#Rotate Text inside Table Cell

[lostintransist]

The Real Problem With The Trolley

Coffee Shop Meet Cute | Part 9 | Final Part

Part 1 here. AO3

You didn’t tell anyone about the kiss Kyle had laid on your cheek, or how, when you lay down that night, you touched yourself imagining his fingers instead of yours.

It almost hurt how casual, normal, he was. No change in your text conversations or the random ‘I’m making dinner, keep my company’ video calls that were standard for his leave times. Made you wonder if you were betraying the friendship each night you imagined his lips on yours as you whined into your pillow.

No one could blame you for dragging your bestie along with you. You had deep, deep feelings for Kyle, but had only met his sister one time. Trisha lifted a glass in toast when you found her inside the club. She and her friends had secured a table. You hadn’t been clubbing since the last time a ‘friend’ went home with a man who took a pass at you and didn’t react well to being told to fuck off.

Damn. You really did have so many experiences being passed over, huh?

Seeing Kyle step up to the table puts a stutter in your step. Fucking hell. That man could wear your ugliest leggings and the hoodie you had had for over a decade, the one that the cuffs were being pulled apart by connecting holes, and still draw eyes like he walked the fashion runway. His cool demeanor, brows drawn and tension held across his lips, disappeared as he caught sight of his sister. He greeted her with a side hug and a kiss to the temple. A warmth that would revive you from a dip in the Arctic filled his gaze when he found yours.

Therapy has been added to your rotation of appointments and self-care steps. Paying a $50 deductible to get your ass verbally handed to you by the nicest black woman you had ever met would never not be a trip. Monique, a seasoned therapist who specialized in helping women, would lift the corners of her lips, the barest hint, and you knew you were in for an earth-shattering revelation. The appointment you had a few hours before this? Bangers. You left feeling like she had taken to banging you with a baseball bat, emotionally. Though physically wouldn’t be that far off.

“If Kyle breaks your heart, it’s no different than anyone else who failed to show up for you. Are you going to let a familiar pain keep you from happiness?” And a spine severing, “You don’t let others fight for you because you don’t believe you’re worth the bloodshed.”

The possibility of letting Kyle in, asking, inviting him into your vulnerable parts sat on your tongue like a new flavor. You couldn’t decide if you would swallow it down and absorb the changes or let it fall, slimy and wet from your mouth. You took to rolling the idea around like a marble, the glass clinking against the enamel of your teeth.

A small nod in his direction, and you slam a shot from the table and turn to get lost among the sea of bodies. The base and the heat that seemed to rise from the floor combined with the alcohol, siphoning water from your cells to help you find a near-meditative state. Meditation might not be the right word, this mentality is as fluid and shifty as liquid mercury.

The night thumps along. Forging connections as strong as water bonds, you make and lose friends to the shifting waves. All the while, Kyle watches. He plucks you from the edge when you drift too close and presses a bottle of overpriced water into your hand. He does this to everyone here for the divorce party. You had managed to sneak a drink past him without paying the water toll and proudly danced where he could see.

Bestie, Kyle’s latest catch and release, grooved her hips next to you as she rejoined the population of molecules filling the space.

“Whoa, he is gorgeous! Is he your boyfriend?” A random woman with neon makeup asked your bestie.

“Kyle? No! He’s in love with my best friend,” she shouts over the sound of the music.

You coughed out the drink you had sipped into your mouth. Holding the glass high, you hunch over, trying to clear the fluid from your lungs.

“He’s not in love with me,” you cough out between trying to clear your throat and lungs of the burning liquid.

Neon eye shadow woman and your bestie shared a look. The hand on your arm, dragging you from the club, didn’t surprise you. Bestie grabbed your drink as you stumbled after him. The slap of air on your overheated body felt like taking a polar plunge. Refreshing in a bracing kind of way. He pulled you down the block a bit and stepped into an alley.

“Why do you think I’m not in love with you?” The sharp slant of Kyle’s eyebrows would cut you if they reached out to touch them.

Yanking your arm from his hand, you fold them tight to your chest.

“You can’t be serious.”

The reaction comes from your gut. Deep and visceral.

“What do you mean I ‘can’t be serious’?” Kyle somehow looks frustrated, sad, confused, and alarmed all at once.

“Look at me, Kyle,” you wave a hand to your person, “I am not nearly as pretty as someone you would pursue. You’re gorgeous, wicked smart, and funny. I know that ‘shooting for the stars’ is the goal and all that, but I am firmly aware that I don’t have the necessary power to propel myself into your atmosphere.”

You’ve never seen a man look more devastated and pissed off in the same quirk of his eyebrows.

Before you could open your mouth and replace the hurt on his face, his hands are cupping your cheeks, and your back is firing off COLD, COLD, COLD from where the wall steals your heat. A deadly soldier stares down at you, eyes examining you like the blueprints to the base he would be infiltrating.

“What do I have to do to make you believe me?” The growl on the word sent shivers down your spine that the wall couldn’t prompt.

“I…I don’t know,” the whisper is pulled from the pit where you throw all your bad feelings: the abandonment issues you avoided seeing and the self-hatred that you had yet to starve out.

Kyle lowered his lips to yours like he was waiting for your objection. He found none. The kiss went on and on and on. Your fingers found their way to one shoulder and his abs as they clutched for a buoy to keep your head afloat. He kissed you like he needed to convince God that she couldn’t take you back. Like he loved you.

He explored your mouth, his palm cupping the back of your head, until his phone rang. Cursing into your mouth, he ignored it for three rings.

Nose buried in your cheek, he answered the call.

“Garrick.”

The professional tone held none of the breathlessness you fought. Kyle pressed a kiss to you as he listened, working his way to your ear before gently pulling your lobe between his teeth.

Cognizant of his phone call, you keep the sounds of your pleasure trapped in your chest.

“I’ll be there at 0400,” he ended the call and stood tall with a sigh. “Now, what to do about you?”

Uncurling your hands, his shirt takes all your focus, eyes wide and staring.

“I have a job. Don’t know how long I’ll be gone, but I am going to set up automated text messages for a length of time. They will be filled with things I want you to read, watch, listen to.” Kyle tipped your chin up and pressed a lingering kiss to your lips, “When I get home? I want to take you on a proper date.”

Nerves choked you, seawater breaching your nose despite your lips being locked against the flood. Kyle delivered you back to the dance floor and hugged his sister goodbye before he slipped out of the club and damn near out of existence.

Three weeks and two days after the last message had buoyed you, the phone rang on your bed as you showered.

You didn’t check it until after you were ensconced in bed.

1 Missed Call - Kyle Garrick

The breath stuttered in your chest. He’s home? Well maybe not home yet but he must be close enough to be able to call without chancing death. When the screen blacks out your thumb crunches the button into waking the phone again. He called less than fifteen minutes ago.

Calling him back is less a choice and more a reaction from your muscles that happen before you that live in your body can make a choice. You hit voicemail before it even rings. His voicemail greeting is not what you expected.

“I’m headed home. Flight is scheduled to land ‘round three am or so. If I don’t see you I will assume you don’t want to pick up the discussion we were having when I left.” A distant voice that sounded somewhat like Johnny’s, followed by Kyle’s. “I’ll be at the north baggage claim until four.”

A breath of silence enters your ear and then the beep of the voicemail recording. Pulling the phone away from your ear you end the call. Tipping the corner to your lips your eyes stare at a pile of laundry as your mind trips into the final boss of choices. You’d been in love with Kyle for a long time. So, so long. This would be the do-or-die moment. Such a simple out, ‘I was asleep when you called’, ‘I didn’t see this until I woke’. But were you worth the possible prick of pain?

You had heard a version of Sleeping Beauty once, so unlike the normal telling, it surfaced now in your mind. The suitor battled through tricky and beguiling barriers, the hedge of thorns that was common to every version of the tale. But this time? There was a creature, large and fearsome. No matter how the suitor circled the castle the beast remained. Not until he took a step forward did the beast change. The new perspective led the suitor to discover that the creature that blocked his way was not massive but as small as a kitten to be tucked into a satchel.

Could this be your beast to best? This fear that he might not want you? That he might change his mind? Kyle, who declared he is not a good man, still set this choice at your feet. He didn’t have to do that. Kyle could kiss you until you agreed to anything he said. Begged to be his even. But he didn’t. The man, respected and loved by so many, put the decision to step forward or back in your hands — no matter his potential pain he wanted you enough to let you choose.

It was that thought, more than any other, that he was willing to brave the pain that spurred you out of your bed. Quickly ridding yourself of all your bedtime clothes and hair maintenance you rushed out the door. Your phone lay on your bed.

His flight got in earlier than he expected it to. Still took nearly an hour to get through customs to sit and stare at the baggage claim. The spinning carousels were paused this deep in the night. They started slowly after a crowd of people surrounded it as if to cast stones if the machine did not deliver their belongings soon.

Airport staff did not want people to linger and the architects provided for that eventuality. He sat on the art structure that doubled as the only seating.

Kyle didn’t watch his phone, familiar with counting minutes on watch. He watched now. Waited for you. At four AM on the dot, Kyle pulled his phone out of his pocket. No missed calls. Nothing. Once on a job he had taken a knife between the ribs, gave him a collapsed lung. That pain, the trying to breathe and getting less than half a breath, attacked him now.

He thought you might love him. Damn him twice the fool then. Truly, he had hoped the love notes that he plucked from poets had been heavier than your doubts. Kyle settled his head in his hands, sucking in air through his nose. He could cry when he got home, letting out the pain into his pillow before being ready to smile at you again.

Standing Kyle wiped his thumbs under his eyes and shouldered his pack. He got two steps from the perch where he left his hope when he heard his name. Shouting is not something you expect to hear in the airport at 4 AM. Turning, he sees you. You, the person who he watched trip up the stairs at least three times since he met you, jumping off the back of a golf cart driven by an airport staff member.

Shocked into stillness is not something Kyle had ever experienced, until now. You are running, slamming into him with full force. Only the skills that keep him alive on the battlefield keep the two of you from going down now. You are mumbling words into his chest that he has no chance of understanding.

“Hey, hey,” he rubs your shoulder, “I can’t hear you.”

When you look up at him tears are breaching your eyes and streaming down your cheeks.

“Why the fuck would you tell me the north baggage claim? You know the second I step in a building I lose all sense of direction!” Your voice breaks on the last word.

That shredding of your tone washes over him with a healing balm. He’s more of an idiot than Johnny sometimes.

“Why didn’t you call?” Tears are straining his voice now; he presses a kiss to your forehead anyway.

“I was in such a rush I left my phone on my bed. This is the third baggage claim I have been to in the last hour. I would have missed you if not for Anthony, he drove me across the airport to reach you.”

Kyle let out a watery laugh as he pulled you into a tight hug, “I’m sorry, love. I should have given you clearer instructions.”

You grip him back fiercely.

“Yes, you should have.”

The muttered words make him smile.

“What made you choose me?”

Pulling back from his grip you give him the most tender look he had ever seen in his entire life.

“You are worth the possibility of pain, Kyle Garrick. I love you.”

His knees went weak, pulling his lips to yours as his heart tried to grow beyond the confines of his ribs.

“I love you, thank you for taking a chance on me,” he whispered against your lips.

Then and there Kyle vowed to prove that he was worth the chance you gave him.

A/N: That's all folks! Another one marked as complete and what a happy ending! See @skeletonsucker I CAN MAKE HAPPY STORIES TOO!

Coffee Masterlist | Masterlist

@soldierservant @demothers-empty-blog @thriving-n-jiving @blackhawkfanatic @skeletonsucker @readingthingy @goatgoesmbe @littlelovebug98

[visual-sculptors]

Visualizing Data: Crafting Flowcharts and Infographics with Google Slides

Branded Google Slides design of high quality: Frequently Asked Inquiries Explained

1.What files can Google Slides import?   

Google Slides can import various file types, including Microsoft PowerPoint (.pptx, .ppt), OpenDocument Presentation (.odp), and PDF files. Additionally, it can import images in formats such as JPEG, PNG, and GIF. Users can also upload files from Google Drive or through other Google services. However, some formatting and features may not be preserved when importing from PowerPoint or other formats.

2. Can I rotate a table in Google Slides?

Yes, you can rotate a table in Google Slides. To do this, first select the table by clicking on it. Then, click on the "Format" menu, choose "Format options," and find the "Rotation" setting. Alternatively, you can hover your mouse near the corner of the table until the rotation handle appears, then click and drag to rotate it to your desired angle. While this method rotates the entire table, individual cells or text within the table can be rotated by adjusting the text direction in the "Table properties" menu.

3. Can I turn a Google slide vertical?

Yes, you can turn a Google Slides presentation vertical by changing the slide dimensions. To do this, go to "File" > "Page setup." In the dialog box, select "Custom" and enter your desired width and height (for a vertical slide, the height should be greater than the width). For example, you might set it to 8.5 inches wide by 11 inches high. After applying the changes, your slides will be oriented vertically.

4. How to do a flow chart in Google Slides?

To create a flowchart in Google Slides, open a new or existing presentation. Go to the “Insert” menu, select “Shape,” and choose shapes like rectangles or circles for your flowchart steps. Drag them onto the slide and arrange as needed. Use “Line” from the “Insert” menu to connect the shapes with arrows. To add text, double-click inside each shape. Customize colors and styles using the toolbar options. Once finished, you can group the shapes for easy movement by selecting them, right-clicking, and choosing “Group.” Save your presentation to maintain your flowchart.

5. Does Google Slides have infographics?

Google Slides does not have built-in infographics as a separate feature, but users can create infographics using its shapes, charts, and design tools. Additionally, there are various templates available in the Google Slides template gallery and third-party websites that offer infographic designs compatible with Google Slides. Users can also import images and graphics from external sources to enhance their presentations.

Visit: VS Website See: VS Portfolio

[wideeyedloner]

[fic] [spn | dean/cas ] near-fall

near-fall spn dean/cas 2600 words thank you so much to Nym for the alpha and houndoom for the beta!! <3 errors mine all mine

ao3 link

As Dean watches the popcorn bag spin on the microwave’s rotating plate, he nearly jumps from how old his reflection looks. Yeesh. The year of resisting the urge to throw himself on a pyre from grief has caught up to him. He looks at least fifty. He feels so much older.

Dean had been drinking too much, sleeping too little, and getting pretty careless on hunts, to be honest. Jack probably showed up just in time with Cas in tow before Dean had the chance to do something really stupid and get himself killed.

He still looks so wrung-out it could have been last month, last week, or last night that he had rushed Cas, gripping him tight, crying like a freaking girl. And now they’re just sitting around like all the rest of this shit never happened, getting drunk and watching crap like Betty White getting tackled into the mud, just for laughs. None of this would have been on his bingo card for 2021.

Wild.

The microwave beeps, so Dean takes the popcorn and a few Margiekugels back with him to the Dean Cave.

He sinks back onto the couch, returns the popcorn bowl to the coffee table and distributes the beers just in time to tune in as Cas explains to Sam, “Once the commanders were slain, their foot soldiers fled. So yes, there were… artistic liberties taken in writing the tale of David and Goliath.” Sam nods along, fully engrossed.

“That makes a lot of sense,” Sam agrees.

This gives Dean an idea for the next video. “Hey, remember that wrestling case a while back? Sure brought back memories.”

“Of you trying to suplex and leg lock me in high school? Yeah, those were great times.”

“Yeah, they were.” Dean reaches for the laptop and—jackpot.

“Seriously?” Sam sounds put-upon, like someone who for some reason didn’t enjoy being twisted into a pretzel as a child.

“Problem?” Dean quickly swallows his beer so he can stuff his mouth completely full of popcorn and chew obnoxiously while Sam watches in disgust.

“You’re going to show Cas a wrestling clip. Knowing you, it’ll be the lip-synching country singer, the himbo, or the stripper.”

“How else is the man going to understand what it means to be a red-blooded American, Sam? It’d be unpatriotic not to show him.”

“Dude, Cas wasn’t technically born and isn’t a citizen of anywh—this is stupid. Cas, do you even want to watch wrestling?”

Cas, sitting placidly between them, beer balanced on his knee, responds, “I wouldn’t be opposed.”

That settles it. “I promise, Sammy. This is a good match.”

They watch the video, passing around the popcorn bowl, commenting on the grainy quality, the wrestlers’ entrances, their athleticism, the color commentary. The Undertaker chases Shawn Michaels inside and outside the cell, beating him bloody and prompting Cas to question what kind of grudge this demon had against the stripper. Dean does his best to answer Cas’ questions about the leadup to the match and pro wrestling in general. Sam, already on his phone to text with Eileen, helpfully supplies additional information.

Dean grabs them more beers toward the end, and comes back to Michaels knocking The Undertaker flat with his signature move, only for The Undertaker to rise back up in his own impressive signature style. Grinning, Dean looks over at Cas in the flickering light from the TV. The match continues in reverse miniature in Cas’ pupils, his pink lips parted and wet with beer. The air in Dean’s lungs turns to lead and drops into his gut.

Beyond Cas, he notices Sam turn to face him, eyebrows raised questioningly. Dean shakes his head no, all good, whips his unfocused eyes back to the match, and tells himself to get a fucking grip.

Kane makes his much-anticipated debut, incapacitating The Undertaker and allowing a bloodied Michaels to win the match. A victory for the Heartbreak Kid.

Dean’s still feeling kind of sappy from thinking about having Cas back, mixed with whatever the hell was going on earlier. Anyone could see that Cas is a handsome man, in good shape, and a great catch. Dean’s head is just screwy tonight. Gotta be the beer or something. He’s also got this antsy feeling he used to get after watching wrestling, like he’s going to go into the city to dropkick and shooting star press everyone in sight.

“I knew you would pick the stripper,” Sam teases.

“He was a great wrestler!”

“Yet he was outmatched by this ‘Undertaker’ and required third-party assistance,” Cas observes. Dean can always count on him for support.

—-

Another round of Margiekugels later, they’re in the gym downstairs, layering gym mats. Even with the central air keeping it a crisp sixty-eight degrees, they feel warm, so they’ve shed their outer layers and boots.

“This is, like, the best part of watching wrestling,” Dean tells Cas.

“Maiming yourself,” Sam stage whispers, still lifting a mat into place.

“I’m still unconvinced we’re in any condition for athletics at the moment,” Cas says. “My…tolerance isn’t what it was.” Because all men mourn their lost ability to consume an entire liquor store.

Sam nods like he knows what that’s like. “Nothing too crazy, okay? My back also isn’t what it used to be, and I’d kind of like to live my life without a permanent spinal injury.”

So they take turns demonstrating to and with Cas some maneuvers they’d tried in their youth, including downtempo Sweet Chin Music, the People’s Elbow, the Sharpshooter. Most pro wrestlers retire by their age, so it’s no surprise that the bodies of two elder hunters and an ex-angel (all lacking the appropriate conditioning) are creaky and bad at it. Each new move is punctuated with a “watch it!” or “I don’t bend like that” or “I didn’t survive all that shit to die in some dumb accident like Lawrence of Arabia.”

They’re laughing and sweating their asses off on the floor when Sam winces and says, “Ow, yeah, that’s my cue.” He sways to his feet, scoops up his hoodie and his boots in one hand, and holds his beer up over his shoulder with the other. “Night. Try not to die.”

