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[jsvirtualbookkeeping]

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[gallusrostromegalus]

Do you have any plans for what happens with Urahara's shop once Aizen is dealt with? I mostly ask cus the other day I binged the AIEWAM tag, then had a dream about the Shinigami using it as a base of operations in Karakura. I don't know if that is likely, or plausible, but it was fun to picture random shinigami doing customer service.

No that's more or less what happens to it!

After Aizen is dealt with, Urahara is facing some pretty significant personal problems: his rejection by the 12th division, being pregnant with his first child (and Yoruichi's nervous breakdown of impending parenthood) and Nihofornia's National Tax Agency finally catching up to him. As a shinigami, Urahara is aware of the many ways to shimmy around death, but there is no certainty like Taxes.

It's Don Kanonji, the most reasonable and level-headed adult in the whole damn fic, who proposes the solution: between his careers of swimsuit model, UN Translator, exorcist and fashion designer, Don is also a Certified Accountant. After going over she shoebox full of miscellaneous receipts and assorted Papers That Might Be Important, Don negotiates a deal with the tax agency around Kisuke's dubious status as a citizen and even more dubious bookkeeping: kisuke will sell the business to someone with a real social security number and pay up a large percentage of the staggering amount of money he owes in exchange for being allowed to rent the building from the new owners and continue his path to legitimate citizenship and no further financial chicanery.

"Okay, but who's going to pony up the cash? I don't have that kind of money!" Kisuke wails, fully in the grip of second-trimester hormone swings.

"Urahara-san. Kisuke. Sandalhat. Buddy. Pal." Ichigo's classmate Keigo sighs, fondly patting the man on the shoulders as he sat down on the couch beside Urahara. "We're friends, right?"

"We're people who know each other's home addresses." Kisuke sniffles.

"Close enough!" Mizuiro waves, sitting down on Urahara's other side. "-and you're former second division, real cloak-and-dagger stuff. So you know that sometimes it's best to not ask so many questions, right?"

Kisuke frowned with growing suspicion. "I might have been..."

"Great! All you need to do is make Tessai clean out the garage, turn the paperwork over to me and Mizuiro, keep an ear on the line to soul society, and focus on getting this place ready for your little bundle of joy-" Keigo smiled, gesturing around the decidedly bachelor padded living room.

"-and don't worry about where this came from!" Mizuiro chirped happily, hefting a large briefcase onto the table with a loud thud that popped open the lid, revealing a frankly alarming amount of cash inside.

"I'm worrying." Kisuke grimaced.

"We very specifically requested the opposite of that." Keigo pouted.

"That's at least thirty grand in there." Don remarked with a casual glance at the carefully packed but decidedly used bills inside.

"There is Thirty-one thousand, two hundred seventy-eight point oh-six Troyen, which is exactly two and a half times this shop's discretionary income last year, and a very generous price for the business!" Mizuiro beamed.

"Why can't you guys use a normal currency like Kan?" Kisuke pouted, trying to do conversion rates in his head.

"Well for one thing, fiat currency is a hell of a lot better than anything based on the value of rice." Keigo nodded. "Though it is kinda stupid that we didn't update the name after we went off the gold standard during world war three."

"There was a third world war?" Kisuke yelped.

"A cold one, back in the eighties. You didn't notice were busy making sure Isshin and Masaki Kurosaki didn't implode." Tessai called from the kitchen.

"Oh." Urahra mumbled.

"Look, it's really quite simple- you'll go on basically as you have been with the candy shop-" Mizuiro smiled with the soothing demeanor of an unexpected adder. "-only I'll be your landlord and Keigo will be your manager!"

Urahra stared blankly at the boys, then looked up at Don Kanonji, who was reading over the contents of the file folder Mizuiro had handed him when the boys came in. "...That can't possibly be legal, right?"

"Hm?" Don hummed, looking up over his glasses. "Oh, yes. The government would really prefer a check but cash is perfectly legal tender to settle all debts with."

"But they're kids!" Kisuke gestured hysterically between them.

"Okay, Mizuiro might be babyfaced but he turned eighteen last spring and I'll be an adult by the time we turn in all this paperwork in April." Keigo groaned.

"And- and this is clearly Mob Money!" Urahara continued, waving at the briefcase of cash.

"Mister Urahara! I would NEVER-!" Mizuiro gasped with great offense. "I'll have you know all this money came from Perfectly Legitimate Enterprises!" He sniffed, arms crossed and lip pouting.

