keithâs vision a metallic shade as all else falls away. It leaves him feeling light, as if heâs about to float away, and now he remembers why he promised to never do shots again.
âI tried to tell you last year, youâre my type.â
He says it like a summer breeze. As if it were easy. As if it was right. As if it doesnât set Keith ablaze and fill his lungs with smoke as he shakes his head.
âLie, take two,â he manages as he tries to smoothly push one of Shiroâs shots toward him. Vodka spills over the side and slicks the table beneath it as he ignores it, instead smearing it along the table top as he pushes the glass further. Everything goes loud around them as Keith finds himself sinking beneath Shiroâs starlight gaze as he searches for something that only he could know.
âMy turn,â Shiroâs voice is pitched low as he drops his stare to Keithâs mouth. In a brief moment of clarity, he notices the way itâs gone almost black.
âKiss me?â
Everything stops and speeds up all at once as Keith finds himself floundering, crushed beneath the question. He should pull away.
He should laugh it off and take his shot.
He should bite back the gasp that has parted his lips.
But this is a game of what he should do, and what he does, and what Keith does, is none of the above.
Instead, he finds himself moving forward, his body propelled by the heat of Absolut and desire until he feels the unyielding pressure of Shiroâs mouth against his. It gathers the glowing heat of a star in his ribcage as they move against each other. Licking into his mouth, Keith steals the moan from Shiroâs tongue as he curls his fingers into the fabric of his shirt to hold him steady.
The new star incinerates his bone and his skin before building him back up and heâs certain he can see new universes glowing against the backs of his eyelids.
Itâs too little and all to much as the room starts to burn around him, leaving a single point of clarity in the form of a heated palm against his nape.
That very palm, is the last thing Keith remembers as everything falls away into darkness, leaving nothing but the echo of that god forsaken song in its wake.
Youâre never gonna keep me down.
***
Pain slices through Keithâs temple as heâs awakened by the sudden violence of his alarm going off. Eyes flying open as he pushes his way up from his bed, he grabs for the trash just to the side of his bed, managing to get it into his lap before his stomach empties its contents into the bottom of its cheap plastic.
This was it, the big one. The one where he promises to never drink again, and actually means it.
Why was he even taking shots to begin with?
Moments pass as his mind races to catch up with with his pulse thatâs racing in his ears before it crashes down around him. Snippets of memory play before his eyes in dark fragments, set to a soundtrack of Chumbawumba.
There had been a strong arm wrapped around his waist that helped him stumble from the bar.
A deep laugh at some bad joke Keith had told.
A steady hand that had pressed into his chest and pushed him into his bed before pulling the covers up to his chin.
There had been the soft brush of lips against his cheek.
Keithâs breath quickens as he presses his fingertips to the crest of his cheek as if to chase the phantom sensation that burns there. Shiro had brought him home.
Shiro had tucked him into bed.
Blanching at the thought, Keith threw his legs over the edge of his bed, ignoring the tug of his blankets as they fall to the floor.
Something bright catches his vision as his eyes are pulled toward a glass on his nightstand. And beside it, two white capsules and a note.
With one hand clutching the trash can to his chest, Keith reaches for the pills, letting his fingers drag over the top of squared letters that sit beneath them. Each blue ink mark is another scar against his ribs as he reads the words.
Take this, and learn how to hold your liquor :)
Heâs definitely never drinking again.
Groaning loudly, and wincing at the flare of pain it causes in his temple, Keith tosses the pills into his mouth, ignoring the water as he swallows them down dry to chase after his heart that was still rapidly beating in his throat.
********************
#sheith#takashi shirogane#keith kogane#voltron#the frat au#may this be a good end or beginning to your week#depending on how you like to read your calendar XD#my apologies in advance for the ridiculous flirting#it seemed like a good idea at the time
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The New Angle On Countertops Kitchen Just Released
Our designers and expert stone installers will be with you each step of the way, to realize your project through. No matter your budget or how decor savvy you're, it can be hard to opt for a countertop that is suitable for the way you live. An ugly or outdated kitchen is a huge turnoff for a good deal of buyers. There are a lot of aspects in your kitchen that may be the topic of a renovation undertaking. A kitchen renovation are not only going to drive up the resale value of your house but it is going to also make your home a lot easier to sell, which is an immense plus given the way the housing market has been down in recent decades. Spending money to renovate the kitchen is just one of the highest methods you'll be able to boost the worth of your house.
The Benefits of Countertops Kitchen
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Countertops Kitchen
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The Fundamentals of Countertops Kitchen Revealed
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Countertops Kitchen for Dummies
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We completed this home interior design and renovation project for a HDB resale flat in Bishan Street 22. This is the letter and testimonial from the client describing the journey from start to finish.
Throughout my lifetime, home has always been an extremely precious place to me. I love spending time at home, itâs a deep sort of affinity that I identify with dearly. For almost all my life, I lived in a 5-room HDB in Bishan, and I especially loved the corner that I slept in â even after I had moved out and my family renovated the place, I would sometimes think about the corner when I spent much of my life awake at night, pondering the meaning of life as I drifted off to dreamland.
After getting married in January 2017, my wife Linh and I looked for a resale HDB, in, to nobodyâs surprise, Bishan. As a true lover of the heartland where the yellow and red MRT lines intersected, I often mentally mocked the sorrow of our dear brothers AMK and TPY for whom fate decided not to grant the Circle Line to. So close, yet so far. After securing the place, the search for an interior designer begun. My wife and I were very aligned on the vision for our home. We both loved pandas, and wanted our home to be cosy with slight touch of minimalistic. We also really liked wood, and valued deeply an open and spacious concept. Cosy, open, wood would be the three key words.