Now that it’s just him and Cas, Dean suddenly feels something like discomfort, which is ridiculous. It’s only Cas. “Beer break,” He says, probably too loudly. It’s a little warmer than he likes by now, but still gives him something to do and provides an excuse to look away from Cas.

When he turns back, Cas is looking right at him with those fierce fucking blue eyes. Dean’s sure Cas can see everything that’s been going on in him tonight and can make better sense of it than Dean himself can. It makes him want to curl up, turn away, so he can’t see. But he also wants to meet whatever danger he perceives in Cas’ gaze head-on.

So he steps back onto the mats and says, “Ready?”

The late hour, drinking, and earlier gymnastics have them heavy-limbed and tired already, so they end up grappling. They can’t get too serious about it with the way the mats are laid out, but Cas rapidly gains an advantage. The guy is strong and surprisingly quick, and knocks the breath right out of Dean with a bear hug takedown.

Cas tries to free his arms from beneath Dean’s body to pin him, so Dean quickly rolls them, covering Cas and beginning the count. Cas, the fucker, almost instantly wriggles free and is on Dean again. The mat under his back has been sliding askew onto the concrete floor and he feels the world tilting as he jerks under Cas, trying to steer them both back toward the rest of the mats. Cas is stubborn as shit and knows it, smirking down at Dean while he struggles.

Dean is determined to wipe that smug expression off his face. “You gotta do better’n that—“

He braces his left side and shoves, intending to reverse their positions, but only manages to push his body, sternum to groin, into Cas. The movement makes goosebumps rise all over Dean’s skin.

The central air clicks on, humming quietly overhead. Cas is flushed and sweaty above him, and Dean can feel the warmth of his body through their clothes. His breathing is heavy and every exhale stirs the damp hair not stuck to his skin. His eyes are vibrant as they search Dean’s face.

Unbidden, his body tries to shove again, but it’s a weak effort, and both of them know it. His stomach does moonsaults, over and over.

Jesus. They’ve been this close before, he’s sure of it, on hunts. Crammed together like toothpicks in a box, in motel rooms, in Baby, in diner booths. He’s fought beside Cas before, fought him before, been aware of his breathing next to him, looked him in the eye. But this—whatever it is—has never been so strong.

It’s always been there, part of their friendship but playing at a lower volume than whatever else was going on when they were dying or about to die or the only things preventing catastrophe. Not something that demanded attention. But in the three months since Cas has been back, the volume has turned up with every glance, every word exchanged, every casual touch. Dean just can’t make out what the damn song is.

His body aches all over and his mind is hazy and he knows he should stop this—but he hears himself say, “You gotta—make sure you cover me for a three-count, like we talked about.”

Cas’ eyes narrow, and he slowly lowers his whole body closer, closer, until his chest is pressed to Dean’s, pinning him firmly to the mat. Cas’ right arm has Dean’s left restrained near their heads, and the other hand has Dean’s wrist. His deep breaths are hot next to Dean's ear and he smells of butter and hops.

Cas’ body should be offset for the cover. Dean should probably say something, but his mouth is dry, could maybe use more beer. Cas’ left knee is sinking into the mat between Dean’s legs, and he can feel the heat of his thigh cradled between his own. And—

There’s Cas’ dick, right at the crease of Dean’s hip. It’s hard, muted by Dean’s jeans but unmistakable. Okay, it happens. It’s happened to Dean on occasion on hunts, from fear or just from blood circulation—no biggie. Dean certainly won’t hold that against him (ha)—not when he’s sporting an erection of his own, fully pressed against Cas’ thigh.

But Dean’s body feels like it’s all nerves, alight all at once, flaring where their skin touches. And he swears he’s not trying to but his body squirms within Cas’ firm hold and under his solid weight and manages to rub himself against Cas, and Cas against his thigh. His cock gives a throb at the sensation, making Dean grit his teeth hard, and Cas stutters out a groan.

“Dean,” Cas rumbles into his ear. “the pinfall.”

The—right. He crawls his hand away from Cas’ loose grip and out to the side, feeling a little hysterical, and begins the count.

Smack. “One.” Somehow, they’ve managed to jostle their bodies and he’s trying not to take it personally but the friction feels amazing. Cas clearly agrees, tightening his grip on Dean’s shoulder. Dean bites down on the inside of his lip when he feels Cas’ mouth part against his neck. What the actual fuck.

Smack. “Two.” He hits the mat harder this time, because he’s nothing if not a hedonist, making sure he rocks both their bodies, and Jesus, was that Cas’ tongue? The wheezing sound the sensation forces out of Dean is completely pathetic. 

And there’s a thump-thump-thump as Sam tries—and fails—to wobble stealthily down the stairs. A moment later, he rounds the corner and enters the gym with both eyes on his phone in landscape mode in one hand and the index finger of the other hand to his lips. A look of horror blooms on his face as Cas and Dean stare back up at him silently from the crooked mat on the floor.

“Oh god, I thought you’d still be—“ He shoves his phone in the front pocket of his hoodie and makes a hasty U-turn to trip back up the steps so his voice and footfalls speedily recede upstairs. “I’m so sorry!”

That breaks the tension of—this, and Cas and Dean both begin chuckling. Cas leans up on his elbows to look at Dean fondly, a small smile curving his lips. Dean pats Cas’ arm, fingers traveling along his delts. Man, he has great arms. Dean would ask for Cas’ workout routine if he didn’t know that a) Cas doesn’t exercise and b) he has no intention of exercising at all, ever.

“Imagine if he’d actually walked in on whatever he thinks he saw,” Dean snorts. Lots of people—Sam included—have made comments about them over the years, but it’s not like that. It might be for Cas, but Dean’s always been a ladies’ man, a Don Juan, a confirmed bachelor.

Cas goes still. “Imagine that,” he says stiffly, no longer laughing.

Just like that, it becomes immensely uncomfortable, like the atmospheric equivalent of getting thrown sixteen feet off a steel cage and onto the announcer’s table. Dean swears sometimes that Cas must still possess an angelic aura, because even though he physically takes up the normal amount of space, the guy can project moods and intensity like no natural-born human Dean’s ever met.

Cas sits up and stands. Dean sits up with him, following his body heat. Cas’ jaw is set the way it gets when he’s pissed but his expression is otherwise carefully neutral. Dean wants to ask him what’s going on, what happened, but he doesn’t do heart-to-hearts. If Cas wanted emotional intelligence, he picked the wrong best friend.

Cas is a mess. His hair’s pointing everywhere, he’s sweaty, his face is flushed, his clothes are rumpled, and he has an obvious erection tenting his pajama pants. Fuck, it looks like he’s been fooling around. He wants to reach out and fix the guy’s hair, straighten his clothes. Cas takes a moment to adjust himself while staring at the doorway before addressing Dean.

“Thank you. For the lesson on professional wrestling.” Then he walks out, leaving his flannel, boots and beer behind.

The cooling sweat makes Dean's hair stand on end. He sits with his own frustrated erection, buzz fading into a persistent throb in his head, uneasy ache in his chest from whatever tonight has become.

He has half a mind to follow Cas—for what? For those sky blue eyes to bore into Dean again when Dean demands what this shit is between them? For that grumbling voice to deliver an explanation for what happened just now, for his sudden weird behavior?

Yeah, like because they're both such forthcoming guys.

Dean tries to rake a hand through his hair, but that hand is trembling, so he lets it drop. He must have screwed something up here, but doesn’t know what he did. His mind chases answers he doesn’t have and his stomach churns with the certainty that he and Cas are on opposite banks of a new rift in their friendship, both analyzing the fissure. Difference is, it’s like Cas still sees with a thousand eyes, and Dean just has the two.

He has no answers. It makes Dean feel like the dumbest heel alive.

He falls back onto the mat with a loud smack.

[vannahfanfics]

Time Marches Ever On

Category: Friendship Fluff

Fandom: Haikyuu!!

Characters: Osamu Miya, Rintarō Suna

Hey, everyone! I am super stoked to present my story for the @sunaosabigbang​! Please also give my partner akira’s art some love! I hope you enjoy and it was a pleasure being part of the event this year~!

Osamu stared listlessly at the ceiling, watching the blades of the ceiling fan spin round and round with lidded dust-brown eyes. Slowly they rotated, spilling cool air down on him as he lay flat on his back in bed. Round and round, they turned, just like the world kept turning too; tick-tock, the clock ticked ever on, just like the alarm clock perched on Osamu’s bedside table. Time marched onward without distinction or prejudice, a different goal for everyone. For Osamu, that was the end of high school and the new chapter beyond. Except, Osamu didn’t know yet what to fill those pages with; they were blank, empty, just like his thoughts as he watched the fan blades slowly spin clockwise above his head. Round and round, ever on. 

After several straight minutes of staring, his eyes began to sting from lack of lubrication, so he finally closed his eyes with a quiet sigh. Each day that passed he grew more and more unsettled and fell into these contemplative moods, just lying in bed wondering what was to become of him. He was too young to ruminate like an old man, but he simply couldn’t help it. The future was not clear to him, not like it was to his twin. 

Atsumu knew in his heart that volleyball was his dream. He envied his twin for that, more than he’d ever envied him for anything. Atsumu just kept charging forward with that big, confident, cocksure grin on his face. Now Osamu felt himself lagging behind. It felt like he was slogging through wet cement, the thick muck drying on his feet and trying to lock him in place to weigh him down with all his insecurities. He opened his eyes, sadness and trepidation filling his dull, dusty-brown eyes. 

He reached down to the volleyball sitting by his bed, scooping it up with one hand to put it on his chest. His hands wrapped around the ball’s surface, fingers exploring the ridges and grooves he’d come to know so well from the game. Atsumu always seemed so sure when he held a volleyball in his hand, like it belonged there. Yet to Osamu, who was so alike to Atsumu in so many ways, the ball felt foreign. He ran his hands over the smooth surface, like he had done many times before, yet he could still not banish the alien hint to the ball it had always carried for him. In his heart, Osamu knew that his destiny was not the same as his brother’s— and that scared him. 

With a quiet “Tch!” Osamu chucked the volleyball at the wall. It collided with his dresser instead, filling the room with a hollow thunk. It bounced down to the floor, rolling several feet and coming to rest under Osamu’s bed— like it was hiding from him, like it was rejecting him. Chewing on the inside of his cheek, he rolled onto his side and fisted his comforter. He had to make a decision soon; the clock ticked ever on, counting down the seconds to the precipice. As he mulled on his weighty internal debate, the screen on his cell phone lit up, shining bright in the late afternoon gloom. He picked it up to find that it was a simple news notification, but seeing the messaging app near the bottom of his screen gave him an idea. 

He pulled up Rintarō’s contact information— which didn’t take long since he was near the top of his message log— and sent him a quick message asking what he was up to. When the other boy replied, Osamu had to smirk, oddly eased at how well his best friend knew him. 

I already know what you’re going to ask, because you never ask me what I’m doing unless you want me to come over. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. What are we eating tonight? 

Osamu rolled onto his back, quickly replying that he hadn’t decided yet before rolling the rest of the way out of bed. He flung his phone down onto the mattress, not even bothering to check the reply when his phone buzzed against the sheets. He dropped his pajama pants to change into a pair of sweats, not wanting to look like a complete mess in front of Rintarō, though his friend knew he was a mess anyway. Osamu was always a mess when he invited him over; it had become an odd staple in their relationship, Rintarō listening while Osamu ranted about his problems. Of course, when Osamu was stressed he tended to cook. He wasn’t really sure if it was the food that Rintarō was interested in or the notion of being a good friend, but nonetheless, Osamu appreciated the company. 

Osamu smirked as his phone began to buzz insistently, indicating that Rintarō was calling him. He scooped it up and swiped to answer as he passed the bed, tucking it between his ear and shoulder while exiting his bedroom. 

“Ignoring my text message? Rude,” Rintarō quipped blaisely on the other end of the line. Osamu chuckled, switching ears as he walked into the kitchen and opened up the refrigerator to see if any ingredients inspired him today. 

“I didn’t know you were so needy, Rin,” Osamu joked, earning an irritated snort from Rintarō. “Don’t worry, I’ll give you a kiss when you get here.” 

“Ugh, you sound like your brother.” 

“That was the point. I wanted to annoy you,” Osamu grinned while picking up a carton of milk to inspect it. He grinned wider when he heard Rintarō snap his teeth irritatedly through the phone. 

“Can you do it another way, then? I really don’t want the image of either of you puckering up to kiss me, thanks.” 

“Aw, don’t be like that. ‘Tsumu may be more popular, but I’m definitely the better kisser.” 

“I’m turning around.” 

“Nooooooo,” Osamu wheedled, draping himself over the refrigerator door with a pout. “Rin, I really need to talk.” There was a small moment of silence, followed by the distinct sound of Rintarō breathing out of his nose. 

“Why do I put up with you…?” Rintarō muttered, but Osamu could hear the tone of defeat lacing his voice. Osamu smirked triumphantly and went back to ferreting through the refrigerator. He spied a package of ham and pulled it out, raising an eyebrow as an idea hatched in his mind. Some onigirazu would be quick and easy to make, he thought while bouncing the package of ham up and down in his hand. The sound of Rintarō driving buzzed through the phone; they often did this, simply existing in companionable silence as Rintarō made his way to the Miya twins’ residence. Osamu sandwiched the phone between his head and shoulder while he fished eggs and lettuce out of the refrigerator, then moved to the pantry to grab short-grain rice and nori sheets. He dumped all the ingredients on the counter, then, while holding the phone, surveyed them thoughtfully. 

“Let me guess— you’re making rice balls,” Rintarō quipped suddenly, and Osamu could feel the smile in his tone. Osamu snorted derisively, crouching down to retrieve a skillet from a low cabinet. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“It means I believe you have a fascination with rice.” 

“It’s a Japanese staple!” Osamu protested while waving the skillet around emphatically. “I’m sorry that I can’t make a meal without rice or noodles when damn near every recipe in the country contains either!” 

“Sounds to me like you need to get a little more original,” Rintarō chided with a teasing laugh, and Osamu puffed out his cheeks derisively. Rather than change his plans, Osamu was going to make the rice sandwiches out of spite now; grumbling, he marched over to the rice cooker, dragging the bag of rice across the counter with him. 

“For your information, it’s not rice balls,” he informed with a matter-of-fact head waggle, tearing the bag of rice open. He retrieved a measuring cup and scooped it into a bowl, then carried it over to the sink, squashing the phone into his shoulder again. “It’s rice sandwiches.” 

“Oh, well excuse me,” Rintarō said, and the snark in his tone made Osamu scowl. He drowned out the boy’s next snippety reply by flipping on the tap, sending a cascade of water gushing from the silver spout. 

“Oh? What was that? I can’t hear you over washing my rice!” he cried loudly, spinning the grains around the bowl with his hands to clean off all the impurities. He just barely heard Rintarō snort over the grating of the rice against the plastic bowl and the thundering cascade of water. Though he wanted to keep it on for the rest of the phone call to drown out his friend’s chiding, that wasn’t good for the environment, now was it? Huffing, Osamu flipped off the tap and slapped a handheld strainer onto the bowl to drain the frothy water. “You’re such a dick, Rin,” he sniffed petulantly into the phone. “I’m not gonna cook for you anymore if all you’re gonna do is make fun of me.” 

“I thought that was the beauty of our relationship, though?” Rintarō said, and Osamu had to smile, imagining the smirk that was painting his thin lips right then. He closed his eyes as he carried the washed rice back to the cooker and dumped it into the cooker, then grabbed his trusty measuring cup. 

“Oh, so you can make fun of me but I can’t make fun of you?” he asked, walking back to the sink to fill up the cup. He kept the running water more gentle this time, more to avoid overfilling the cup than to avoid being rude. 

“Exactly. I’m glad you’re following along.” 

“I’m going to eat all the rice sandwiches before you get here,” Osamu warned, walking back to fill up the rice cooker with water. As he slapped the lid closed and set the timer, he heard Rintarō chuckle. 

“Too late, I’m already here.” 

“Fine. I’ll eat them right in front of you.” 

“Oof, how heartless. You invite me over to ask some of my sage advice, and you won’t even feed me?” Rintarō pouted. The sound of his car door shutting echoed through the phone’s speaker. 

“Nope. Matter of fact, I won’t let you in, either. You can give me your sage advice through the door,” he teased even while he was walking to the front of the house to let Rintarō in. The boy’s dry laugh sounded through the phone, followed by the sound of him hanging up. Osamu tucked his phone into the pocket of his sweatpants as he made it to the door. Rintarō must have heard him walking, because the boy piped up as he reached for the doorknob. 

“All right then, what sage advice can I give today?” he shouted through the door, voice bleeding through the wood. Osamu snorted in laughter and shook his head; he always had to appreciate Rintarō’s gift of sticking with a joke. He flipped the lock and turned the knob, his hand on his hip as he greeted his friend with a smile. “Oh? Change of heart?” the dark-haired boy said with a raised eyebrow. “I knew you had some good in you, ‘Samu.” 

“Just get in here before I become serious about not feeding you,” Osamu laughed and stepped aside. Rintarō walked into the entryway, shrugging out of his jacket and slipping out of his shoes like he’d done a hundred times before. As he tossed his jacket over the hook hanging on the wall, he looked at Osamu with narrowed eyes. 

“Are you all right, ‘Samu?” 

The question took Osamu by surprise; after talking with Rintarō, he’d begun to feel a lot better. He couldn’t lie to Rintarō’s trained eyes, however; the boy could read the tension still lingering in his body, the bags under his dusty-brown eyes, the uncertainty hiding in his expression and voice. Osamu sagged slightly, shaking his head at Rintarō’s ability to always get right to the point. Instead of replying, he just motioned for the boy to follow him; Rintarō complied, sliding into house slippers and shuffling after Osamu into the kitchen. 

Rintarō slid into a barstool, clasping his hands and waiting patiently for his friend to gather his thoughts. Osamu retrieved his skillet and placed it on the stove, flipping on the burner. For a moment, he watched the blue-white flames dance beneath the gas burner and spread heat throughout the small space; yet it didn’t reach Osamu, who had begun to grow cold with the weight of the world slowly pressing down on him like a hydraulic press. Robotically, he walked to the refrigerator to grab some butter, slapping a chunk of it on the skillet and pushing it around with the spatula to melt it. 

“Rintarō… Have you begun to think about the future?” Osamu started quietly. He heard his friend shift in the barstool, and through the reflection in the microwave in front of him, could see him push his fist into his cheek as he looked thoughtfully at the ceiling. 

“Well, a little bit. I mean, we’re second-years going on third-years… We kind of have to think about it since college entrance exams and all that stuff will be coming up,” he said, pursing his lips slightly. “But, I certainly don’t have it all figured out or anything.” Osamu nodded, melting the last of the butter. He grabbed an egg and cracked it open; the whites bubbled and hissed as it came into contact with the hot pan, and the yolk swam within the clearish-white liquid, bright and gold like the sun. Osamu had always fancied his twin like the sun— bright, loud, confident— and he as the moon, merely reflecting its light and possessing no brilliance of its own. 

As he cracked another egg open, he asked, “Do you think you’ll keep playing volleyball?” 

“You mean, next year?” 