"That's the name of the Mobile Tech Support business Mizu and I have been running since freshman year!" Keigo beamed. "Makes a good packet, you wouldn't believe the kind of tips the old biddies will give a Nice Young Man in a Smart Uniform who scrapes malware off her online mahjong machine!"

Urahara stared at them blankly, gaze slowly tipping down to the briefcase full of money. "I should learn how to use living world computers."

"NO." Every single person in the building, including the shop kids and Ichigo, who had been passed out under the table after training, but was stirred to consciousness by an impending sense of danger before passing out again.

"Killjoys." Urahra muttered, sulking under his hat.

"Regardless, its a perfectly legal and honestly very generous offer for this heap, and as your financial advisor, I urge you to take it." Don Kanonji glared over his glasses at Urahara.

"So what, you boys get a cut of the candy money and rent? Cause that ain't much of a savvy deal on your end. This place runs at a debt."

"Oh no, you can keep the candy revenue and I'll only ask for enough rent to cover utilities." Mizuiro smiled. "What we want is a cut of your commission as a licensed Gotei-13 outlet contractor!"

"...But I'm not a contractor?" Urahara blinked.

"...Do you just. Not read things before you sign them?" Keigo glared.

"Yeah, you're not just in hock to the NTA, the Soul Revenue Service is after you too for running a fake Gotei-13 service center, and bailing on a century's worth of filings by faking your death." Mizuiro frowned at him with concern. "So e of those papers you signed when you resumed your identity and job as captain- however briefly were the result of Captain Kyoraku cutting you one HELL of a parole deal with the SRS, but the agreement was that Urahara Shoten would be the base of operations for ALL the shinigami operating in Karakura, under the direct supervision and control of the Gotei-13 and he sure wasn't stingy with the budget he gave you! Well. The budget he gave me and Keigo to spend since I'd be the property owner and Keigo would be the business owner."

"Aaaand since you also signed the soul society official secrets agreement, it's not like you can ask someone else to buy you out from the NTA, so not only are we your best offer, we're your ONLY offer!" Keigo grinned.

Urahra stared at them blankly. "You've set me up." He mumbled.

"You sent yourself up for this when you failed to do your due diligence when signing contracts." Don Kanonji corrected him, pulling some documents out of the folder and signing them, before pushing them across the table. "Please actually read these before you si- you've already signed them." Don Kanonji groaned as Urahara slapped the pen back down on the table with spite.

"Fine, fine- I guess I'm back to following orders instead of giving them. What do you want, Boss?" He glared at Keigo.

"Put your feet up and finish putting together that gift list for the baby shower." Keigo nodded. "We weren't kidding that your first priority is getting this place ready for baby... Does it have a name yet?"

"...No." Kisuke wilted despondently. "Yoruichi still isn't answering my texts!"

"Hm." Keigo nodded. "Okay, put your feet up, finish that baby shower list and think of a name for the little rugrat. Just leave the rest to us for now!"

"You guys are good kids." Kisuke smiled weakly.

"Would you be willing to make a sworn statement to that effect, so we can have it on file for any future HR disputes?" Mizuiro smiled.

"Absolutely goddamn not." Kisuke glared.

[moongreenlight]

Mafia!Price is NOT your fucking aesthetic. A full comprehensive list as to why.

He cooka da pizza!

He goes to church every Sunday. A massive Roman Catholic Church downtown. Ancient building with floor-to-ceiling stained glass windows depicting the life and loss of Christ. Full two hour masses that he always wears a suit to. At first it starts as some last-ditch attempt to absolve him of his guilt, but then it became habit. 

And maybe it was his wife. Her parents were devout and just about keeled over when they found out their only daughter was married by a quick ceremony in the courthouse to a man they’d never met. Her mother was the worst, though it was to be expected. Likely didn’t know John had won his new bride when her husband didn’t have the funds left to pay off his debt. Fucking miracle she hadn’t yet done the math and realized his first child was born seven months later. He’d be persecuted to no end.

There was a target on his back since the wedding. Always put him in the hot seat on Sunday evening dinners while his wife was trying to wrangle their children into eating their vegetables. Drilled into him about work and life and why he always seemed too busy to prioritize “something worthwhile” in his life. Mother sets in on him like she’d been waiting for the opening all evening.

“So, John. Remind us what you do for work.” Accusatory. Glaring over her barely touched plate of roast at him.