Working with Home Guide
I learnt about Home Guide from a good friend of mine â her Dad was the owner of the company. While this was a pull factor, we wanted to choose the best firm for the job, so we searched intensively over a period of 4 months. We contacted over 20 firms and met about 10 from a variety of sources. This took a toll and there were times where we got tired of meeting new IDs and judging them based on their proposals and interactions. Yet we pressed on, because our intent was to live in this home for the rest of our lives (thatâs probably another 60 years).
We donât intend to move or upgrade in future, so we really only had one shot to get this right, thus we were extremely particular about the person we would work with â I think it is safe to say that our eventual designer Wanting must have felt pretty exasperated with us at times because of how demanding our requirements were. We got involved in every single detail possible (some of which mattered little, others more so), things like grouting colour all the way to innovative ways to box up toilet and air conditioning pipes. In most creative work, there is a constant battle between what is functional and what is creative.
Most creative ideas may not be functional or lack usability, whereas most functional ideas tend to be dull and boring. We ignored this rule of thumb and demanded both in our vision. As dreamers, we started off with creative, incredulous ideas, and then demanded that we find out a way to make it functional simultaneously.
A couple of examples would make this apparent. For the design phase, we didnât work with just Wanting from Home Guide. While I really liked her thoroughness and attention to detail, I valued the creativity from another designer named Gerard from another firm, therefore we engaged both and our design meetings were with two designers providing two differing perspectives. Whereas most other projects typically take a couple of months for the design, we took an arduous 9 months, recycling over 10 layout design ideas and countless others such as reading nooks, secret, hidden doors, arched doorways and replacing walls with full-panel glass.
We would take our floor plan, erase all the walls we could hack down, and re-imagine how we could reconfigure the space altogether. You can imagine this took a lot of patience on Wantingâs part, and at times we would pivot an idea after she had prepared a drawing or 3D rendering, meaning she had to go back and redo the entire piece. I think we overshot the number of reiterations we had for 3D rendering as well.
Through it all, Wanting was patient with us and Jack, the owner, was supportive in journeying with us at critical points of the renovation process. For instance, normally people choose their wardrobe laminate colour and design based on a sample catalogue small enough to carry around in one hand.
However, knowing how painstakingly meticulous we were, Jack and Wanting went the extra mile and invited us down to the actual factory itself to decide based on the massive chunks of laminate so that we could get a more realistic feel of the designs.
The workers were surprised to see us and commented that rarely do customers go to such extents. As such, I am immensely grateful to both Jack and Wanting for adjusting and adapting to our rigorous needs.
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3D Rendering of the proposed final work,
An Impressive Final Product
In our modern culture of Instagram and Facebook, we know that pictures are always edited and re-edited to portray the best image possible, to showcase the person or place in the best light. As such, when the 3D rendering for our home design came out, we were impressed with the artistâs work, but we knew that reality wouldnât match up to it and lowered our expectations accordingly.
Fast forward several months and our renovation was coming to a close. As you might imagine, we were there every week at the beginning and as the various fittings were put into place and the final touches dusted off the shelves, almost every night after work. If you would ask me the one thing which I am most impressed with the final product, it has got to be the quality of execution.
Imagine my surprise when the built-in wardrobe and wood-frame-laminated glass panels looked almost exactly like the 3D rendering! It was a like-for-like match and I was thoroughly impressed at the quality workmanship and appearance. If you donât believe, take a look at it yourself. The pictures donât lie, and this really stood out for Linh and I. A brilliant concept is only as good as the quality of its execution, and oftentimes creative ideas fall short not because of the intent, but the implementation.
Looking Back
In terms of improvement, I can only think of one, which is perhaps specific to our project as well. One of the things I really value is a consistent barrage of innovative ideas to bounce off and discuss, debate, and explore. Creativity without boundaries is easy, but creativity within boundaries such as a 2.6m ceiling is challenging. While many ideas were customised and highly specific, I still felt more could have been done in terms of pushing the limits and peering out for rare insights. This may involve ideas such as creative linkage and integration of futuristic trends such as technology and the Internet of Things into traditional designs.
The journey of renovation was a deeply personal one for my wife Linh and I, involving not just calculations and concepts, but our entire being, heart and passion poured into the project. We left no stone unturned, and expected Home Guide to do the same. After visiting our home, many people ask Linh if she would consider being a designer because she came up with many of the most innovative ideas in our home. She said no, because she didnât think she could do this again due to the mental and emotional energy required.
We are deeply grateful to Wanting, Jack, Home Guide and our other designer Gerard for journeying with us through this process. There were many moments where we weighed pros and cons, debated or reset ideas completely. It was frustrating and stressful, and Iâm sure Wanting probably wanted to pull out her hair at times even though she always put on a calm, professional front. Probably she complains about our project to her colleagues over lunch. Yet not once did we falter or downsize our vision, but kept our eyes fixed on the end goal through it all. And it is a testament to Wanting and Jack for not only their stellar ability to execute, but the fluid adaptability to meet our consistent demands as a couple heavily invested in a project which will last us a lifetime.
Thank You
Thanks be to Wanting, Jack, and all from Home Guide who worked on our home. May it be that years later, when I walk into the master bathroom and turn on the tap to see water droplets streaming into the Villeroy & Boch water basin, that I recall the time we shared together. We richly enjoyed this journey, and we hope you did too.
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