“No, after that.” 

“Hmm,” Rintarō frowned, a bit stumped by the question. “I guess I haven’t thought too much about it. But I do enjoy it, so I could see myself continuing on in college and maybe even community.” Osamu watched through the microwave reflection as Rintarō perked up, lowering his hand back to the counter to stare at his back in surprise. “Is that what this is about?” 

“Yeah,” Osamu sighed, closing his eyes. He opened them again after a second, cracking two more eggs on the pan. He nudged the edges around with the spatula, waiting for the protein-based part of the egg to turn fully white and a little crispy around the edges before flipping them over, one by one, and taking care not to break the yolk. Not that Rintarō would care, as he’d scarf down any of Osamu’s cooking, but the young chef did have his pride. “Atsumu’s like that. He’s been talking a lot about what college and community teams that he’d like to play for. But I…” he trailed off, watching the eggs bubble on the skillet. “I don’t think I’m cut out for that, Rin.” 

Rintarō didn’t answer, just watching as Osamu grabbed another skillet and put it on another burner, flipping it to a higher temperature. He slapped some more butter on the black surface, melting it to a bubbly liquid, and then pulled the package of ham to him. As he carved off some pieces that would fit in his rice sandwiches, he continued quietly, “Atsumu and I have always been a team. We’re twins, after all; we know each other better than anyone, like we’re really just two halves of the same whole or just the same person. But lately, I have the feeling that… I’m not as much like him as I thought.” 

The ham sizzled as he laid it on the skillet, the pink-red meat roasting and filling the air with a hearty-sweet scent. “Atsumu is the star, I know that now, and I’m just a shadow that makes him shine brighter. I think I’ve always known that, deep down, but I was scared to admit it.” 

“‘Samu, you’re just as good a player as Astumu is,” Rintarō piped up, and Osamu sighed frustratedly, his words not getting across quite what he wanted. He waved the spatula around as he tried to gather the jumbled-up thoughts he’d been ruminating on for nearly half the year. 

“No, that’s not quite what I mean,” he frowned, poking at the eggs to see if they were ready. Deciding they were a good over-medium, he grabbed a paper plate and slid them off the skillet one by one, then walked over to the sink. He dropped it in and turned on the cold water; as it hit the burning hot, greasy surface of the skillet it evaporated immediately, filling the air with white wisps of steam. “I know I’m good, but… Atsumu shines because he enjoys volleyball with his entire soul, and I don’t think I can say the same.” 

He left the skillet too cool in the sink before walking back to the stove, flipping over the ham before grabbing the lettuce. He pulled out the leaves onto the cutting board, chopping off a few before putting them in a paper bowl and carrying them back to the sink to wash them off. “I enjoy it, sure, but I think it’s more because I knew I could help Atsumu shine. But now, Atsumu is doing that well enough on his own, and I just…” he trailed off, the water filling the bowl and making the lettuce float as he stared off into space. “I want… Something of my own.”

He looked to Rintarō, who gazed at him levelly. There was no hint of judgment; there never was. Osamu could tell him his deepest, darkest, most selfish wishes and Rintarō would never look at him as a nasty person, never look at him like he was flawed. He would just look at him in understanding, like he was human, like he was just Osamu— and he appreciated that more than anything. 

Osamu remembered the lettuce and flipped off the tap, grabbing some paper towels. He slopped the sodden leaves onto the absorbent paper and blotted them dry, then carried them back over to the counter near the stove. The ham had finished cooking as well, so he flipped off the burner and piled them onto the plate next to the eggs, giving the hot pan the same treatment as the one before. The rice cooker chimed pleasantly, indicating that it had finished as well, and he popped it open. He waited for the steam to billow up, condensing on the wall and the underside of the counter in little dewdrops. Osamu waited for the top layer of the rice to cool enough for him to handle with his hands before scooping it up and plopping it onto a plate. 

“So you want something of your own, and you don’t think that something is volleyball?” Rintarō finally said, and Osamu nodded. He could feel Rintarō’s sharp, golden-yellow eyes studying his back as he shaped the bottom layer of the rice sandwich and then gently laid a lettuce leaf on top. 

“Is that selfish of me?” Osamu asked quietly, pausing in the middle of scooping a thick chunk of ham onto the half-made sandwich. The barstool squeaked as Rintarō shifted on it. 

“Why would that be selfish of you?” 

“Atsumu and I are a team… I’m sure a part of him imagines that we’ll keep going on together, the great Miya twins, striking down our enemies on the same court.” There was no bitterness in his voice, just an acute sadness that he knew in his heart that his brother’s dream would never come true. “Is it selfish of me to quash his hopes like that? To make him go on alone?” 

“Osamu,” Rintarō sighed, and the light-haired boy knew that he was getting serious by using his full name. Though his back was still to him, draping the egg on top of the ham and scooping another layer of rice on top so he could begin molding it into a sandwich shape, he still listened keenly to his friend. “That’s not selfish of you at all. You’re not responsible for Atsumu’s happiness. I’m sure he’s enjoyed playing with you, but if he throws a tantrum because you want to have your own dream, then he’s the selfish one.” 

Osamu smiled wanly, grabbing some nori paper and wrapping it around the molded sandwich. Rintarō always put things so plainly, always put things in perspective when Osamu got too in his head; he appreciated that aspect about him, which is why he’d chosen him to always give him advice, even if it wasn’t necessarily what he wanted to hear. Even now, though he knew Rintarō spoke the truth, he hurt; his heart ached at the idea of walking a different path than his twin, the brother he’d shared a special connection with since the womb. Yet he also knew it would hurt to live forever in his shadow, focused more on Atsumu’s happiness than his own. 

Tears glimmered on his dark lashes, making the rice sandwich in his hands blurry like watercolors. He heard the chair scoot when Rintarō slipped off of it, walking around the bar to enter the kitchen. He flitted behind Osamu, wordlessly walking to the sink to flip on the water. “Everyone wants to become their own person eventually,” he explained. Osamu watched out of the corners of his eyes as he grabbed the bottle of dish soap and a sponge, saturating the sponge in the thick blue liquid and frothing it up under the water. “It’s just part of being human, yanno.” He began scrubbing one of the greasy pans, spreading brown-tinged soap over the cast iron surface. “And you deserve that, ‘Samu. You deserve to live for yourself, everybody does.” 

“Yeah,” Osamu said hoarsely. He sucked in a breath, blinking several times to dry his tears. The few that had bubbled up slipped down his cheeks, which he wiped away with the hem of his tee-shirt. He finished wrapping the nori paper around the rice sandwich before getting started on the next. “You’re right… It’s just, even though I spent my whole life knowing how Atsumu thinks, I don’t know how he’s going to react to this.” 

“He’ll react how he does, and you’ll have to deal with that then,” Rintarō shrugged. “If he throws a little fit, he’ll get over it after he takes some time to think and clear his head. More than anything, he loves you and wants you to be happy. He’s your brother, and more than that, your twin.” 

“Yeah,” Osamu smiled, patting the rice down between his palms. “That’s true. But he’s also a big brat.” 

“Tch, you got that right,” Rintarō snorted, rinsing off the pan and grabbing a nearby dish towel to dry it. “He’ll definitely complain because he just can’t help but pitch a fit about anything and everything.” 

“You called me heartless, but you’re the heartless one, Rin,” Osamu laughed, and his friend only responded with a shrug. He handed Osamu the pan to put away, then started on the next. 

“How am I heartless? I came over here to listen to you whine, and I’m even cleaning your dishes for you. I’d call that generous.” 

“You’re so full of yourself!” Osamu laughed, shaking his head and setting the finished rice sandwich on a plate. “Here, a reward for your hard work, Mr. Generosity.” Rintarō wiped the sudsy water off his hands before walking over to take the plate, leaving the half-cleaned pan in the sink for Osamu to finish later, probably. He shuffled back to the bar to plop into his seat, shoving half the rice sandwich in his mouth to chomp down on it. Osamu looked over his shoulder as he worked on the third, unable to keep from silently asking Rintarō’s opinion. His teammate chewed thoughtfully, then leaned into the bar with a small smile. 

“I’d give it a solid seven out of ten,” he rated, making Osamu snort and grab the dish towel to chuck it at him. Rintarō caught it with the hand not currently occupied with the rice sandwich, waiting for Osamu to turn his back before lobbing it at his head. Osamu rolled his eyes and draped the dish towel over his shoulder, setting the finished sandwich aside before beginning on the last one. 

“That’s not a very nice way to treat the chef.” 

“The chef started it,” was all Rintarō said before filling his mouth with more of Osamu’s delicious rice sandwich. Osamu chuckled. He never could win with Rintarō; he always got the last word, but that was okay. There was a special affection in their little banter that always calmed him down when his nerves ran away from him, and of course, cooking for him always helped, too. Finally, he finished making his own sandwiches and walked over to the bar, climbing up into the stool next to his friend and exhaling deeply. 

“I really do use rice a lot, huh?” he laughed as he picked up the sandwich, turning it over in his hands to inspect it. 

“Well, as you said, it’s a ‘Japanese staple,’” Rintarō replied, his mouth full of rice and egg and ham. He made air quotes as he used Osamu’s words against him, making the gray-haired man snort and shake his head. Still, the phrase got him thinking. Instead of biting the sandwich, he tore it in half, watching the yolk ooze over the lettuce and ham and rice. 

“You know, Rin, maybe I should start a restaurant.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah… An onigiri restaurant. Onigiri is quick and easy to make, but there’s so many ways to do it,” he thought aloud, taking a small bite of the sandwich and chewing thoughtfully. Next time I’ll season the ham, he thought absently and swallowed. “I could probably make other stuff, too, like rice sandwiches and junk... I mean, a lot of people would be willing to pay for a ‘Japanese staple,’ right?” 

“Probably,” Rintarō nodded, working on his second sandwich. Osamu had to smile; when Rintarō really enjoyed his cooking, he grew quiet. The two of them ate in silence for a few minutes, just the sound of their quiet smacking filling the air of the kitchen. There really were two things that defined his friendship with Rintarō, witty banter and companionable silence. Such a dichotomous set of circumstances, but they made it work pretty well, he thought with a sidelong glance at his friend. Rintarō had finished practically inhaling the food and pushed the plate away, turning to lean his cheek in his hand and look at Osamu. 

“So, onigiri?” 

“Yeah,” Osamu said after swallowing a bite. He tilted his head, looking at the half-eaten sandwich in his hand— specifically, the rice. Already, visions of onigiri danced in his head— filled with various premier filings, others with more traditional and nostalgic recipes, some soaked in soy sauce or miso and grilled. The possibilities really were endless. A smile bloomed on his lips as he imagined it, a food truck cart with just a kitchen for him, and smiling faces at his counter as he delivered warm food that would fill bellies and hearts. “Yeah,” he said again, a dreamy echo to his voice. 

“It sounds to me like you’ve already got a great dream for yourself, ‘Samu,” Rintarō smiled, making Osamu look at him. His yellow eyes were slightly lidded and gazing at him proudly. “You should work hard for it. This is your court, after all,” he said with a gesture to the kitchen. Osamu looked at it, at the stove and his tools and the ingredients, and realized he was right. Osamu’s heart had always truly lied with fire and spices, with knife and spoon, with fresh ingredients and kitchen experiments. Sure, landing a spike was nice… But nothing had ever come close to the little flutter in his heart when someone took the first bite of his food and a smile had instantly sprung to their lips. 

“Yeah, you’re right, Rin,” Osamu said, closing his eyes. “This is my court.” 

Maybe he wouldn’t share the court with Atsumu anymore, but that was okay. Here on this court, he could learn to shine just as bright as his brother could. But that didn’t mean that they had to go completely their separate ways. They were brothers, twins. Osamu would always have his door and heart open for his brother. While Atsumu wowed the world with his show-stopping talent, Osamu would be on another stage, bringing home-cooked meals to the masses. Yet he’d always have a seat for his beloved brother, ready to give a listening ear and his favorite meal. A star athlete couldn’t perform on an empty belly, after all. 

Osamu found himself smiling as he imagined it, more than he’d ever smiled while thinking about roaming the various courts with his brother. Time would march ever on, bringing them closer and closer to the fork in their road— but Osamu wasn’t afraid of that anymore. Roads were winding and interconnected, and so he and Atsumu would always find their way back to one another. 

“Thanks, Rin,” Osamu said, opening his eyes to look back at his friend. When he did, he discovered that Rintarō had stolen the other rice sandwich off his plate and was chewing on it unabashedly. Osamu smiled wanly, shaking his head. “You could’ve just asked me to make you another, you know. You didn’t have to steal mine.” 

“Well, it was just sitting there while you were all in your feelings,” Rintarō shrugged. “I figured that I would put it out of its misery.” 

“What about my misery?” 

“Eh,” Rintarō shrugged and jammed the rest of the sandwich in his mouth. “You’ll live.” Osamu rolled his eyes and shoved Rintarō lightly in the shoulder, making the boy grunt and give him a small pout. His eyes brightened when Osamu slid down from the stool, and he hopefully asked, “Are you making more?” 

“Yes, yes,” Osamu laughed with a wave of his hand, rounding the bar to the kitchen— his court. “Be patient, you fatass. You’ll get more.” 

“You’re so mean to me, ‘Samu. I don’t wanna be friends anymore.” 

“Fine, but no more of my cooking for you.” 

“I was joking!” Rintarō cried, a little desperate. Osamu picked up his trusty spatula with a chuckle, looking back at him. 

“That’s what I thought. Now, just sit there and watch a master go to work, will ya?” 

Yes, this was his court, he thought as he looked around the kitchen with a soft smile. He was home here, even without his twin. He’d make art here, art for all to share as time marched ever on, bringing him closer and closer to the realization of a dream he’d start working on this very minute. Tick-tock, the clock ticks ever on, but he had nothing to fear now. The world was his onigiri to mold and make and fill with what he wished.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

[nickelkeep]

Try Something New

Pairing: Sam/Eileen/Gabe Rating: T Word Count: 2.1K Warnings: Season 15 Fix It, Pre-Poly, Poly Negotiations Written For: FicWip’s Holiday Exchange Nope, still not on Ao3. Still Working on that.

Sam sat at the War Table. His laptop was open, and the software that Charlie had made so long ago was scanning newspapers across the country. While it was scrolling dutifully, it was the last thing on his mind. Sam’s attention was focused on the small cell phone in his hand. Every time the screen went black, he would hit the button to wake it back up. His own face would look back at him, smiling.

Even after everything Chuck had dragged them through, Eileen had kept Sam’s picture as her phone’s lock screen. Sam shivered involuntarily as he thought of Eileen.

Everyone who had been snapped by Chuck had been returned. Charlie. Stevie. Bobby. Donna. Jody. The girls. Every single one of them had been restored by Jack. It didn’t make sense. Even Cas, who had been taken by the Empty, was returned sans grace by Jack.

So where was she?

It wasn’t like Sam didn’t pray to Jack. He did, once a day. The kid might be the new God, but he was still his, Dean’s, and Cas’ son first. And every time he prayed, Sam asked for some sort of sign that Eileen was alive.

Sam set down Eileen’s phone and picked up his own. There were no new texts, no missed calls.

Fuck, he needed something to distract him from the growing chasm inside his chest. It was time to take a page from Dean’s book of coping. A visit with the other Jack.

...

Several shots later, Sam groaned as his head hit the table beneath him. “Why did I think this would be a good idea?” A hand rested on his shoulder, and a cool wave of relief rushed through him.

“I’m not sure.” Sam turned his head to the side and looked up, his eyes finding the mischievous golden eyes of Gabriel smiling down at him. “You had a choice of two Jacks, and you chose the one that comes in a bottle.”

“Gabe? No. You’re in the fucking empty. I’m fucking hallucinating.” Sam rotated his head back so his forehead rested on the chilled wood. He let out a sigh. “If I’m talking to a ghost, I might as well get it off my chest. Jack wasn’t answering.”

“I’m as real as they get, Sam.” For a hallucination, Gabriel was actually pretty solid. “As for Jack, I’m not surprised. The kid’s following in Pop’s footsteps. A hands-off approach.” The inflection in Gabriel’s voice betrayed his annoyance. “So, you pray to Jack, you tell him about your day.”

“I ask about Eileen! I ask him every day for some sort of sign she’s alive.” Sam scoffed as he sat up. “I don’t get anything from him. There’s no response.”

Gabriel’s smile broadened across his face as he laughed. “I’m sorry, Sam. I know it’s not funny. You’re clearly missing her. But, as the last remaining Archangel, I thought you were getting my sign.” He handed Sam Eileen’s phone. “Have you needed to charge it? Has it died once since you started asking if she’s okay?”

“What?” Sam took the phone hesitantly. He pressed the button to wake it up and promptly looked at the battery. 100% Charge. “You kept her phone charged to show me that she’s alive?”

“This is me we're talking about. I thought it was clever. You’re always looking at it, flipping through the pictures Eileen keeps on it. Re-reading your messages with her.” Gabriel walked around the table and sat down across from Sam. “I figured that as long as it was alive, one, you’d be able to smile on your memories with Eileen, and two, you would know that she’s alive.”

“Gabe, I didn’t notice until just now.” Sam ran his fingers through his hair before setting her phone down. “I mean, I should have. But it’s been the last thing on my mind.” He rubs his face before resting his head in his palms. “So wait. You’re alive, and she’s alive?”

“Very much so,” Gabriel replied. “I’m sorry my message wasn’t clear.”

Sam jumped up at the confirmation. “Gabe, she’s alive?!”

“Yeah, Sam. I think we need to get your hearing checked as I already confirmed it several times over.” Gabriel tilted his head, watching Sam’s reaction. “I thought you would be happy to know that I’ve been keeping an eye on her. When Jack restored everyone, I made sure that I was there when he restored her. Someone needed to be with her. Jack was a little focused on reviving Cas to focus on the people he UnThanosed.”

“Why isn’t she here? Where is she? Is she hurt or stuck? Do I need to go get her?”

Gabriel did his best to appear innocent. “She wanted to learn to believe again.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Over the months, you all did something unthinkable—you, Dean, Cas, Rowena, Eileen, even Jack. You guys saved the world. There were sacrifices. You lost loved ones.” Gabriel reached across the table and picked up Eileen’s phone. “And even though you succeeded in the end, it was still with great sacrifice. Dean lost Cas. You lost Eileen. The Winchester found family was dust in the wind.

“Once you guys defeated Chuck, and Jack took his power and absorbed Amara, he tried to reset the world as best as a three-year-old could. He brought back everyone. He returned your loved ones.” Gabriel gestured to himself as he looked up at Sam. “When Jack restored Eileen, I made sure I was there. I didn’t want her to forget what happened, so I was there.”

Sam sat back down slowly. “She wouldn’t have remembered Chuck erasing her?”

“Jack brought everyone back, and despite what you may think of me, I wanted to make it as minimally traumatic as possible. So when everyone returned, I erased the memory of them not feeling so well. For the majority of the world, it was like no time passed at all.” Gabriel twirled a finger, and a sucker manifested. He unwrapped it and popped it in his mouth.

“I can understand that. But what does that have to do with Eileen?”