“Contracting. Bit of this and that.” He fights the urge to roll his eyes, if only barely. 

“Hm. And what does that entail? Can’t keep you as busy as you swear you are.” She’s unabashed. Her husband doesn’t share the sentiment. He sighs into his glass of brandy and tries to catch her eye. 

“Don’t do much hands-on these days. Project management and bookkeeping for me now. Brought on a few guys to do the grunt. You remember from when we did your bathroom, I’m sure.” He doesn’t shy away from the challenge. Principled. 

“Boys would do well to have some structure. Bet they haven’t been in a church since they were baptized.” She ignores his parry and switches to what she really wants to talk about after looking over to her daughter who is all but force-feeding them florets of broccoli. Typical.

He finally wore down after a Christmas where the only gift he got from them was a deep brown leather-wrapped bible. Used. Split down the spine, dog-eared pages.  Like they’d stolen it from the shelf in the pew for the dolts who weren’t well-mannered enough to bring their own. 

From then, it had become a welcome escape from reality. Church in the morning. 8am service, because he was up before the sun anyway. Sipping coffee in the kitchen beforehand, pouring over a heavy binder with the title ‘family finance’ scrawled in his wife’s delicate handwriting across the front.

He could hear her wrestling with their two boys in the bathroom upstairs. Their indignant screeching clueing him in that he should probably get up and help, but he always tried to steal a few more moments to himself. Calm before the storm.

The boys have sour looks on their faces when they stomp down the stairs not five minutes later, though they’re nothing in comparison to their mother who’s only a few steps behind. They get the deep furrow in their brows from him, the bitter curl of their lips from her. 

“Glad you’re enjoying your slow start, John. Really.”

He should feel worse for not helping. Tries to lay her hackles back down by snapping the binder shut and pressing a chaste kiss to her temple. She barely pauses to accept it before pushing past to pack her purse. Four bibles, his ratty one, her perfectly white one with different colored sticky notes poking out the sides, and two smaller children's bibles that she’d shove in their laps for appearance sake. Snacks for the boys, and a flash of the handle of her small handgun- safetied and then shoved into the bottom of her tote.

“Should’ve shouted f’you needed help. Can’t hear a thing down here.” The boys snicker when he winks over at them. They’re outfitted in their Sunday best. Slacks with damp finger marks on the thighs from where she’d tried to smooth out wrinkles. Buttoned-down shirts that they were already tugging at the collars of. Hair gelled back, no doubt the reason for their griping earlier. 

She doesn’t find it nearly as funny as they do. Shoots him a nasty look over her shoulder before disappearing into the spare room to grab a pair of low heels. 

“We’re already late. If we have to sit in the back again, you’ll never hear the end of it.” It’s not an empty threat. They’d missed one service and some aunt had told her mother in passing. Took three months to get her to stop bringing it up.

“S’not even half seven. Takes fifteen minutes to get there.”

It’s supposed to mollify her, but it has the adverse effect. She looks ready to throw a shoe at him when she sits on the bottom stair to tug them on. He raises his hands in surrender.

“Easy.” 

Somehow all four of them make it to the car in one piece. He sends a message to Kyle before they leave telling him to save them a space toward the front to err on the side of caution.

[heich0e]

leave the light on - miya osamu/f!reader (haikyuu!) part 10 in the bff!osamu series tags: childhood friends to lovers, tw instant coffee mention, miscommunication, confessions, ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!

Onigiri Miya closes early on Sunday nights.

It’s not for lack of business—the shop would certainly take in enough revenue to justify staying open regular hours an extra day per week, especially on a weekend. But in the early days of Onigiri Miya, when it was just a one-man show, Osamu needed at least one night that he could count on having off. The workweek business—office workers and students going through their routine hustle and bustle—kept him going, enough so that Sunday nights weren’t a make or break for him, and he was able to start shuttering in the early afternoon once per week.

He remembers those early days. Sweet talking vendors to bring down the cost of produce and haggling with the grubby, bleary eyed men at fish market stalls at the crack of dawn for a deal on the catch of the day. Promising suppliers that he’d be able to get them their money in a couple of weeks if they’d just give him some more time. Standing on the road, because Onigiri Miya was just a street stall back then, trying to coax people in and try his food. To convince them to take a chance on him. He remembers burns on his hands and cuts on his fingers and an ache in his bones that ran so marrow-deep he forgot what it felt like to not be so sore. Sunday nights were the only night he had to relax. The only night he had to sit down, to take off his hat, and to have a beer—or, even more frequently, pass out on his couch in his uniform at 8pm and sleep right through to his alarm the next morning.

Closing early on Sundays had been your idea, way back when— suggested to him gently while he rested with his head in your lap in your tiny student apartment after another 16 hour workday. He still remembers the worry in your eyes as you brushed his hair back from his tired face.

Nowadays things aren’t so hectic. Osamu’s got a good team of people around him to help Onigiri Miya run smoothly—a team who he trusts and values. It doesn’t all fall onto his shoulders in the same way that it used to: he doesn’t have to be there for every open and every close, his bills are paid, he’s not fighting to lure people in off the street just in the hope that he can scrape by for another week.

Now when he closes early on Sunday, it’s more for the sake of his staff than anything else. Occasionally Osamu will take the night off, too; he’ll go home and catch up on housework, run an errand or two, or even grab dinner—usually with you, though evidently not so much lately. But most Sundays he stays behind after his last employee heads out for the night; locking up behind them, switching off the sign in the window to tell the world the shop is closed, and then holing himself up in his office to do some admin. He’ll grab a plate of whatever’s leftover from the day’s service and a cold can of beer from the fridge, put on a rerun of Atsumu’s game from the night before, and get to work shuffling through the paperwork that he’s left to pile up over the past seven days.

Osamu hates paperwork.

It’s not that it’s particularly challenging work—the really hard stuff is left to his bookkeeper after all. It’s just tedious, a mindless task in many ways, and he always finds his thoughts drifting as he sorts through invoices and inventory registers: catching himself being inattentive halfway through a spreadsheet, and having to force himself to go back to the beginning just to make sure he hasn’t missed anything in his carelessness. 

You used to help him with this kind of work, or at least keep him company while he got through it—sitting on the lumpy couch crammed into one corner of his little office and pretending like you weren’t asleep each time Osamu caught you with your eyes closed. More often than not, he’d throw his jacket over you to keep you warm while you napped and then rush through the last of his work so that he could wake you up and get you home. But just having you there on those late nights was enough for him; your presence was the thing that helped.

Coffee is his only saving grace, these days.

Samu shuffles out to the front of the shop on one such Sunday evening, taking off his baseball cap and ruffling the hair underneath tiredly. He’d finally gotten a trim, and he’s glad that things feel a bit more normal again as he rakes his fingers through it—his mother had been right when she remarked that it was getting too long the week before. He tosses his hat down on the front counter of Onigiri Miya, rounding the end to grab a sachet of instant coffee from behind the bar where he keeps his emergency stash.

The overhead lights in the shop are off, but there’s enough brightness filtering out from the still-lit kitchen that he doesn’t need to struggle to see as he prepares himself some hot water to add to the mug in front of him. He tips the granulated contents of his instant coffee sachet into the bottom after ripping it open with his teeth, tapping the empty plastic packaging against the edge of the cup to make sure it all comes out. The kettle behind him hums quietly as it heats to boiling, and Osamu sighs, leaning back against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest.

He stares out at the restaurant—his restaurant, as hard as he still finds it to believe some days—his gaze sweeping over the tables with their corresponding chairs resting atop them. One of the staff had mopped the floors at the end of the night, which left them still slightly wet and glistening. There’s light filtering in through the front windows from the streetlights and the other shops that line the Osaka street outside, and their glow catches in the water that hasn’t yet dried from the tile.

Osamu’s eyes suddenly snap up to the glass that lines the front of the restaurant.

There’s a silhouetted figure—so familiar he could trace it even with his eyes closed, from memory alone—standing on the other side of the door.

Osamu blinks, thinking that the paperwork must have finally gotten the best of him, or maybe that the beer he’d had earlier is inexplicably hitting him too hard. But no matter how many times he squeezes his eyes shut, the familiar shape stays where it is on the other side of the glass each time he opens them again.

His heartbeat thumps, loud and wet, in his ears.

Like the shot of a gun, the man stumbles gracelessly into action: loping around the end of the bar and slipping slightly on the wet tile as he heads towards the door. He fiddles with the lock as he struggles to unlatch it, accidentally trying to force it the wrong way in his haste before eventually getting it right. When he finally throws open the door, a gust of cool night air flooding into the restaurant along with it, he takes in a deep, gasping breath.

“Hey.”

His voice is shaky when he greets you—mostly air and very little shape to the word.