“She remembers everything. Eileen remembers you bringing her back to life, how it was Chuck’s manipulation. She remembers your proclamation of love before she left the bunker to find herself.” Gabriel looked around the library before leaning forward like he had a secret. “Eileen thinks that she let you down.”

“What? No!” Sam shook his head. “What happened was out of her control. Chuck did manipulate her, but her feelings, our feelings? Those were real. They belonged to us!”

Gabriel nodded. “I am well aware. However, Chuck also knew this and lied to make you believe that they weren’t.”

“I thought we had moved past that.” Sam hung his hand between his heads.

“Well, being erased, then brought back by Jack, being welcomed back to life by me, it kinda threw her faith again.” Sam’s jaw dropped, and his mouth gaped open, causing Gabriel to quickly explain. “She wants to know she’s going to stay on Earth this time. Eileen doesn’t want to go back to hell or go to heaven yet. She thought I was there to take her up to the pearly gates.” Gabriel pointed his lollipop at Sam. ”She doesn’t want to be nothing or forgotten. She doesn’t want to just be. Eileen wants to know her place in this world.”

“That’s all fair and good, Gabe, but I’ve been worried sick, no way to find her.” Sam looked at the Archangel sitting across from him. “Does she not want to be with me?”

“She thinks that you may not want to be with her.” Gabriel kicked his feet up on the table and leaned back in his seat. “Something about Sam’s angel is back to watch over him.”

Sam nodded. Then realized what Gabriel said. “Wait, what?”

“When she realized I was alive, since you know, I’m the one who went to her, she thought it was me staking my claim on you.” Gabriel held his hands up when Sam scowled. “I didn’t. I actually told her otherwise. That you mourned me and moved on.”

“That’s not entirely true.” Sam blushed. “Eileen knows how much I love you, Gabe. She and I have a different love from what you and I had. Have. I don’t even know right now.” He shook his head. “I need to find her, Gabe. If I had known she was actively hiding from me…”

“You’d what? Try and find her? Eileen’s one of the best hunters out there. She’d outrun you every time.” Gabriel pulled his sucker out of his mouth again and stared at it for a moment. “Ever think that I may have made myself known to you right now because maybe now she’s ready?”

“Is this one of your tricks, Gabe?”

Gabriel at least pretended to be offended. “Me, pull a trick in regards to something this serious?” When Sam’s face twisted into trademarked bitchface number 135, Gabriel shook his head and laughed. “Sam, I’m serious when it comes to this.“

"So what makes you think she wants to see me now?”

“I’ve been with her this entire time, Sam.” Gabriel paused to let that register. “We’ve spent the past couple of months getting to know each other. I certainly wasn’t joking when she said that she wanted to know her place in this world.”

“Where is she?”

Gabriel closed his eyes, and a moment later, Eileen walked into the Library. “Hi, Sam.” She looked nervous, almost afraid, and Sam hated it. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” Sam signed as he asked his question.

“I assume Gabe told you already? About me wanting to find me again?” Eileen waited for Sam to nod before continuing. “I’m sorry it took me so long to realize that while everything may have been a part of Chuck’s story, that it didn’t negate what I felt for you. Or what you feel for me. I know that we had started working on it, but when Gabe found me, everything I had started to build came falling down like a house of cards.”

Sam shot another bitchface – number thirty-seven - at Gabriel, who held up his hands in defense again. Sam deflated and looked at Eileen. “I would have been happy to talk to you.” He looked at Gabriel, continuing his signing for Eileen. “Both of you.”

“I know, Sam. Gabe knows too. But the truth be told, I really did need to figure out what my role in life, especially now that Chuck is gone, and Jack is in charge.” Eileen looked at Gabe and smiled. “I’m still my own woman, I can still kick any monster’s ass, I’m still independent. But I have two very dedicated people who love me.”

“Two?” Sam followed Eileen’s gaze to Gabriel. “Gabe?”

Gabriel shrugged. “What can I say? I see why she means the world to you.” He offered a hand to both Sam and Eileen. “I don’t see a reason why this can’t work, Sam. You and ‘Leen have your relationship. ‘Leen and I have ours, And then we have ours. Three separate relationships between three people who care deeply about each other.”

“You make it sound easy.” He looked back to Eileen and repeated his statement in Sign for her. “What do you think, Eileen?”

“I think nothing in life is easy. Especially the things you want. You work for what you want.” She looked at Gabriel and smiled before looking back at Sam. “It might not be easy, but it’s something we deserve. Happiness.”

Sam worried his bottom lip as the words of both his lover and former lover embedded themselves in his brain and heart. He could have both. They had gone searching for answers together, and both agreed on one thing.

Him.

“This is new territory for me”— Sam held up a finger when Gabriel tried to interject. —“for all of us. But if you both are willing, then I’m willing.” He looked over at Eileen. “But we need to be open with each other.” He turned to Gabe. “And we need to be honest with each other.”

Gabriel wrapped his arm around Sam’s waist at the same time he pulled Eileen in for a hug. “We get it, Sam.” He kissed the top of Eileen’s head before standing on tiptoe to kiss Sam. “And you got us.”

[1000roughdrafts]

Family Secrets: Chapter Five

Pretty Thoughts

Summary: After interrogating a demon for weeks on end, she gives you the information you‘ve been hunting for. Enlisting help from Garth brings trouble in the form of Dean Winchester. 

A/N: again, sorry about formatting, I’m on mobile. Also, happy halloweeeeeen🎃:)

Warnings: SPN style demon torture (lol), obscenities, slight angst (argument between reader x dean), Dean in slight pain

W/C: 2.7k

Masterlist/schedule

Previous Chapter

"Just give me their names you disgusting rat," you shout through clenched teeth at the thin, black hair and black eyed demon you have strapped to a rusted chair. Dumping holy water onto the demons face you smile as it screams out in agony. With clammy hands you lean in, your face just inches away from it's blood drenched cheek. "You're going to die no mater what, so give me what I need and I'll put you out of your misery."

The demon stays silent, looking at you with it's now chestnut eyes with russet rims. It's long lashes bat once at you. "Mandy," you say gingerly while pushing yourself up to stretch out your back.

Taking a glimpse at the devils trap you've carved into the floorboards of a room you and Rufus had added onto the cabin, it wretchedly begs, "it's been weeks."

"Pretty neat, huh?" You mendaciously chuckle while toying with the dagger. "I've expanded on the normal version. Thought I'd had a trick of my own. You're dying, slowly and never to return again that's to some spells I've learned along the way."

"How cute. A hunter dabbling in magic. Does daddy know that you're no better than those you're in search of?" She puts on a false pout before breaking into laughter, "oh, wait."

Your eyebrows erect to reveal your arrogant eyes and temperate smirk. "Names. Now."

The demon stays silent, continuing to look around for a way out. Fed up with its evasiveness you grab a syringe filled with holy water and finished off with a spell to elongate the effects, to quickly inject the demon before it can scream out. After giving a second dose, you throw the empty syringe back onto the tray.

"Guess I'll see you in a few days, then." You laugh, "if you're still alive that is. See, I do need this information, but if you die before I can get it, well, that just means I have to kill more of your kind. And that's a win win for me."

You stealthily turn to walk towards the wooden block of a door that leads to the cabin. As you approach the first step, the demon lets out a thundering, frustration driven growl. Twisting around to face the demon, you smile, "yes?"

"Allanah Sandburn, Rose Coach, Taylor something and Violet Yasmin."

"Who else?" you demand while striding over and paralleling you're torso to the demons, pulling your dagger to her cheek.

"Guess you're gonna have to get another 'rat' to tell you that one," it shrieks, spitting at you. "That's all I know."

"Good one," you say, wiping the saliva from your cheek with the back of your hand and letting out a small chuckle. "I guess you're right."

Thrusting the blade into the left center of the demons chest it lets out one last ear piercing shrill, throwing its head back in torment. The body twitches and convulses and the last bit of essence vanished from the vessel in a luminous flash of vivid energy.

After showering the dagger in holy water you use your handkerchief to wipe it dry before dialing a number into your cell. "Hi, Garth." You pause and smile, "yeah, grab a piece of paper, would ya?"

You rotate around and stride over to the demon. "Can you do me a solid and have a look-see at a few names?"

—

A nauseating stench vents into the smokey air as you glare into the pit and gawk at the burning carcass. You reach into your pocket and put the singing phone to your ear, "what's the word?"

"Why are you asking Garth to track down a coven?"

"Grumpy? What are you doing with Garths cell?"

"What? I'm no- didn't you see the number before you answered?"

"Luckily for you, I didn't. Slick move leaving your card behind, I thought I had your number blocked."

"Yeah, well," Dean clears his throat. "Sam says I may have been a little too tough on you."

"Tough?" You called me a fucking monster, asshole, your thoughts scream.

"Now, I know I called you a monster and hey," he chuckles, "I've been there. Like you said, a lot of hunters have a bounty on my head."

"And?" Do you expect me to fucking care? You think as you sit on the cement steps in front of the porch.

"And I'm not expecting you to care or anything, but, uh, I thought 'what the hell, let's give her a shot'. What do you say?"

"Give me a shot?" Better make sure that's an iron bullet, you cynically joke.

"No, look, I'm not fixin' to shoot you," he says quickly and then more smoothly, "I'm saying I want a second chance."

"Yeah well you can take that and-"

"Shove it where the sun don't shine? Tried that. It can right on back."

You can hear a playful grin that he's attempting to suppress, and roll your eyes at the image. "I have gone a very long time with just myself, I think I can handle-"

"You're not doing it on your own. Covens typically meet in groups of-"

"Thirteen. I'm aware. I wasn't born yesterday."

"Says the girl who doesn't even know when she was born," he scowls.

You laugh, "aw, would you look at that, it didn't even take more than five minutes for your true colors to shine back through."

"Okay, smarty pants, I'm looking at this from a logical point of view. Thirteen against one are not great odds. You want to get yourself killed? Be my first. But if you want help, do nothing until we get back. What do you say?"

"That's assuming that I'm not already being logical about this." You pause, "tell me what Garth found out and I light agree to that."

He sighs, "the main one you're looking for Allanah. I guess she was last seen somewhere near Kansas City, but seriously... don't go poking around until me and Sam get back to the cabin. Just stay where you are. Do you hear me?"

You switch the phone to your alternate ear, standing up from the steps. "You are not in charge of me, Dean! We met purely coincidentally, you threatened me and I went off on my own remember? I didn't even want to hear from you again!" What does he care anyway?

"Whatever. I don't care. Just don't drag Garth into it."

"Oh," you scoff. "So that's a perfectly acceptable thing for Dean Winchester, but I can't?" Asshole.

"What did you just say?"

Louder this time, you repeat yourself, "I'm saying you don't own him. You can't just keep bossing people aro-"

"No, something about an ass."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I could have sworn you called me an asshole."

Immediately you end the call and hold the phone against your chest. "How in the hell could he have heard that?" You say aloud, too scared to say anything mentally.

Walking inside to grab yourself a much needed beer you try to drown out the idea of Dean Winchester heading your every thought. You're trying to keep them concealed and nothing too personal, but after a lifetime of privacy as far as thoughts go, it's not as easy as you hope. Opening the beer, your phone rings again.

"Leave me alone," you growl.

"Oh," Tim says, "I'm sorry. I didn't realize you were upset with me."

You put your palm to your forehead, "I'm not, Tim. I'm sorry. I was just on the phone with someone else, and... what's up?"

"Well, there's this guy missing from my town. The police don't seem to be doing much, but I really gotta know if he's okay, you know?" He sniffles, "I figured since you're part of the FBI or CSI or secret service or something you could look into it?"

"Oh, I don't know, Tim," you sigh. "It doesn't really... work that way."

"Please? It would really mean a lot to me."

"Just... just text me the location."

By the time you arrive, the neighborhood is dark. No street or porch lights are on. Most of the houses are guarded up with rusted chains on the windows and skirted with tall metal fences. You grab your pistol from the glove box and double check the clip. With the dagger still in your boot, you sneak out while checking for wandering eyes. The sidewalk that interrupts a dandelion garden leads to a golden brown door. Checking over your shoulder once more, you pick the lock and creep inside.

What you presume used to be a coffee table is wearing the couch and underneath the two is a torn up rug. Shards of splintered wood litter the floor where the dining table had collapsed. A thick coating of muddy red blood is splattered over the previously cotton white walls and wooden floor. You aren't sure whether it came from one person or more, but it is enough to leave a man dead. The only room unscathed is the office, which seems to remain orderly if it weren't for the papers scattered around.

Whoever is doing this was looking for something.

After bowing to your knees, you rummage through the cluster trying to find a clue. You check the mahogany dressers of his desk, and find nothing to suggest he had a life outside of work. You open the screen of his laptop and smile when it pulls everything up with no need to enter a password. Finding nothing but excel worksheets and business projects, you focus your attention to the matching bookshelf to see much of the sale.

Nothing seems to be helpful until you notice that one is remarkably shallow compared to the other. Quickly and quietly, you pull everything out and using the heel of your gun you give the makeshift bottom a rough tap. After a few attempts it opens just enough to reach inside. The tips of your fingers are instantly cold to the touch of a large skeleton key. 

"I believe that belongs to me, sweetheart."

Drawing your weapon you whip around and lime the barrel between the mans eyes.

"Ah, the ol' gun to the head trick," he laughs with his arks in the air. "Go ahead, love, wouldn't work on me anyway." He drops his arms as you bend to reach the dagger, keeping him in sight. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. I know what you're going for, darling, and I'd strongly advice against it."

"Who are you?" Dean help! You scream in your mind, putting as much strength and emphasis onto the name as you can, hoping that he can hear you.

"Trying to cut out the foreplay I see," he snarls while walking to your side. "Very well, then. The names Crowley," he says proudly, chin held high.

Bursting through the door of the cabin, the Winchester's lug in their bags and plop them into the floor. Sam shuffled through one of the books shelves while Dean is staring out of a, foolishly open, window. He steps back and forth along the floor before throwing his arms out and halts his pacing, “we have four missing people, and never seen or heard of before weather patterns."

Sam lets out an exasperated sigh, "are we sure they're even connected?" He pulls a book from the case and settles in at the table to flip through it. He scans the room, twisting his body in both directions, "said a minute. Wasn't Blue supposed to be here?"

"I couldn't give a -" in completion of a sentence, Dean screams obscenities as he drops to the floor boards, holding his head in his hands.

"Woah, what's going on?" Sam scrambles to his side, dropping to the floor with him.

"I don't-" Dean belts out another cry of pain, "I don't know. I can hear her though."

"Who?" Sam pulls his brother up by the shirt and sits him upright. "Who do you hear?"

Dean clasps at his chest, looking up at Sam with wide eyes, "Blue. She's in trouble."

"I'm only here for one thing." He puts his lips next to your ear, and a hand in your hair. "And I'd hate to break those lovely little fingers of yours to get it, but you see, I'd do anything to get what I want." After rolling his fingers down your sleeve he removed his hand to point at the key, "and what I want is that."

"Did you kill him? What's so special about this key anyway?"

He chuckles, taking a short breath and turning his back to you. "You're such a naive, little, what? Hunger, are you? You really think I would waste my precious time on this fool?" He side eyes you while walking over to the bookshelf. "The key," he says, pouring some bourbon into a glass, "is really for me to know and for you," he paused with a grin and takes it down in one gulp, "to never find out."

"Wow," you scoff. Dean! Dean! Dean! Grumpy! Dean!

His eyes squint before trailing up and down your figure. When they meet back up with yours they are curious, and intrigued, "what's your name, love?"

"I'm not about to play share and tell with a demon," you scowl.

"King of Hell," he says through his teeth. "I could snap your neck with a snap of my fingers," he smiles and holds his hand up, "humor me."

"But I've piqued you're interest, haven't I? You could have done that from the start, but you didn't." You mirror the expression on his face as he pours himself another glass without removing his eyes from yours. "Which means you need me alive, don't you? Why?"

"Because we made a deal," a woman's voice fills the room before she can be seen. Grumpy, please! She slowly walks to Crowleys side, glancing at him once before resting an arm on his shoulder. She smiles at you, "hi, Y/N. It's been so long since I've seen you. So for the sake of meeting in, oh I don't know, twenty or so years, I'm Allanah."

She makes her way over to you, wrapping her arms sound your back and grabbing the key. She hands it to Crowley, who disappears instantly.

Allanah laughs, "the part he doesn't know is that without you, that key is nothing more than a paper weight."

Dean drops his hands to his knees and struggled to get his words out through chunky breaths, "have you seen a woman?"

"I run a bar, kid. You're gonna have to be a lot more specific than that," the man scoffs.

"I got this," Sam whispers and turns to face the bald and bearded man behind the counter. Clearing his throat, he asserts, "I'm agent Scott and uh, my partner here is Agent Paxton." Dean sits at the bar, using it as a pillow and only raises a hand in acknowledgment.

Sliding a picture onto the counter, Sam continues, "her name is Blue. Have you seen her come by in the last month or so?"

The man only shakes his head, Sam puts a palm down on the counter. "She may have had a, uh, fling with one of your employees."

The man laughs, "if you think that narrows it down, you'd be mistaken."

"I believe his name was Tim."

"That sounds about right. That Tim sure did have a way with the ladies," she shakes his head with another chuckle.

"Did?"

"Yeah, he quit comin' round about two weeks ago. No calls, nothing. Was a shame, too. It's difficult to find people who work in this damn town."

Dean... please, I'm begging you. Please.

"Shut up!" Dean yells, pounding the counter with his fist and capturing the attention of the people in the bar. When he noticed all eyes are on him, he adjusts his tie and gives a tired chuckle, "bad dream," he jokes with a half nod and light wave before dropping his upper portion back onto the counter.

Sam pulls a card from his suit and places it onto the bar, "if you hear anything." He lifts his eyebrows while tilting his head slightly and adds force to his words, "from either of them, give me a call."

Next Chapter

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All our blackout blinds developed for nurseries are made in neutral, soothing tones such as light blues, greys as well as lotions to help carefully relieve your child to sleep. For when your kid matures, we have a range of youngsters's blackout blinds in fun colours and designs. If you mount this modern-day and trendy looking window therapy, you will want to install it from the outdoors, so it completely shuts out as much light as feasible. The color is black on the front and silver on the window-facing side to make sure that you will be shielded from UV rays, and your bed room remains protected. The cordless design is optimal for security, and also it maintains a tidy look for your window, lacking mess, and tangled cords.

Is it hard to install blinds?

Blinds.com recommends at least 1.5" of overlap on each side of the window for blinds and shades, and 2" of overlap on each side for solar or roller shades and vertical blinds. The extra width provides more privacy and light blockage. As always, record your measurements down to the nearest 1/8 inch.

The textile runs within side channels to shut out all light around the sides. A lot of manufacturers call these blinds a 'dim-out blind' as there are extremely couple of blinds that will actually guarantee 100% power outage. If you select to have a blackout blind you don't require curtains unless you want them for your finished design as well as appearance.

Louvolite One Touch ® Motorised Blinds.

A combination in between roller and also venetian blinds, one layer is a clear while the other is solid colour, with a range of designs, products, and textures offered. As a matter of fact, study has actually discovered that details cells in your eyes are created to pick up the existence or lack of light. These cells do not determine colors or shapes - simply whether there's any type of light around you.

Which way should your blinds face for privacy?

A Day & Night blind can be cut to size, much like a roller blind, however, it is a difficult process to ensure that each layer of material is cut exactly the same, the roller mechanism is cut to the right size and you aren't left with any fraying or jagged edges.

Splash Power Outage Scribble Stem Seagrass.

Zonwering ='text-align:center'>

Cellular blinds, blackout film, and other Do It Yourself methods can be similarly as effective. Some areas do not need to be entirely passed out in order to achieve the impact you are looking for. As an example, if you have a big window in your living-room, permitting too much warm in, you and your family are going to be uneasy.

[file-formats-programming]

Rotate Text inside PDF Table Cell & Enhanced PDF to PDFA, PPTX Conversion using .NET

What's New in this Release?

Aspose team is pleased to announce the release of Aspose.Pdf for .NET 17.6.0. This release mainly focuses on fixing the issues reported in earlier release versions and like always recommended, Aspose team encourage customers to try using latest release versions as they contain recent enhancements and improvements in terms of problems resolution. Table is one of the widely used elements inside PDF document to represent data and sometimes we have a requirement to rotate the text inside the table cell. The code snippet on the blog announcement page shows the steps to rotate text with 90 degrees and render it in table cell. Apart from above mentioned improvements, the PDF to PDF/A, PDF to DOC/DOCX, PDF to PPT/PPTX conversion features are specifically improved in this release. These features have been greatly tested under various scenarios while using different input files. The PDF/A validation feature is also tuned to produce more reliable results. Furthermore, the EPUB to PDF, Text manipulation, PDF to Image conversion, Text extraction are among the improvement areas.  The list of important new and improved features are given below

Rotate Text in Table Cell

NullReferenceException in Epub rendering

Text fragment is not replaced properly

Exception thrown during validation

The program execution stuck during validation

PDF to PDFA Conversion Generating output with incorrect formatting

PDF to PDFA Conversion Generating output with incorrect formatting

PDF to PDFA Conversion Generating output with incorrect formatting

When PDF is converted to PPTX, the text in table is moved vertically

When PDF is converted to PPTX, a text is moved down

PDF to PDFA Conversion Generating output with incorrect formatting

PDF/A-1 conversion creates invalid XRef table

Aspose.PDF.Text.CharInfo LLX and URX have same values

PDF to DOC/DOCX: text is concatenated

PDF to DOC/DOCX: text is missing

PDF to PPTX: TOC missing in resultant PPTX

PDF to PPTX: text alignment changed in resultant PPTX

PDF to PPTX: Text breaks into two line

PDF to PPTX: highlighted text is not rendering correctly

Other most recent bug fixes are also included in this release.

Newly added documentation pages and articles

Some new tips and articles have now been added into Aspose.Pdf for .NET documentation that may guide users riefly how to use Aspose.Pdf for performing different tasks like the followings.

Replace Text in a PDF Document

Manipulate and Integrate Table

Overview: Aspose.Pdf for .NET

Aspose.Pdf is a .Net Pdf component for the creation and manipulation of Pdf documents without using Adobe Acrobat. Create PDF by API, XML templates & XSL-FO files. It supports form field creation, PDF compression options, table creation & manipulation, graph objects, extensive hyperlink functionality, extended security controls, custom font handling, add or remove bookmarks; TOC; attachments & annotations; import or export PDF form data and many more. Also convert HTML, XSL-FO and MS WORD to PDF.

More about Aspose.Pdf for .NET

Homepage of Aspose.Pdf for .NET C#

Download Aspose.Pdf for .NET

[theycallmebeccawrites]

One Shot: Weekend Getaway

With Tumblr holding my original writing blog @beccaheartschrisevans captive (aka flagged as explicit), I have made a secondary writing blog and may end up closing the other all together. In the meantime, I am reposting all of my stories on my new blog.

Title: Weekend Getaway

Pairing: Chris x reader

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: language, descriptive sex scenes

Summary: Chris Evans and his wife go to Cape Cod for their 10th Wedding Anniversary

Disclaimer: This work of fiction is not to be reposted, used or translated without my permission.

18+ Disclaimer: This work contains sexual material that is for those over the age of 18. By clicking the keep reading link below, you are agreeing that you are over the age of 18 and are not offended by sexual content.

This story can also be read on AO3.

Three months into your tenth year as Mrs. Chris Evans, you are in the passenger seat as Chris drives the two of you out to Cap Code for a long weekend. This trip was attempt number three at celebrating your anniversary and Chris had been obsessing over this weekend for weeks. Not that you could blame him for wanting to make sure nothing was going to interrupt your romantic weekend away.

Getaway attempt number one had been scheduled for the actual weekend of your anniversary, but three puking kids had pulled the plug on that trip. The second attempt had been canceled due to a work emergency for you that had required you to work extended hours for an entire month to fix. Then Chris's work schedule had forced you to put off the trip until now.

For your getaway, he had rented a beachfront house in Cape Cod and he had taken care of every little detail. The only thing he had allowed you to do was pack your own bag, though he had offered to do that, too.

As you near the coast, dark clouds appear in the sky and the first drops of rain hit the windshield when you are thirty minutes from the house. You can feel the tension radiating off of Chris and you quickly switch the radio to a smooth jazz station, hoping it will help him relax.

By the time you make it to the house, the rain has escalated to a downpour and Chris's attitude is as dark as the sky. You ignore his insistence that you go inside while he unloads the car and help him carry the groceries into the house.

Once everything is inside, you direct him to the bathroom to take a hot shower and change into dry clothes. He starts to protest, but you give him the mom look and he stops arguing.

While he is in the shower, you set to work on the perfect meal for a rainy fall day: grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup. While the soup is heating up on the gas stove, you load wood in the wood stove and start a fire. You know that Chris will probably pout because you didn't let him start the fire, but it's the only source of heat for the small house and you're cold.

By the time Chris reappears, wearing a dry pair of sweats and a flannel shirt, your late lunch/early dinner is ready to eat and main part of the house is starting to feel nice and toasty.

"I'm sorry for being an ass," he apologizes as he sits down next to you at the table. "I just want this weekend to be perfect and the rain -"

"This weekend will be perfect because we're together," you cut him off. You squeeze his hand and then turn your attention to your food.

After you finish eating, you go into the bathroom to take a hot shower. Warmed up from your shower, you put on a long flannel night shirt and a pair of fleece pajama pants. You complete the look with a thick pair of wool socks and a pair of UGG boots.

Returning to the living room, you find Chris in the process of rotating the couch from being in front of the TV to being in front of the windows that look out at the ocean. You quickly step in and help complete the process.

"That's quite the storm going on out here," you say as you sit down on the couch. You can see flashes of lightning out over the water and it both excites you and makes you nervous.

"We're safe here," Chris assures you as he sits down next to you. He puts his feet up on the coffee table and you snuggle into him as you watch the storm rage outside.

You don't realize you've fallen asleep until you are startled awake by Chris getting up suddenly. Looking around, you see that it's not only dark outside, but inside, too. "What's going on?" you ask.

"We lost power," Chris explains as he uses the flashlight on his phone to read the homeowner's note about what to do in the event of an emergency. "Help me get the emergency stuff?"

Getting off the couch, you follow Chris into the kitchen where he grabs a chair and pulls it over to the fridge. He climbs onto the chair to get to the cabinets above and starts handing you candles, flashlights, a lantern and other miscellaneous things. You set them all on the kitchen counter and then wait for him to climb down.

"Should we light the candles or use the lantern?" he asks.

"Candles are more romantic," you say. "But I don't think we need them just yet." A flash of lightning lights up the sky and fills the house with light for a second. "Maybe just the flashlights for now?"

"That works for me," Chris nods. He takes his cell phone out of his pocket and sends a quick text message. "Alright, I told mom that we lost power and that we're turning off our phones to conserve the batteries."

You nod and take your cell phone out of your purse. You turn it off and then put it on the kitchen counter next to the lantern.

With a flashlight in hand, Chris leads you back to the couch. He turns the flashlight off and sets it on the corner of the coffee table before he lays down on the couch. He then pulls you down so you're lying on top of him.

"I thought we were going to watch the storm," you tease as you trace his bearded chin with your finger.

"We're going to make our own storm," he says cheesily. A flash of lightning fills the room with light and his blue eyes sparkle. "Kiss me."

You lean forward and press your lips against those of the man you promised to love and cherish until death do you part. Heat flares through you as you feel his hands grab your hips and his fingers dig into the extra flesh that two pregnancies have left behind. In the twelve years you've been with Chris, including those before you were married, he has worshiped and loved on every inch of your body and made you feel like a goddess.

Wanting to repay the favor, you end the kiss and start your descent down his body. You start by undoing the buttons of his flannel shirt, revealing his hairy chest. He has waxed it a few times over the years for movies, but you've always prefered him this way. You press your lips into his skin and breath in the scent that is him. You've tried to describe the scent in the past, but it's impossible, he just smells like him and there is no one else in the world that smells like him.

As lightning flashes across the sky, you swirl your tongue over one of his pink nipples. The roar of thunder drowns out his moans as you repeat the action on the other.

"Boobs," he says, hoarsely. "Show me your boobs."

Smiling you straddled his lower body and pull the long night shirt over your head. You drop it onto the floor and feel your nipples harden due to the difference in temperature.

His hands find your forearms in the dark and travel up your arms to your shoulders. He pushes your hair over your shoulders and then draws his hands down to your breasts. You close your eyes as his rough fingers massage your sensitive skin and you momentarily forget your mission to please him as he rolls your nipples between his thumbs and pointer fingers.

Another flash of lightning fills the room and you remember that you're supposed to be pleasing him. You nudge his hands away and then continue your way south until you are situated between his legs. His sweats are already tented from his arousal and you can't help but run a teasing hand over his manhood.

"Fuck," he moans.

You lick your lips as you grab the waistband of his pants and pull them down, his manhood springs to full attention as soon as the constricting material is out of the way. You feel his eyes on you as you stare at the beautiful organ that has brought you immense pleasure over the years.

Though you've manhandled him many times, your first caress of his manhood is timid. You glide your fingers down to the shaft into the small tuft of hair at the base. You take your time, letting your fingers walk and dance over the skin as he lets out pleasure filled noises.

Thunder sounds above as you finally wrap your hand around him, using some of his precum to lubricate your movements. You feel his heated skin pulsate under your fingers and lean in for a taste.

He curses as you sample his offerings and you feel his hips jerk forward as you circle the tip of his manhood with your tongue. Slowly, you slide him into your mouth, letting one hand rest at the base of his manhood while the other supports your weight.

The sounds he is making get lost in the crashing of the thunder over your heads and you miss his warning that he is about to come. You feel his hips thrust forward and feel his cock jerk against your mouth as the first shot of his seed hits the back of your throat. You're more prepared for the second shot and the ones that follow that.

His chest is heaving when it's all said and done. You swallow what made it into your mouth and then use your tongue to clean up what didn't.

"Come here," he says once you are finished.

You crawl up his body and lay your head on his chest. The storm continues to rage outside as you lay safe and warm in your husbands embrace. His hand caresses your back, sliding lower and lower with each pass, eventually pushing down the back of your sweats until your bum is fully exposed to the air.

You shiver as you part your legs and allow him entry into the fire that came alive while you pleasured him. His fingers dance across your folds and softly nudge the sensitive bundle of nerves at the top. One of his long fingers presses against the opening of your sex and you breath out a sigh of pleasure as he pushes it in.

A crash of thunder right above you startles you both and it is then that you realize that you have goosebumps, not from his teasing, but from the temperature of the room.

"I think the fire is dying out," Chris says as he slides his hand from your body. "Go to the bedroom, I'll met you there in a moment."

Climbing off of him, you grab your night shirt and go into the bedroom, letting the flashlight guide you. Instead of putting the shirt on, you toss it onto the chair in the corner. Your UGGs, socks, sweats and panties meet a similar end and you slip into the bed completely naked.

Chris comes into the room, a few minutes later, with his own flashlight. A sudden flash of lightning illuminates the room and you see his eyebrows shoot up when he sees your pile of clothes. He shuts off his flashlight and you strain your eyes to watch him undress in the dark.

Once he is naked, he joins you in the big bed and wastes no time in finding your body. He presses you into the mattress as his mouth comes down on yours. While you kiss, his hand slides down your body to the aching juncture between your legs. His thumb finds your pleasure point and takes a lazy lap around it, occasionally applying a little more pressure that makes you gasp in delight.

"Your turn," he whispers, ending the kiss with a lick to your lips. He kisses down your body, pausing for a moment to let his tongue and mouth say hello to your nipples, before he slides between your legs. He teases you with his fingers, at first, but soon that powerful tongue of his gets involved and he adds fuel to the fire that is already burning within you.

Your lower body rocks in time with his licks and it isn't long before your own cries are getting lost in the sound of thunder. He rides through your climax with you and is grinning like the cat that caught the canary when he sits up.

He positions his hard manhood at your entrance and slides into you, filling your completely. He leans forward and presses his mouth against yours for another kiss as he begins to slide out and then back into you. You meet him thrust for thrust as you drape your arms over his shoulders and press your fingers into his sculpted back.

Still not fully recovered from your first orgasm, it isn't long before he has you on the edge of a second. He drops a hand between your bodies and applies pressure where you need it the most. You cry out as you come for a second time and dig your nails into his back.

He curses your name as he continues his movements and, soon, he too is on the edge of climax. Feeling his body tighten around yours, you open your eyes and see the veins in his neck flare as he comes. He presses his lower body into you hard and holds your hips in place as he empties into you. In response, you grind your lower body against his and drop one of your hands from his shoulder to between your bodies. You bring yourself to a third and final orgasm, coating his manhood for a second time before he collapses onto the bed next to you.

Rolling onto your side, your snuggle into his body as you let the fatigue of the night's events overtake you. Not even the storm raging outside can keep you from falling asleep in the strong arms of your husband.

Want to find me off tumblr? I’m @beccatheycallme on twitter. I also post my stories on AO3.

My tag list is always open, just let me know if you’d like to be added!

[psychicanchortimemachine]

IONIC 5- UPDATES

The Ionic Framework team has launched model 5.0.0( Magnesium ) on 11th Feb 2020. This new version centered considerably on material layout recommendations which advanced the UI consists of iOS 13 & Android design, compatibility with multiple frameworks (not best with Angular however now it supports react framework), ionic 5 capabilities consist of remodeled Ionicons, up to date Ionic colorings, new API for growing your very own custom animations, new starter designs, improvements to issue customization, up to date documentation and other enhancements that we can analyze in this article.

How to Update Ionic 4 App to Latest Ionic 5 Version?

For an Angular app

npm install @ionic/angular@latest --save

For a React app

npm install @ionic/react@latest --save npm install @ionic/react-router@latest --save npm install ionicons@latest --save

Top capabilities added in Ionic 5:

iOS Design

The latest version of the Ionic framework has a large section of the updated UI component compatible with IOS 13.Apple recently released its iOS 13 update, in which they up to date the design of many components and accordingly included a few updates to our own, these consist of headers, segments, huge and small titles, and the menu overlay type.

Segment

The ionic crew has absolutely remodeled the iOS Segment layout extensively from its preceding iOS model. With the ionic five design replace, a single indicator is now used to slide between the buttons, checking the only it ends on. Now it makes use of a gesture that may be used to pull the indicator that applies for both Material Design and iOS and some adjustments had been added to support the brand new design.

Header

The header is a root issue of the page that holds the toolbar aspect. Some properties to get a collapsible header and buttons are now available to use.In ionic v4 iOS added the idea of a collapsible header and special sized titles. In Ionic version 5, a few residences are added to the header & name additives to get small titles, shrinking broad claims, and collapsible buttons.

Large Title

The way to do so is to add two headers, one standard-sized above the content and one large-sized inside the content. Other elements, like the search bar in the large header, can also collapse.Ionic v 4 provides a manner to create the collapsible titles that exist on inventory iOS apps. The huge title in iOS collapses right into a default sized title when the content scrolls exceeding a certain point & this setup calls for configuring your IonTitle, IonHeader, and IonButtons elements.

Small Title

The small refers as a header note often used in combination with Swipe to Close Modals. It normally used internal of a toolbar above some other toolbar that contains a standard-sized identify (Additionally, to get the small title styling, ion-name ought to have size="Small".

Swipe to Close Modal

You can now add a modal that remains inset with the page behind it propelled back. A gesture could be used to control swipe to close modal.The Swipe to Close Modals in iOS mode has the capacity to be offered in a card-style and swiped to close mode rather than displaying a modal that covers the whole screen. The card-fashion presentation and swipe to shut gesture want to permit I.e. swipeToClose and imparting element need to be surpassed upon modal creation. Ionic five has includes a gesture to drag the modal down to shut it.

Refresher

The ion-refresher produces pull-to-refresh capability on a content issue & it's pulling icon in iOS has been updated above a header with a huge name. The pull-to-refresh pattern shall we a user pull down on a listing of records the usage of contact to retrieve greater statistics & as you pull down on the content the spinner rotates till the content material is pulled down enough to in which all ticks are seen after which it will start to rotate. IOS refresher in ionic v5 has absolutely redesigned to Material Design refresher.

List Header

ListHeader a header element for a listing and the lists in iOS now grow to be greater massive and bold layout. Comparing ionic v4, the List Header turned into uppercase and small and didn’t have the option for a bottom border. The new lines assets on a List Header permits you to add a border while matching the contemporary design.The Ionic framework official website suggests wrapping all text content of the list header inside an <ion-label>. It is required to support the changes in the List header.

Ionic Animations

Ionic Animations is an open-supply animations software that offers developers the equipment to construct surprisingly performant animations no matter the framework they're using. Ionic Animations is now officially a part of the ionic five.zero launch which makes use of the Web Animations API to build and run all your animations. Web browser time table to run all your animations which offloads essential duties and prioritize optimizations to your animations permitting your animation to run easily as viable which enables you achieve excessive FPS which preserving low CPU makes use of.Ionic 5 ships with the trendy version open-supply icon library Ionicons five, which includes all-new icons for use in web, iOS, Android, and computing device apps.

Ionic Colors

Ionic has nine default colors that may be used to exchange the color of many additives & on the way to alternate the default colorations we have to exchange the coloration characteristic. Ionic 5 up to date with all new colors by using default also to exchange the colours of your Angular or React app builders want to update the subject/variables css manually. Now ionic 5 supports the dark.  

Easier Customization

We all know that the additives are not very easy to customize due to following reasonsLack of to be had CSS Variables or way to style internal factors.

Components are being scoped and their Ionic styles taking precedence over custom styles.To make it simpler for builders, ionic team brought assist for extra CSS variables,

transformed some scoped components to Shadow DOM, and commenced adding aid for Shadow Parts.

The following additives were converted to Shadow DOM:

Back Button

Card

Segment

Split Pane

Shadow DOM

An critical element of web components is encapsulation and shadow DOM serves for encapsulation. It lets in a aspect to have its very very own “shadow” DOM tree, that it is markup structure, fashion, and conduct hidden and separate from different code on the web page that can’t be by accident accessed from the primary document and the code may be kept satisfactory and clean.