You stare at him from a few paces away, your arms crossed firmly over your chest and a frown tugging down the corners of your mouth. Osamu thinks you look pretty when you’re mad. He always has. But it’s worse now because he knows all too well that he shouldn’t—because he knows you’re mad at him. 

You seem to have something to say, he can tell as much from the almost spiteful glint in your eyes, but you stay tightlipped as you simply stare at him.

“D’ya… wanna come in?” Osamu asks, still holding the door open. He nods his head back into the shop. “Still got some stuff prepped, I could make ya—“

“You’re a jerk.”

Osamu blinks, taken aback.

“Yeah,” he agrees plainly after a moment, thinking it’s only fair of you to say given then circumstances. 

His concurrence only seems to upset you more.

“Like, you’re a real asshole, y’know that?” You’re nearly spitting you’re so angry, your features twisted up in contempt. Your arms uncross and drop down to your sides, and Osamu watches as your hands ball into fists. He’s the one who taught you how to throw a punch, years and years ago now, and he’s wondering if he’s about to experience a practical demonstration of his teaching abilities firsthand.

“I don’t necessarily disagree.” He nods, agreeing with you once more, though this time his response is slower, more hesitant—not because he doesn’t mean it, but because he’s not sure that it’s what you want to hear.

“Ugh!” Your following exclamation is loud, and palpably frustrated, all but confirming his suspicions. “You…!”

Your tone is climbing with every passing second, and Osamu looks furtively up and down the road around the two of you. It’s late in the evening but there are still a few people out, and he sees heads turning in your direction at the commotion.

“Hey,” he says, his own voice dropping in volume but still pleading all the same. “My name’s on the door and we’re gettin’ some weird looks. I wanna hear everythin’ you have to say, but could you please just say it to me inside?”

You look at him blankly, your lips puckering into a petulant, unhappy pout. You seem like you want to say no, to keep causing a scene, and for a second Osamu really thinks you’re about to round in on him again. Instead you trudge forward, stomping past him over the threshold of Onigiri Miya.

Osamu hesitates for a moment after you pass, half in shock and half in relief, and then he lets the door swing closed and locks it behind him for good measure—he’s not sure he wants any unsuspecting people coming in search of onigiri and stumbling upon a brawl.

It’s dim in the restaurant when he turns to face you, but he can still see your fury burning in the dark.

Neither of you say anything.

“You can keep goin’ if you want,” Osamu is eventually the first to speak, and he means what he says. This is the least of the punishment he deserves, after all. And hearing you yell at him is markedly better than the silence.

“Martyrdom doesn’t suit you at all,” you mutter sullenly.

Osamu sighs, scrubbing his hand over his face. “I just wantcha to say whatcha came here to say.”

You begin to pace as you work through your thoughts, slowly walking back and forth in front of the counter, picking at your cuticles. You’d put a fair amount of distance between the two of you, and he’s sure it was intentional. Osamu keeps himself confined to the entryway near the door, while you walk a path back and forth along the length of the service counter. His eyes follow every step you take, like a captivated child watching fish at the aquarium.

“I had a terrible dream last night,—” you finally force the words out, your feet stilling against the shiny tile as your pacing comes to a sudden halt.

Osamu decides to just do the right thing and shut the hell up for once, giving you the floor.

“—I was going to buy 30 kilos of rice from Kita-san’s farm—”

That’s a lot of rice, Osamu wants to note, but his lips part to let the words through and then he decides better of it.

“—and I was there, at the farm, and then Kita-san started telling me that you got married and had a baby. A baby, Samu! Kita-san standing there telling me all these terrible things with that big bag of rice in my hands, and I couldn’t even get mad at him because he’s Kita! So I just had to listen to him go on and on and on about the venue and the flowers and the baby name that you picked out. And the more he’d tell me the worse it was, and the bag of rice just kept getting heavier.” Your teeth bite down so hard into your lip as you suck in a breath that Osamu's amazed he doesn’t see blood. “I was hearing all of these things—terrible things—and all I could think was that I should have been there to see all of that for myself. I shouldn’t have been hearing about it from someone else. And I realized that you were living a whole life apart from me, a life that I didn’t know about or get to be a part of, and it just kept getting worse and worse and I woke up and I felt like I was going to scream.”

You’re out of breath by the time you finish your rambling thought, your chest heaving and your eyes wild and your mouth faintly wet. You look to him, and Osamu doesn’t see that same indignation in your eyes anymore, only hurt. He watches as the expression hardens again, whets itself like a blade—sharpened not in anger, but rather in resolve. In resignation.