In addition to that, Shadow DOM permits the use of custom CSS variables inside the issue for less difficult theming. In previous versions, Sass variables have been used to customise and subject an app but that brought on longer construct times but to have more than one themes within the identical app it required developing multiple CSS documents with different Sass variables.

With the growing assist for Shadow Parts in browsers, users could be capable of goal particular elements inside of our components to override their styles directly.

Angular Ivy

One of the biggest improvements to the brand new Angular v9.0 is that Ivy is enabled with the aid of default & for Ionic Angular builders, Ivy support is now completely enabled in Ionic 5. Ivy permits apps to only maintain pieces of the renderer that they require, rather than the whole thing. This approach that our final output may be distinctly smaller, which is better for load performance. The manner the CSS variables are used for targeting the activated, targeted and hover backgrounds have been updated at the following components:

Action Sheet

Back Button

Button

FAB Button

Item

Menu Button

Segment Button

Tab Button

Anchor : The ion-anchor thing has been renamed to ion-router-link Back Button : Converted ion-returned-button to use shadow DOM. Card :  Converted ion-card to apply shadow DOM. Header / Footer : The no-border attribute has been renamed to ion-no-border Menu : Removed the main characteristic, use content material-id (for vanilla JS / Vue) and contentId (for Angular / React) instead. Use swipeGesture() in preference to swipeEnable() function Colors : The default Ionic shades have been updated to the following: primary:

#3880ff

secondary:

#3dc2ff

tertiary:

#5260ff

success:

#2dd36f

warning:

#ffc409

danger:

#eb445a

light:

#f4f5f8

medium:

#92949c

dark: #222428 Ionic five features bring a few solid modifications which includes iOS 13 layout updates, a new API for creating custom animations, made over Ionicons, updated Ionic colours, complete assist for Ivy, Angular’s new renderer, new starter designs, Ionic CLI 5 and the assist for React frameworks at the side of the Angular.

Hopefully, Ionic v5 will take the Ionic app improvement to every other degree and will help to develop the cross-platform app that may run on the computer, as PWAs, web, and cell platforms.

We wish these modifications will enhance your build time and productivity on the ionic platform.

The good thing is you don’t need to worry lots about dealing with the updates as the process is simple.

Just ensure to have a examine breaking changes document so that you may want to make adjustments in your app.

We will be happy to answer your questions on designing, developing, and deploying comprehensive enterprise web, mobile apps and customized software solutions that best fit your organization needs. As a reputed Software Solutions Developer we have expertise in providing dedicated remote and outsourced technical resources for software services at very nominal cost. Besides experts in full stacks We also build web solutions, mobile apps and work on system integration, performance enhancement, cloud migrations and big data analytics. Don’t hesitate to

get in touch with us!

[adriennegad2fmp]

Finding the Theme

+Between The Lines:  Between the lines is a phrase that is usually referred to when reading, to read between the lines means to understand the implicit meaning in a written communication, a spoken communication or a situation. The implicit meaning is the meaning which is not directly expressed. The idiom read between the lines is most probably derived from a cryptography practice where the true meaning of a communication was contained in between the lines written in a letter. See also, or to infer something, to try to understand what is meant by something that is not written explicitly or openly. After listening to what they said, if you read between the lines, you can begin to see what they really means. This expression derives from a simple form of cryptography, in which a hidden meaning was conveyed by secreting it between lines of text.  When making an inference, you are using background and observation to reach a logical conclusion. In literature, we use inference to find an intended meaning and what we think the author is trying to teach us. We have often been told that the left hemisphere of the brain is the analytic, mathematical, logical, which is in charge of reasoning. we are picking apart the writing and gathering evidence to create an idea and invert one and this is reading between the lines quite clearly using are left hemisphere of the brain, the right hemisphere of the brain is primarily used for emotion and creative ide as therefore it's fairly obvious that to read between the lines this is not the part of the brain that would be necessary. The corpus callosum allows the two hemispheres to communicate with each other and allows for information being processed on one side of the brain to be shared with the other side. Normally, we are not aware of the different roles that our two hemispheres play in day-to-day functions, hidden information but vital to something to read between the lines or to infer is a natural ability of all of humanity that are trained into nowadays as a lot of language used and it's almost a defensive mechanism today to infer and understand what people mean it also can create better communication and conversation between two characters creating a more informed and intelligent character. Looking into some imagery on the phrase between the lines there is a lot of typography Sharon as imagery to represent this idea.

After looking at a few pieces of typography I began to think what lines actually can mean what they can represent what they can produce and I have seen several pieces aware that someone has created different objects out of lines and how they can bend and represent something else, I then began a search for more imagery but focusing more on objects and less typography because I know no I'm typography is something that I'm not particularly interested in I believe it's just a little too easy and and not my style of art. Let's be honest with a theme of between the lines it is going to refer to a lot of reading and a lot of typography however I believe I may have found a new style that can involve the theme of read between the lines and completely sore out of the idea of typography. this type of line work I feel is very mysterious and creates a lot of movement and bounce almost the lines acting like strings that act as if it's almost a net sheeting a figure of some sort with itself creating each bounce each vibration and each movement that they have within themselves, advising it bizarre how the plane lines can create such movement and texture and life within.

Generating a few more ideas I have looked into synonyms and what other ideas are generated from the phrase between lines it was quite interesting how the same word but put differently can infuse the brain and generate more ideas, it also has engaged me more into the idea of using the theme between the lines because giving me a deeper understanding each word that has been produced into the mind map below.

Surface: A surface, as the term is most generally used, is the outermost or uppermost layer of a physical object or space.  It is the portion or region of the object that can first be perceived by an observer using the senses of sight and touch, and is the portion with which other materials first interact. The concept of surface has been abstracted and formalized in mathematics, specifically in geometry. Depending on the properties on which the emphasis is given, there are several non equivalent such formalizations, that are all called surface, sometimes with some qualifier, such as algebraic surface, smooth surface or fractal surface. The idea of the surface area interacts with our senses communicating with mostly touch and view. It is a continuous set of points that has length and breadth but no thickness. As a verb it can be used as to rise or come up to the surface of the water or the ground or maybe come to people's attention; become apparent. Surface area impact is the reaction rate of surface area reactants, transforming these into powder. This can result in dangerous combustible powders, such as custard powder. If you think about the surface area of the earth it is horrific sometimes the impact that it can have on us the pure and shear power that it can produce which is devastating and completely overthrowing of the whole human race, impact that can be made by simple surface areas combining other elements of science, for example 65 million years ago the gigantic lizards roamed the earth named dinosaurs and the whole kingdom of this species was completely wiped out by the impact of a meteorite plummeting towards the surface of the earth the impact of the surface of the meteorite on surface of the earth completely wiped out the dinosaurs completely in a giganotosaurus events caused by this single one devastating completely changing it. This is simply one example of how surface areas colliding can completely rotate the tables and change time. If you think about the surface areas of other things I often believe that the surface area is almost like a lie,if you take fruits and berries for example in Britain there are red berries which are in edible and poisonous however they look like any other Barry that we may be able to eat creating a false sense of security and and wearing the mind in. More than likely the surface area doesn't usually matter it is what is beyond the surface area that truly matters, this is a bit of a cheesy quote but it is what is inside that counts, this quote is usually referred to when talking about humans and their personality instead of their looks. However there are many quotes that I like this for example don't judge a book by its cover I wish you could take literally for the surface area of a book has a front cover and if you don't think you'll like it why you still may like literature that is written inside however many take it to be very genuine and free with what it could mean it is a metaphor and and could refer to anything. Surface areas usually have a reason though for example defense. Another example is the armadillo his surface area and his back is as hard as rock he has no no nerve cells in it and therefore we can't feel any pain in it, at least that is on the outside of it however once you get beyond that of course like every other animal he has flesh skin and blood, his hardback outer shell even protect him from predators.

This is some imagery that I have managed to collect that represents and reminds me of of the idea of surface, the doors in particularly represents a different view of things, restore the white this door represents arrive of sunshine and light inside however it is only the entrance of a room the outside and the crust of what the room can hold. I think the door is a great example of a a idea of surface. However looking into the idea of paint and covering something creating a different image then got me thinking about the idea of makeup. The wild of makeup as vastly grown,  Special effects make-up is the term used for the team who are applying the pre-made prosthetics or smaller on-skin effects. This type of make-up can include creating the appearance of things like wounds, scars and wrinkles for ageing effects applied directly onto the skin. Applying this to one face create a new image and therefore a new appearance leading to a new surface area leaves us some examples of imagery that I've been able to collect that show the complete change.

Generating a few more ideas I have looked into synonyms and what other ideas are generated from surface it was quite interesting how the same word but put differently can infuse the brain and generate more ideas, it also has engaged me more into the idea of using the theme surface because giving me a deeper understanding each word that has been produced into the mind map below. And the inspiration that I have been given a by the imagery above is quite unique to its qualities.

Repetition is the simple repeating of a word, within a short space of words this can be including a poem, with no particular placement of the words to secure emphasis. The action of repeating something that has already been said or written or perhaps the recurrence of an action or event can create such a strong sense of exorcism because it's not only clarifying an idea but then reinstating it back into the mind only seconds later so it's strong in their memory. A thing repeated, that's all it is. Used as used in literature for the ideal purpose of emphasism creating a clearer idea of the power of the word and engaging the audience and reader even more creating at the word to be more memorable and therefore may be creating the character to be. There are several types of repetition commonly used in both prose and poetry. As a rhetorical device, it could be a word, a phrase, or a full sentence, or a poetical line repeated to emphasize its significance in the entire text. Repetition is not distinguished solely as a figure of speech, but more as a rhetorical device. It is a multilinguistic written or spoken device, frequently used in English and several other languages, such as Hindi and Chinese, and so rarely termed a figure of speech. In rhetoric, antimetabole  is the repetition of words in successive clauses, but in transposed order It is related to, and sometimes considered a special case of, chiasmus. The  tautology Superfluous repetition of the same sense in different words then there is Atanaclasis is the repetition of a word or phrase to effect a different meaning. Conduplicatio is the repetition of a word in various places throughout a paragraph. Mesodiplosis is the repetition of a word or phrase at the middle of every clause. There are at least 13 different types of repetition in the literature world I've only named a few. However it is not in literature turns up there is only repetition unfortunately people with a stutter tend to use a lot of repetition. also called stammering or childhood-onset fluency disorder is a speech disorder that involves frequent and significant problems with normal fluency and flow of speech. People who stutter know what they want to say, but have difficulty saying it. For example, they may repeat or prolong a word, a syllable, or a consonant or vowel sound. I find this speech disorder really hits me hard and because it is completely unfortunate that a lot of people market and that someone who can speak has such difficulty actually communicating. Communication is the human world  and we all need it. has someone to not be able to get their words out and communicate is almost a strength of being trapped inside yourself. Possible causes of developmental stuttering include abnormalities in speech motor control. Some evidence indicates that abnormalities in speech motor control, such as timing, sensory and motor coordination, may be involved. Stuttering tends to run in families. It appears that stuttering can result from inherited (genetic) abnormalities.

If I am perfectly honest in none of the imagery that I found I was particularly impressed or affected by any of the artwork I found that in photography it was slightly more impressive however still incredibly predictable, predictable is something that I do not want to be. However it was interesting to find that the work Andy Warhol came into this category and I suppose he would with his designs that he would explore the same the way that the use the idea of the mirror to create an ongoing repetition of one another. The idea of the same idea being repeated again and again and nothing new is just too boring and gave me no inspiration. Maybe like if I looked into typography like I did with the the phrase between the lines I would have more of a variety of imagery however like I have mentioned previously typography is not an area that I'm particularly interested in.

Generating a few more ideas I have looked into synonyms and what other ideas are generated from Repetition it was quite interesting how the same word but put differently can infuse the brain and generate more ideas, it also has engaged me more into the idea of using the theme Repetition because giving me a deeper understanding each word that has been produced into the mind map below. 

Historical source/ reference from 1920s:  Historical source also known as historical material or historical data, is original source that contain important historical information. These sources are something that inform us about history at the most basic level, and these sources used as clues in order to study history. To discover factual information about the historical world there is a detailed investigation where historians collect information from primary research and secondary. Primary sources of history include newspapers, books, and letters from the time period being studied as well as artifacts like artwork and tools, and generally help create the secondary sources. Secondary sources were created by someone who did not experience firsthand or participate in the events or conditions you’re researching. Historians use primary sources as the raw evidence to analyze and interpret the past. They publish secondary sources-often scholarly articles or books-that explain their interpretation. When you write a historical research paper, you are creating a secondary source based on your own analysis of primary source material. Secondary sources were created by someone who did not experience firsthand or participate in the events or conditions you’re researching. going back historical as definition means of or concerning history or past events, belonging to the past or  based on an analysis of its development over a period. Sources defined as a place, person, or thing from which something originates or can be obtained,  a body or process by which energy or a particular component enters a system. The opposite of sink. And then looking into the 1920s, The Roaring Twenties refers to the decade of the 1920s in Western society and Western culture. It was a period of economic prosperity with a distinctive cultural edge in the United States and Europe, particularly in major cities such as Berlin, Chicago, London, Los Angeles, New York City, Paris, and Sydney. The decade beginning with 1920 in the United States is commonly referred to as the Roaring Twenties because it was a time of extreme and often excessive celebration and advancement. However, the 1920s was much more than that. It was the decade that bought dramatic social and political change, flare and freedom to women, and advances in science and technology. Here are some key events that defined the Roaring Twenties. The Roaring Twenties kicked off with two significant amendments to the U.S. Constitution. 10 World-Shaping Events That Happened in 1920,  The League of Nations was established. In an address to Congress in 1919, President Woodrow Wilson presented what he called the “Fourteen … And then  America had a de-facto woman president. Jazz is a perfect way to describe the carefree vibe of the 20s. One of the best musical fun facts about the 20s is that this decade was also known as the “Age of Jazz.” The pioneer of the new style of music was Louis Armstrong. Jazz became the music of choice in the popular (but illegal – the 1920s was also the Age of Prohibition) speakeasies of the day. Hence, the older generation saw the Jazz genre as a representation of the sinful decadence of the Twenties. Thankfully, that misrepresentation has since been forgotten and Jazz is now considered to be one of America’s most monumental cultural achievements. 1920s fact we can all be proud of is that the decade saw significant improvements in women’s rights. This was the decade when the 19th Amendment was ratified, officially giving American women the right to vote. This coincided with an increasing sense of independence among women in the country, many of whom held jobs and were much more daring in their fashion sense.

This appears to be a very bright and colourful time for racing colours cascading in a college and erupting from center. Looking at different types of imagery that have been produced from the 1920s I find that there is a lot of gold and and warm fluorescent yellow that a bounce out and and claim the audiences eye. In this first collage of imagery that I've created there is a portrait of a woman. I've seen several of these throughout my own lifetime and then began to look deeper into that idea of portraits. During this time the portraits of mainly of women in their prerogative jazzy clothing that conquered the idea of the time. If you look below there are some more portraitsall dressed rather similarly however the biggest similarity is each and every one of them has red lipstick on, a true indication that they are definitely or from the same era. 

Generating a few more ideas I have looked into synonyms and what other ideas are generated from Historical source/ reference from 1920s it was quite interesting how the same word but put differently can infuse the brain and generate more ideas, it also has engaged me more into the idea of using the theme Historical source/ reference from 1920s because giving me a deeper understanding each word that has been produced into the mind map below. And the inspiration that I have been given a by the imagery above is quite unique to its qualities. 

Daily reflection: 

Today I once again continue researching at my 10 concept ideas and completed all 10 of my words. I also was able to complete my first study group session discussing all 10 of my words and concepts that I want to further engage and has completely helped me with some ideas to further refine my research. From this study group I've discovered out of the words that I have chosen today that I would like to look into to the idea of historical source/reference from the 1920s because I could look into for example the acceptance of black music. This is such a broad subject and and it would be nice to further look into it and see what other pieces of imagery in inspiration I can gain from it. I also believe I'm going to use the word surface and further develop my research on this word because I feel that I could developed quite a bit more inspiration from this idea it also relates to what I have included in my study group about the idea of my interior and exterior inspiration it's quite strong and I can still gain some inspiration from those ideas.

[nautiscarader]

Okay wendip idea, Wendy asks mabel for help with her hair. Mabel doesn't get it, since when does Wendy obsess over something like that. Only through subtle, and not so subtle prodding does Mabel find out that Wendy is going on a date with Dipper and is super nervous about it.

I was going to hide the prompt so it doesn’t reveal the ending, but anyone with a brain cell could see past the dialogues anyway

(Read on ao3) (masterpost). 

Wendip, G, 1.6k

Mabel did not expect her friend to visit her, but when Wendy texted that she’s in an emergency only she can help with, the cheerful girl had to intervene. A few minutes later, the lumberjill arrived and quite cautiously knocked not on the twins’ bedroom door, but on the window sill.

- Woah, Wendy!

Mabel rushed to let Wendy in, who from the looks of it climbed the roof of Mystery Shack with her hatchet alone.

- Why didn’t you use the stairs? - Mabel asked, looking quizzically at the older girl, pointing to the doorway. - Eh, stairs are overrated. - she snarked, sitting on the bed opposite of Mabel’s - Dipper’s home? - Nah. He said he has a “thing to do”, and went somewhere. - she rolled her eyes - Anyway… - she jumped to her feet and examined her friend from head to toes - What’s the deal?

The beaming smile faded slightly from the red-hair’s face, and for quite possibly the first time in her life, Mabel saw Wendy shying away from her. She grabbed her hair, and stroked it a couple of times, before she finally spoke.

- See… I want to change my hair. You know, to… I don’t know, to make them look better, I guess.

Wendy flinched, when Mabel emitted a loud screech, clutching her face with her hands.

- Oh. My. Gosh! Of course! My quest to make the world a better place finally begins!

And with that proclamation, she she grabbed the chair in the corner, threw it to the centre of the room, and unceremoniously pushed Wendy on it, making her stare at her own reflection in Mabel’s mirror that suddenly found its way to her hand. A loud, slightly menacing snipping noise reached Wendy’s ears, and when she turned her head, her eyes went wide at the sight of the pruning scissors Mabel was testing.

- Nah, that won’t work. Unless you want pedicure! - she happily stated, and took a regular pair of scissors from her night table. - Why do you want your hair changed anyway?

With her face turned away from Mabel, Wendy could hide, at least for a moment, her blush.

- Well, uh, I’m, uh, going on a date, I guess.

Mabel had to pause the search of her collection of teenage magazines to emit another giggly shriek of approval and excitement. Next moment Wendy was buried under the avalanche of snippets depicting celebrities to choose from.

- Okay, how do you want your hair? Fell free to ask for more! And more importantly, how is he? - Mabel sat next to her, eagerly waiting for an answer. - Well, uh, the thing is, I don’t know how I want my hair, Mabel. I want something he’d like… - Wendy said somewhat despondent, once again avoiding eye contact with her. - No problem. Just tell me, how is he? - Well, he’s cute, I guess. - Wendy answered nonchalantly and smiled, browsing through the bits of multicoloured papers. - Cute like this, or this? - Mabel continued, pulling pictures of two actors from the bottom of the pile. Wendy stared at two men in suits, accepting some shiny awards on a red carpet, and shook her head. Truth to be told, if she didn’t see the captions, she’s think they are the same people, looking almost manufactured to fit the given fashion. She knew half of the girls in her class would melt at the sheer sight of the slightly unshaven, dark-haired guys like these two. - Nah, neither, really. More like this. - she pulled another picture and showed it to Mabel.

She took a good, long look at photo of the teenage actor in glasses, sitting in a vintage-looking set.

- Okay, to each their own, I guess. - she murmured - So, the hair… how about a braid, maybe? That’s something a bit more… uh, classic? - Mabel guessed, remembering an episode of the medieval fantasy show they actor was in. - Sounds good. - Wendy replied - You think he’ll like it? - One way to find out!

Mabel rushed to the other side of her chair, and as Wendy leaned back, she begun her work, though as Wendy suspected, that did not stop Mabel from being curious.

- So… You guys have met before? Or you just found him in the woods? - Uh, yeah, lots of times. - Wendy replied immediately. - Knew him for years, but I guess only now I realised… - …that’s he’s a dating material? - Mabel giggled - Don’t worry sister, we’re gonna make him jump out of his shoes. You gonna need make-up later. - Oh, no, not that - Wendy quickly protested - I, uh, I can do that myself.

Mabel stopped her handiwork for a while, and in the reflection, she saw the pupils in Wendy’s eyes, dashing nervously from one side to the other.

- Say, that boy… - Boy? - Wendy chuckled - Mabel, he’s not a boy anymore. - Yeah, of course he’s not, silly me. - she corrected herself - So, this obviously mature guy, what’s he doing? He’s local, isn’t he? - Uh, well, he’s here for the Summer… - But you said you knew him for years. - Mabel replied quickly, crossing two strands of Wendy’s hair slightly too tight, staring at Wendy’s widened eyes reflecting in the mirror. - Uh, no, he’s been just visiting this place every year. For holidays - she added. - Oh, of course! - Mabel let our another fake laugh - After all, this place is just booming with tourists. The mountains, lakes, woods, occasional end of the universe as we know it, it’s a magnet. One last thing…

And before Wendy knew it, she was facing Mabel, who, despite not being a swivel one, rotated the chair around itself in a single move.  

- Does he have short, chestnut hair, he’s about yay tall, is quite dorky and his nickname rhymes with “zipper”?

The terrified face of her older friend was more than enough for a confession, though it might partially be the result of Wendy’s vision still being blurry after Mabel spun her around. Once she affixed her eyes at Mabel and her piercing gaze, she sighed, and grunted her response.

- Okay, okay. Yeah, Dipper asked me out. You satisfied? - she crossed her arms - Wendy…

Mabel mewled, and sat at the edge of her bed, frowning.

- Why didn’t you tell me straight away? - I don’t know - Wendy snapped back - It’s… it’s a bit weird, isn’t it? We’ve been friends for years, and now he’s… different, and I don’t know what to do.

Wendy lowered her head, once again fixing her hair instinctively, forgetting they were partially braided.

- Oh, brother. Someone’s in denial again. - Mabel sighed - But more importantly, why do you even think you’d need change of hair style? - I don’t know! - Wendy roared back - Sorry, Mabel, I’m super confused about it. He’s been in love with me, and then he wasn’t, and now he is, like, tall and stuff, and I agreed to that date, and I don’t want to break his heart, and… - Shush. - Mabel placed her hand at her face, interrupting Wendy’s ramblings.

Wendy stared with curiosity at Mabel, who instead of responding to her, walked to her brother’s bed, and quite nonchalantly punched the slanted roof over it. At first, Wendy thought that Mabel has somehow made the roof collapse, but she soon saw that few loose wooden planks have been glued together and mounted on a string like a tray, exposing Dipper’s hidden shelf.

- Exhibit A in our case: You. - Mabel stated, pointing to the cavity - Quite a lot of you.

And indeed, once Wendy looked inside, her face turned red, when she saw pictures of her dotted around the little hidey place, forming what otherwise might be called an altar.  

- Exhibit B: this thing.

With a fast move of her hand, Mabel produced an old, taped poster of a woman from Dipper’s stash. This one, for a change, did not depict her, though Wendy saw she bore some striking similarities. The painted woman was wielding a claymore, and was clad in armour, though that was only by the name, as it revealed more of warrior’s sleek body than hid. She lad athletic legs, rather large breasts, and an unmistakably familiar, long, waving, flaming red hair.

- Uh, what’s that? - I don’t know - Mabel shrugged - Something from and old computer game. The one they made before they realised third dimension exists, or something, and has lots of math, Dipper loves these. Look at it, her bra has horns, for Pete’s sake!

The two chuckled at the artist’s idea of an armour once again, even more so when Mabel stuck her fingers at her chest, pretending to be the woman depicted on the old poster.

- So, as I said, your hair is fine. - Mabel proclaimed - Case closed.

And with that, she was about to close Dipper’s hidden shelf, but before she could do that, Wendy stopped her mid-way.

- Wait, can I have a look at that poster again? - Why? - Mabel raised her brow.

A wide grin appeared on Wendy’s face, together with a splash of crimson on her cheeks.

- Well… I’ve been thinking about a costume for Summerween, you know, just for fun. And this thing gave me an idea…

It was Mabel’s time to turn crimson, as she just realised what intentions Wendy might have.

- Woah, don’t give my brother a heart attack, girl. At least not before you take him to a honeymoon!

[suzanneshannon]

Rotated Table Column Headers… Now With Fewer Magic Numbers!

Rotated <table> column headers is something that’s been covered before right here on CSS-Tricks, so shout-out to that for getting me started and helping me achieve this effect. As the article points out, if you aren’t using trigonometry to calculate your table styles, you’ll have to rely on magic numbers and your table will be brittle and any dreams of responsiveness crushed. 

Fortunately, in this case, we can take the trigonometry out and replace it with some careful geometry and our magic numbers all turn into 0 (a truly magical number).

For those in a hurry, here is the CSS (it’s very similar to the styles in the other article). Below is a thorough walk-through.

<th class="rotate"><div><span>Column Header 1</span></div></th>

table {  border-collapse: collapse; --table-border-width: 1px; } th.rotate {   white-space: nowrap;   position: relative; 
} th.rotate > div { /* place div at bottom left of the th parent */   position: absolute;   bottom: 0;   left: 0;   /* Make sure short labels still meet the corner of the parent otherwise you'll get a gap */   text-align: left;   /* Move the top left corner of the span's bottom-border to line up with the top left corner of the td's border-right border so that the border corners are matched   * Rotate 315 (-45) degrees about matched border corners */   transform:      translate(calc(100% - var(--table-border-width) / 2), var(--table-border-width))     rotate(315deg);   transform-origin: 0% calc(100% - var(--table-border-width));   width: 100%; 
} th.rotate > div > span {   /* make sure the bottom of the span is matched up with the bottom of the parent div */   position: absolute;   bottom: 0;   left: 0;   border-bottom: var(--table-border-width) solid gray; } td {   border-right: var(--table-border-width) solid gray;   /* make sure this is at least as wide as sqrt(2) * height of the tallest letter in your font or the headers will overlap each other*/   min-width: 30px;   padding-top: 2px;   padding-left: 5px;   text-align: right; }

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Let’s unpack this table and see what’s going on. The magic starts with that funny chain of HTML tags. We’re putting a <span> inside of a <div> inside of our <th>. Is this all really necessary? Between how borders behave, the positioning flexibility we need, and what determines the width of a table column… yes, they each have a purpose and are necessary.

Let’s see what happens if we rotate the <th> directly:

<th class="rotate">Column header 1</th>

table {   border-collapse: collapse; } th.rotate {   border-bottom: 1px solid gray;   transform: rotate(315deg);   white-space: nowrap; } td {   border-right: 1px solid gray;   min-width: 30px;   padding-top: 2px;   padding-left: 5px;   text-align: right; }

Ignoring the fact that we haven’t corrected position, there are two big issues here: 

The column width is still calculated from the header length which is what we were trying to avoid.

Our border didn’t come with us in the rotation, because it is actually part of the table.

These problems aren’t so difficult to fix. We know that if the <th> has a child element with a border, the browser won’t treat that border as part of the table. Further, we know that absolutely-positioned elements are taken out of the document flow and won’t affect the parent’s width. Enter <div> tag, stage left…and right, I guess.

<th class="rotate"><div>Column header 1</div></th>

table {   border-collapse: collapse; } th.rotate {   white-space: nowrap;   position: relative; } th.rotate > div {   position: absolute;   transform: rotate(315deg);   border-bottom: 1px solid gray; } td {   border-right: 1px solid gray;   min-width: 30px;   text-align: right;   padding-top: 2px;   padding-left: 5px; }

Now our headers don’t influence the column width and the borders are rotated. We just need to line things up.

It’s easier to tell in the image with the rotated <th> elements, but that rotation is happening around the center of the element (that’s the default behavior of transform-origin). It is only another transform in x and y to get it to the right spot, but this is where we’d need trigonometry to figure out just how much x and y to line it up with the column borders. If we instead carefully choose the point to rotate the header about, and use transform-origin to select it, then we can end up with distances that are more straightforward than magic numbers.

The animation below helps illustrate what we’re going to do to avoid complicated math. The black dot in the top left of the blue border needs to match the red dot on the right border of the table column and rotate about it. Then there won’t be any gaps between the two borders.

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It’s not helpful to start going somewhere if you don’t know where you are. The absolute positioning is going to help us out with this. By specifying bottom: 0; left: 0; on the <div>, it ends up at the bottom left of the parent <th>. This means the <div> border’s bottom-left corner is sitting on top of the left column border and halfway through it. From here, it’s apparent we need to move down one border width and over one cell width, but how are we going to get that responsively? It’s at this very moment you may recall that we haven’t added the <span> yet — we’re going to need it!

We’ll use the <div> to “figure out” how big the table cells are and the <span> to actually hold the text and position it absolutely as well to overflow the parent.

<th class="rotate"><div><span>Column header 1</span></div></th>

th.rotate{   white-space: nowrap;   position: relative; } th.rotate > div {   position: absolute;   bottom: 0;   left: 0;   width: 100%;  /* <- now the div parent is as wide as the columns */ } th.rotate > div > span {   position: absolute;   bottom: 0;   left: 0;   border-bottom: 1px solid gray; }

Great! When we set the width of the <div> to 100%, it holds the information for how big the column is regardless of what the content is in the table cells. With this in place, we can easily translate things over by the width of the <div> — but don’t forget that we need to shave off a half border width. Our translation becomes:

transform: translate( calc( 100% - var(--table-border-width)/2), var(--table-border-width));

The <div> is now in the right spot to rotate, but we have to make sure to pick the correct transform-origin. We want it to be on the top-left corner of the border, which will be on the left and up one border’s width from the bottom of our <div> element:

transform-origin: 0%, calc(100% - var(--table-border-width));

This brings us to our final style for the table header.

table { border-collapse: collapse; --table-border-width: 1px; } th.rotate{   white-space: nowrap;   position: relative; } th.rotate > div {   position: absolute;   bottom: 0;   left: 0;   width: 100%;   transform:     translate( calc( 100% - var(--table-border-width)/2), var(--table-border-width));     rotate(315deg);   transform-origin: 0%, calc(100% - var(--table-border-width)); } th.rotate > div > span {   position: absolute;   bottom: 0;   left: 0;   border-bottom: var(--table-border-width) solid gray; }

Note that transformations happen after everything is placed. That means the rotated headers will overflow onto everything as best they can. You will need to wrap the whole table in something to compensate for the unexpected height. I put the title and table together in a flexbox <div> and set the flex-basis of the title to a value large enough to compensate for the tall headers.

#div-with-table {   display: flex;   flex-direction: column;   justify-content: space-around; } #title {   flex-basis: 140px; }

The post Rotated Table Column Headers… Now With Fewer Magic Numbers! appeared first on CSS-Tricks.

Rotated Table Column Headers… Now With Fewer Magic Numbers! published first on https://deskbysnafu.tumblr.com/

[fanficimagery]

@leonygunawan said: HEY HEY ITS ME AGAIN SURPRISE SURPRISE!! ive come back with a genius idea of jeff x reader where jeff inflamed his rotating cuff (i googled this btw) and y/n is so excited to treat him bc y/n have always been the one that got sick or injured and jeff always treats her like y/n is a fucking queen. She would bring his books, drive him to school, feed him(?), dress him or shower him if you feel comfortable writing that part but if you don't just leave that one thank you so much… again for writing!

Author's Note: I incorporated only a few things because with an inflamed rotator cuff he's not totally useless ;) And the gif really has nothing to do with the story. It’s just cute.

Jeff X Reader

"So it's just an inflamed rotator cuff? Nothing too serious."

"Yep." Jeff grimaces as he unbuttons an old button down shirt, trying very cautiously to shrug out of it. "I got some anti-inflammatory meds and I'm on six weeks of rest starting today."

He easily shakes out of one sleeve, but barely doing so must cause him a wave of pain. His sudden sharp intake of breath startles you into motion and you hold your hands out to stop him. "Wait, wait, wait. Let me."

He softly chuckles, but stops moving and lets you do the work for him. You peel the shirt off easily, staring at the black contraption the doctor left him in. It's a quarter sleeve bandage that fits snug on his right shoulder with a strap that runs diagonally across his chest and under his left arm.  "He said I should ice it every hour for ten minutes or so and if that doesn't work then I'll need to have it massaged. I basically can't do anything with my arm that involves me lifting it."

"You know what that means then, right?" You grin.

"..what?"

"For all the times you waited on me hand and foot when I was sick, I now get to return the favor."

Jeff looks like he wants to argue, but after staring a tad too long and realizing you're actually excited for this.. he sighs. "Sure. That's fine."

The following morning you show up bright and early at Jeff's house. He answers the door with an amused huff, his right arm in a constrictive sling which keeps his arm close to his body and weight off his shoulder.

"Let's go, slowpoke. I'm driving." You beam at him.

"..what?"

"I'm driving," you state slowly, still smiling. "You're hurt and I'm looking out for you. If you really want to heal up by the time baseball season starts, you need to rest your arm."

"You're too good for me, you know that?"

"I'm really not. Now come on." You see his book bag resting by the inside wall and you bend at the knees to reach in and grab it.

"Jeffrey, mijo, who's at the door?" You hear his mother ask.

"It's just me, Mrs. Atkins," you call out. "I'll be driving Jeff to and from school so he doesn't aggravate his shoulder."

His mother rounds the corner, eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiles at you. "Y/N, sweetie, how are you? Have you had breakfast yet?"

"I'm good, Mrs. Atkins, and yes. I've already eaten, but thanks for asking."

"Good. Well then, you two best be going." She turns to Jeff and kisses his cheek, the tips of his ears burning red in embarrassment. "And drive safely." She then leans out the door, cupping your face in hand and pressing a kiss to your forehead. "I'll see you after school."

And instead of embarrassment, all you can feel is warmth and adoration for Mrs. Atkins and the way she treats you as if you were one of her own. "See you later, Momma Bear." Glancing at Jeff once Mrs. Atkins takes her leave, his eyebrows are raised in amusement at you. "Shut up. She adores me and I adore her. We understand each other."

"If you say so," he chuckles. "So where to, mi lady?"

"Hell," you deadpan. "We're going to Hell."

School turns out to be a rather interesting day. With Jeff hurt and not being able to do much, all his admirers were quick to do things for him. His fellow jocks were good at opening his locker and carrying his books/book bag when you couldn't, and you literally had to glare at the other admiring females when they offered to feed him his lunch. 

Jeff and his friends found it amusing, and only let up when you threatened to start keying cars. And since he had taken his medication before leaving for school, the only reason he had to visit the athletic trainer was when he had to ice his shoulder every other class period.

"I'm so ready for a nap," Jeff sighs, sinking into your passenger seat as you drive him back home. "Doing absolutely nothing is tiring."

"Mhm." You hum. "I hope you're a fast healer. I don't know how much more I can take of the Liberty High female population treating you like royalty."

He laughs. "I am royalty, babe."

"Of course you are, my love. But you're my King. Never forget that."

"Yes, ma'am."

You laugh as you continue drive, focusing on the road and getting the both of you to his house in one piece. Mrs. Atkins is still home and she greets the both of you happily, she being really ecstatic when she finds out you're staying over to study with Jeff and have dinner.

But half way through your study session, Jeff complains about stiffness in his shoulder. You tell him to go soak in a bath while you visit with his mother and help her with any dinner prep, and he agrees.

So while you're making small talk and dicing tomato for a salad thirty minutes later, your surprised to receive a text message from Jeff. Cleaning your hands off, you pick up your cell from the table and read what he's sent.

FROM JEFF I'm in need of a nurse's assistance. I can't reach my back.

The picture attached is of Jeff in the tub, pouting as he points over a bruised shoulder.

TO JEFF Are u insane?! Your mother is home. I will not risk her wrath if she catches me in the bathroom w/ her very naked son.

FROM JEFF I'll put on underwear if I have to.

You snort, quickly typing your response.

TO JEFF You're an idiot. Don't you have a loofah on a long stick?

"What's that, honey?"

You startle at Mrs. Atkins voice, guilt seeping in at her friendly smile. "Oh. Um. It's, uh, it's Jeff," you stammer. "He's being silly. Told me to go up and scrub his back."

"Silly boy." She huffs in amusement.

"Right? I told him I was not going to risk your wrath. He must think I'm really stupid to not realize that mothers are very protective of their baby boys. Especially their very naked baby boys," you babble. Mrs. Atkins doesn't utter a word and since you're too nervous to even meet her gaze, it takes you longer than a moment to gather the courage to look at her. And when you do, you realize she has a hand clamped over her mouth and her shoulders are shaking with muffled laughter. "..what? Why are you laughing?"

"Y/N," she grins, lips twitching as she bites back the giggles. "I adore you. You're like the daughter I've always wanted and I couldn't be more happier that you're with my son."

"But?" You gulp. "I feel like there's a but in there somewhere."

"No. No but," she grins. "It's just.. do you really think me that naive to not believe you've already seen my son in his birthday suit?"

You practically choke on your tongue, gasping so suddenly and sending saliva down the wrong pipe. "W-what?" You rasp. 

"Mija," she coos. "You're beautiful and kindhearted, and my husband and I raised an equally beautiful and kindhearted son. You two are drawn to one another like no teenagers should be. It would not come as a surprise if we knew for a fact that you and Jeff are-"

"I'm sorry!" You blurt, heart pounding furiously and cheeks heated as you drop your phone into your lap and hide your face in the palms of your hands. "I- we, uh, we're protected," you blurt. "Very protected."

"Good." You jerk when her hand lands on your shoulder, you then very hesitantly glancing up at her. "Now please go help my son before he injures himself further. And tell him no funny business while I'm in the house."

She walks away after patting your shoulder gently, and you gulp once more. "Y-Yes, ma'am."

Once Mrs. Atkins is safely out of eye sight, you breathe a huge sigh of relief. You pick up your phone, quickly skimming through the six text messages Jeff sent you while you had the most awkward and honest conversation with his mother. He's begging you now to come up, even humorously teasing you with pics and soapy water that doesn't really hide anything from view.

But since you have his mother's blessing, you told him to hold on before making your way upstairs. You leave your phone on his dresser and make your way to his private bathroom, knocking twice on the door before entering and closing the door behind you.

Jeff beams at you, a soapy beard sliding off the end of his chin. "You risked my mother's wrath."

"No," you drawl. "Your mother totally knows I'm up here." His smile drops and eyes widen. "And she totally knows we have sex. She told me to tell you no funny business is allowed as long as she's in the house."

"Oh my God."

"Yep. So lean forward so I can get your back and then you can join me downstairs for the most awkward dinner ever." And as Jeff leans forward, numbly handing you a soapy washcloth, you kneel down to reach the parts of his back that he couldn't. Because if you were going down in flaming embarrassment, Jeff was going down with you.

[enterinit]

Windows 10 Insider Preview Build 18975 released

Windows 10 Insider Preview Build 18975 released.

Introducing the ability to move the Cortana window

Move the window (by dragging the title bar area), to anywhere you’d like on the screen–just like you can with other windows. You can also resize the window if you’d like. Currently, this change is rolled out to 50% of Insiders with the new Cortana experience, and we’ll continue the rollout as we validate the quality of the experience.

Windows Subsystem for Linux (WSL) Improvements

Fixed a number of localhost reliability issues

Virtual Desktop renaming

The ability to rename your virtual desktops is now available for all Insiders in the Fast ring! Thanks again everyone who shared feedback requesting this. To get started: Open Task View by selecting the Task View icon in the taskbar or pressing WIN+Tab.Select New Desktop.Select the desktop name (“Desktop 1”) and it should become editable, or right click the desktop thumbnail and a context menu will appear with a Rename entry.Input whatever name you’d like, and press enter.Done!

General changes, improvements, and fixes

We fixed an issue resulting in the “Bluetooth and Other Devices” and “Printers and Scanners” not rendering correctly in the last two flights.We fixed an issue resulting in search crashing on launch for Insiders using certain display languages, including Polish.We fixed an issue resulting in some Insiders receiving error 0xC0000142 when attempting to upgrade to recent builds.We fixed a recent issue resulting in some Insiders finding that various File Explorer settings were unexpectedly modified, and in some cases couldn’t be corrected. This impacted File Explorer’s navigation pane visibility, the option for the navigation pane to automatically show all folders, and showing the drive letters. Please note that while this fix will stop it from happening, if you were impacted, you will need to take steps to return these settings in File Explorer to be their desired state.We fixed an issue resulting in the minimize, maximize, and close title bar buttons not working for certain apps.For those who would prefer not to see the post upgrade setup page, we’ve added a new option to turn it off under Notification Settings. Note, it will only be visible for users eligible for seeing this setup page.We fixed an issue where the text candidate list, when typing in Korean using the touch keyboard, was in reverse order.We updated the Chinese Pinyin IME toolbar to now be light when using light theme.We fixed an issue that could result in the Chinese Pinyin IME not responding the first time you tried to select a text candidate in certain types of text fields.We fixed an issue that could result in the mouse cursor becoming transparent and not visible when HDR was enabled.We fixed an issue where if MS Paint was open in the background, using the arrow keys would result in the mouse cursor changing position despite MS Paint not being in focus.We fixed an issue when using your PC in Arabic or Hebrew, where when maximizing win32 apps you could see the title bar flip for a second to show the close button on the right instead of on the left.We fixed an issue impacting Action Center reliability in the previous flight.We’ve made some adjustments to help address potential out of memory issues over Remote Desktop that could result in you being unexpectedly logged out of your remote session.We fixed an issue resulting in not being able to setup Windows Hello during OOBE.We’ve updated our upgrade logic so that going forward, your preferred scheduled defragmentation settings will be preserved on upgrade. Thanks to those who shared feedback about this. We’ve made some improvements to help address out of memory issues resulting in users potentially getting logged out of remote desktop sessions. We fixed an issue impacting Your Phone reliability in recent flights that resulted in seemingly random crashes during use.We fixed an issue where, when taking a screenshot using the pen after rotating your device, the screenshot might not be in the expected orientation.We fixed an issue when taking a snip that could result in your screenshot being unexpectedly blacked out.We have removed the option to change Magnifier UI to a magnifying glass and be in the viewport. We would be interested to hear if this option was useful to you and why.Magnifier reading now supports reading in more places.Several issues have been resolved that caused the Magnifier UI not to scale or resize correctly when users adjusted the Make text bigger or the Make everything bigger settings.We resolved an issue where users could not use some Magnifier hotkeys after sign-in until Magnifier was restarted.We resolved an issue where Magnifier Docked and Lens mode would turn into Full Screen mode when User Account Controls were active.We resolved an issue in Notepad where the text cursor would display, but the text cursor indicator would not.We resolved an issue in Notepad where the text cursor indicator prevented users from double-clicking to select text.We resolved an issue where the text cursor indicator preview in Ease of Access settings was not usable when Dark Mode is enabled.We resolved an issue where the text cursor indicator was randomly filling in with black.We fixed an issue with Narrator stopping early when reading certain dialogs.Based on user feedback, we enhanced Narrator’s reading experience when arrowing through messages in Outlook. When the importance column is read the “importance” header is always spoken before the high or low. If a message has been flagged that column’s information will be spoken immediately after the importance column instead of at the end.We fixed a bug where Narrator did not play the error sound in certain scenarios.We raised the volume of Narrator’s link and scroll sounds.We fixed a bug when the Narrator page summary was not working in the Chrome browser.We fixed a bug where assistive technology (e.g. Narrator, Magnifier, NVDA) were starting after sign-in when only the before sign-in setting was set.Narrator is now presenting “flash messages” on a configured braille display as expected for reading the window title and when presenting suggested content.Narrator is now presenting cell contents on a configured braille display as expected when navigating a table.

Known issues

The Reset this PC cloud download option is not currently calculating the correct amount of space you need to free up if you do not have enough disk space to proceed. To work around this until the fix is available, free up an extra 5GB beyond what is prompted.The Reset this PC cloud download option is not currently working when specific optional features are installed. The process will begin, but an error will occur and roll back the changes. To work around this issue, remove the optional features before trying the cloud download option. We’ll let you know once this issue has been resolved. The optional features are: EMS and SAC Toolset for Windows 10, IrDA infrared, Print Management Console, RAS Connection Manager Administration Kit (CMAK), RIP Listener, all RSAT tools, Simple Network Management Protocol (SNMP), Windows Fax and Scan, Windows Storage Management, Wireless Display, and WI SNMP Provider.There has been an issue with older versions of anti-cheat software used with games where after updating to the latest 19H1 Insider Preview builds may cause PCs to experience crashes. We are working with partners on getting their software updated with a fix, and most games have released patches to prevent PCs from experiencing this issue. To minimize the chance of running into this issue, please make sure you are running the latest version of your games before attempting to update the operating system. We are also working with anti-cheat and game developers to resolve similar issues that may arise with the 20H1 Insider Preview builds and will work to minimize the likelihood of these issues in the future.Some Realtek SD card readers are not functioning properly. We are investigating the issue.Some Insiders may experience a deadlock in netprofmsvc.dll on Builds 18967+. This can result in the upgrade to the build freezing at 98%, or if you’re on the build already you may find that various aspects of the system unexpectedly freeze and become unresponsive. We appreciate your patience as we work on a fix.We are looking into an issue where, after updating to this build, adding a new Language Pack reports successful installation but is not installed.There is an issue with this build where certain Local Experience Packs (LXPs) may revert to English. We are working on a fix.Certain 2D apps (like Feedback Hub, Microsoft Store, 3D Viewer) are incorrectly being treated as having protected content within Windows Mixed Reality. During video capture, these 2D apps block their content from being recorded.When capturing a repro video while filing a bug via Feedback Hub in Windows Mixed Reality, you won’t be able to select Stop video, due to the protected content issue noted above. If you want to submit a repro video, you will need to wait 5 minutes for the recording to time out. If you’d like to file the bug without a repro video, you can close the Feedback Hub window to end the recording and resume filing your bug when you reopen the app in Feedback > Drafts. Read the full article

[all-alone-he-turns-to-stone]

A Milky Way gave me breath - chapter 5

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4

Resume of the fic/imagine: Reader is new to Beacon Hills High School. Her first day starts very badly, and the panic rises. Chance or destiny makes sure that a person well-accustomed to panic attacks passes by at the right time.

But a Milky Way can’t take away all the stress… Or maybe…?

In this chapter: Finally it’s the date! Nothing bad can happen… right?

Word count: 2414 (yeah longer for the last chapter!)

Ship: Stiles Stilinski x Reader

Warning: contains social anxiety, panic attacks, but fluff and supportive subject

A/N: finally, the final chapter! I made it longer, and hope y’all love the ending! I really enjoyed writing this story, and I’m happy that so many people like it too; I didn’t think it would be that popular! So since this story is done, I have more time for requests! And I'll also write a void stiles fic!

It was the big day, and a mix of apprehension, fear, nervousness and excitement habited my whole body. The meeting was at 7 pm, in front of the cinema. It was only 5pm, and I was in front of my wardrobe trying to pick up a suit, for already 25 minutes. What should I choose? Simple, with my usual clothes a little big but comfortable? Remaining myself? Or take out my best clothes, those who haven't seen the light since my parents wedding? A dress? A skirt? Jeans? A shirt?

I bit my lower lip, pensive and nervous, my foot tapping regularly on the floor. I had no idea what to put on. Besides, I had not started to do my hair. Should I put on makeup? But we're going to see a movie, in the cinema, where the lights are off! It was useless to try making myself all pretty. Anyway, he was probably going to be more interested in the movie than me. And then, I was back to stress for nothing, like an idiot.

I sat on my bed, desperate, putting my head in my hands. I had tears in my eyes, I felt stupid to worry like that only for a date with a guy … a terribly cute and attractive guy, and oh how nice.

I blush just thinking about it. I got up, wiping my eyes to stare again at my wardrobe.

I made my decision.

The movie was starting at 7:30 pm, but we agreed to meet earlier in order to have good seats and popcorn. Faithful to myself and my fear of being late, I arrived an hour in advance. I decided to put on a pretty pale blue shirt with a simple pair of black jeans as an outfit. And for my hair, I decided to leave it natural.  I also put some light makeup on the edge of my eyes. So there I was, waiting in front of the cinema, the fear and the nervousness giving me very bad belly aches for almost an hour and this, while glancing at my cellphone to look at the time advancing, or If I had received a text message.

Time passed slowly, and the chill of the falling night shook me. I looked around hoping to see him arrive with his pretty smile, but the street was empty, except for the many people entering the cinema, laughing and holding hands. I watched them pass and sighed while consulting for an umpteenth times my cellphone, which was starting to seriously run out of battery.

19:50.

He was only 50 minutes late, and 20 minutes of missing movie, it wasn’t so bad … he was going to come, he promised me.

I put my arms against my body to warm myself. And the time went on, without any trace of the Milky Way boy anywhere. The sky was covering with menacing clouds and the moon disappeared beneath them.

Then the rain fell hard, something I hadn’t seen for ages. It is true that it often rained at Beacon Hills, but each time I do everything not to go out. I hate rain, I found it cold and sad.

20:36.

I closed my eyes with tears running down my cheeks. He wasn’t coming. Why would he come anyway…?

My hopes melted like a candle under the heat of a flame. And despite my hatred for the rain, I went out my shelter to walk home. I had come by bus, but no one was passing at that time. Stiles were supposed to take me home after the movie, but Stiles was not there and would not come. So I walked, one step in front of the other in the water that was accumulating on the side of the road, as sadness accumulated in my heart.

I didn’t notice, however, that my phone had died a long time ago.

Third Pov

“Shit, it really had to happen today, huh? Today, the only day I just want to spend without werewolves or other supernatural creatures that came out of nowhere to kill us? Is it too much asked? ”

“Shut up and help me walk …”

“No, Scott, I will not be silent! It was you who planned everything so that I could ask her to go out with me, one evening, Scott, and that same evening you asked me to come with you to see a dead body at the morgue? "Oh, it will not be long, you will not be late? ”“

Scott spat blood, holding his belly scarred by four distinct marks, scratches.

"I couldn’t know that the body wasn’t dead …”

Stiles rolled his eyes as he carried Scott on his shoulder to help him walk (stagger) into the empty corridors of the hospital basement where the morgue was, leaving a long streak of blood behind them.

“She will never want to talk to me after that, that’s for sure …”

“Stiles! I think it’s more important to settle our situation now than your missed date! "Scott interrupted as he saw the undead body in front of them, threatening, his yellow eyes shining in the dim light.

"Okay, we’re dead.”

Then, out of nowhere came a short-haired girl wearing short jeans with blue-glazed eyes and another girl with long black hair holding a not reassuring at all katana darkened on the enemy like two super entrained ninjas, and succeeded in putting him down in less than two seconds.

Stiles turned his face to his friend with a bewildered expression.

“You are the alpha and it’s a kitsune and a werecoyote who do all the work?”

Scott grunted, shooting Stiles with his red eyes.

“If he hadn’t opened my belly …”

“Yeah, yeah, excuses,” Stiles grumbled before walking up to the girls. Kira ran towards them (towards his boyfriend actually), and came to unload Stiles from his heavy load.

“Scott, are you okay?” “

"Yes, it will heal,” he replied before grinning a reassuring smile.

For his part, the only human of the group grabbed his cell phone to watch the time.

“Shit!”

He glared at the rest of the pack before looking at what a poor state he was, his clothes freshly bought for the occasion covered with blood.

“Run at your house to change, text all the excuses of the world and go join her,” his best friend said by giving him a friendly pat on the back to encourage him.

Stiles nodded and ran off.

His phone showed 20:03.

By the time he arrives at home, changes and leaves for the place of meeting, half an hour has passed and the rain has begun to fall. He had tried to text her almost twenty times, but all his messages remained unanswered. Stiles nervously poked his thumbs against the wheel of his jeep. He hoped she was still there waiting for him. That she would understand and accepts his apologies.

He hoped, but he knew there were slight chances that this would be the case.

When Stiles arrived in front of the cinema, he rushed out of his car without closing the door. Soon he got soaked by the rain. He looked everywhere, shouted her name, called her, but no answer. He even went inside the cinema. Nothing.

Fear and panic began to gain him and he had to lean against the wall to calm his breath to prevent a panic attack. It wasn’t the time. If Y / N weren’t in front of or in the cinema, she had to be on her way home, walking under the cold rain…

Stiles rushed towards his jeep and lit the headlights.

Reader pov

The road was long up to my house, and soaked like I was, I was going to be sick for sure. I was feeling the cold biting my bones. Luckily, the rain masked the tears that didn’t want to stop flowing.

A bright light lit up the street in front of me, sign that a car was about to pass. I walked away, hoping that the driver would see me and not sprinkle more water on me, but the car didn’t pass near me. It stopped behind, the engine still rumbling and I heard a door open.

“Y / N!”

My feet stopped moving by themselves and I rotated my body to look at the person who had just spoken. The Milky Way boy.

To see him in front of me, I didn’t know if I had to be relieved, offended or even sadder.

“You’re late …,” I managed to say after a while.

His face was defeated, sad and guilty. He kept licking his soaked lips and blinking quickly to clear his gaze from the water that seemed to blurry it. Then, Stiles spread his arms as a sign of defeat.

“I’m sorry … I did my best to arrive on time but …”

He didn’t finish his sentence, as if the reason behind his delay was private. I felt betrayed.

“Why … why have you invited me if you’re not even able to find a credible lie to explain why you’ve let me wait for hours, no news or text messages…”

I raised the tone to make myself be heard under the sound of the rain that buzzed in our ears.

“But I sent you tons of messages!” “

I bent my head and understood.

"My cellphone is dead …”

I passed a trembling hand on my face.

Stiles approached me and put his arms over my shoulders.

“You’re cold … come on, let’s get inside.”

I let myself go, sticking to him more than I thought I could. For the moment I was cold and the idea of ​​getting warm again seemed welcoming.

“But we missed the movie,” I mumbled sadly.

“I have a lot of great movies at home,” he answered, smiling.

It was the first time I went to Stiles. And it was also the first time I went into a boy’s room, which, moreover, apologized for his messy room.

After giving me a towel and lending a few dry and warm clothes, Stiles apologized and went to talk to his father who had just returned from work. He had to tell him why a wet girl in his room was wearing his clothes. I took advantage of it to look around. His bed was against the wall, walls that contained many posters. In the middle of the room, now stuck on the opposite wall for space was a big transparent table that police inspectors usually have to solve cases. It was covered with many pictures and unreadable inscriptions. But it wasn’t my business and despite the curious desire to look, I didn’t. That would’ve been rude of me.

I was waiting since a couple of minutes when I realized I was wearing Stiles’ clothes.

His clothes that had touched his pale skin. His clothes with a peculiar smell, a captivating scent.

I made sure that he was still far from the room to put the sweater sleeve near my nose to smell it. Immediately, a mixture of laundry soap and his own odor tickled my nose and raised the red to my cheeks. What was I doing?

“Everything is in order.”

I jumped more than I wanted when I heard him speak and lowered my arm immediately, not subtle. I hoped he had seen nothing!

Stiles lowered his head and scratched it nervously, looking at the ground before raising it, and stretching out his hand towards me.  He wanted me to take it? I didn’t move immediately, hesitant, but ended up taking it. His hand was large comparing to mine, and it was warm.

“Your hand is cold,” he whispered in a low voice before taking my other hand to warm them. I sniffled, embarrassed, and then crossed his magnificent look. My heart got even more excited, and I really hoped it would calm down.

“Yeah, I … I’m a little cold I think …” I mumbled, absorbed by his eyes that never looked away from me.

“I’m sorry again for …”

I nodded my head, not letting go of his gaze.

“You must have your reasons, I …”

He approached me, and I had to raise my head not to lose sight of his face. He was a few inches away, and strangely, except for my heart that was drumming loudly in my chest, I wasn’t afraid. My social anxiety was gone. I just felt very close to Stiles, safe. I didn’t need to hide. Of course, both of us had our little secrets, but at the time, it didn’t matter that much because I knew that very quickly there would be no barrier between us.

“So, you give me a second chance?” he whispered softly as he approached his face towards mine. My cheeks burned me, my legs became weak and my breathing accelerated.

I nodded positively.

He came closer again and I didn’t draw back. I was tired of running away, of avoiding people out of fear of being judged. I didn’t want to run away from Stiles.

So, it was I who take the initiative. I crossed the few inches that separated us and I put my lips softly against his. It was the first time I kissed a boy, so I was a little clumsy but soon Stiles guided me. He put his big hands against my waist to bring me closer and I found myself sticking to his chest. His lips moved slowly against mine so that I could get used to their shapes, textures, taste.

And it was very good.

I didn’t know what to do with my hands so I didn’t focus on them. I let them act on their own. They rested against his face and I found myself stroking his cheeks gently, and even passing a hand through his hair still wet by the rain.

When our mouths parted, I left my hands against his face, which was very close to mine. Our eyes never ceased to look at each other, magnetised.

I was still stroking his cheek when Stiles broke the silence.

“I … I think I love you, Y / N …”

My heart stopped beating as I understood the meaning of his words. But my gaze was suddenly attracted by something my thumb was touching on his cheek and I smiled.

“I love you too … my Milky Way.”