“That day. I looked for you first.”

Osamu feels lost now. Are you still talking about that dream?

You understand without him saying it, and explain yourself further. “In high school. The day that I kissed Suna.”

Osamu’s stomach drops, all of the blood rushing to his head so quickly that the shop begins to spin a little around him. He can hear his pulse in his ears. He can feel it in his throat. He can’t help the twist of jealousy in the pit of his stomach, writhing and ugly though it may be, at the mere mention of his friend’s name. He doesn’t have the right to feel the way he feels, but it happens all the same.

“I looked for you,” you keep going, like you’ve broken a seal and have to let it all out. Osamu doesn’t dare try to stop you. He couldn’t even if he wanted to. He watches on like it’s a conversation that’s happening not with him but rather to him. “You were eating lunch with Tsumu in your classroom. I realized he would have had a fit if he knew that I was asking you and not him. I thought about asking him but…”

Osamu can’t feel his fingers from how tightly his hands are balled into fists at his side. His lungs burn in his chest—the breath he’s holding having long since lost the oxygen his body needs, though he can’t seem to draw in another.

“If it wasn’t you, I didn’t care who it was. So I asked Suna.”

The young man processes your words slowly. Incompletely. Like only every third word seems to register.

“Ya wanted me to be yer first kiss?” It’s not the question he ought to ask you but it’s the one his brain chooses to spit out.

Your reply is frustrated, but with an unmistakably melancholic rasp running through it. “Yeah. I did.”

Somewhere distantly, Osamu recognizes a sharp, stinging pain. An ache as part of him realizes that it could have been him. All along. All this time. Him. But the pain is muted, because part of him—most of him—still doesn’t quite understand.

“I think that was the first time I realized it.” 

Osamu watches your face, maps the achingly familiar lines and dips and curves of your features as he tries to read meaning in the space between your words. But he still finds nothing.

“I liked you, Samu. More than I should have. Differently than I liked Tsumu, or Suna, or any other guy.” You laugh, but it’s a hollow, watery sound. “I realized it and it was awful.”

You’re waiting for him to say something, but Osamu is at a loss for words. No, that’s not quite it either. It’s not that he has nothing to say, but that he has everything he wants to say to you. To ask you. But he doesn’t know where to start, or how to sort through them, or even how to will his lips, teeth, and tongue to shape any of them.

“You… Y’know ya don’t have to say this,” his voice is tight, like a rope drawn to secure a knot not unlike the one in his throat, when he finally manages to speak. “Ya don’t have to pretend or convince yourself that you… felt the same as me. I care about ya too much to ever ask that.”

You laugh—a single, sharp, distinctly mirthless ha!—as you throw your hands up in exasperation. “There you go again not letting me have any say, Samu!” You punctuate your exclamation with a frustrated little sound. “Stop deciding things all on your own and just listen to me.”

That shuts him up again.

“I thought I was over it,”—you begin to pace once more, your steps slow and measured—“I really did. I told myself it would never happen and moved on because I never ever wanted to fuck things up between us. Between any of us.

“You told me that you’ve loved me your whole life, but you don’t know if or when something changed. I do. I had a singular moment that I could point to where I realized that if I did or said the wrong thing after that, I could fuck up something that meant more to me than anything else in the world. Even if you felt the same way I did, there’s no guarantee that something like that would work out. But if we tried and it didn’t work, we wouldn’t be able to just go back to how things were. So I told myself that no matter what I wouldn’t. No matter how hard it was or how awful it felt. I could get over it if it meant I never had to lose you. And it was fine. For years it was fine. We were fine. Everything was fine. And then I lost you anyway.”

You suddenly stop pacing and crouch down, your arms winding themselves around your knees as if to comfort yourself. 

“That night, when you…” You swallow, and risk a glance up at him. “I don’t think I’m over it.”

Osamu feels like he might die. Maybe he did already. Maybe this is his life passing before his eyes, because it’s always been you anyway.

“But it’s scary, Samu,” your voice is so small, so vulnerable, when you speak to him again. You’re trembling as you hold yourself. “Aren’t you scared?”

Osamu is suddenly reminded of that fall day in the woods, so many years ago now. Reminded of two kids who didn’t know what they were doing. Who didn’t know anything. But who knew each other.

Slowly, Osamu crouches too—his joints cracking in protestation as he drops his body down to your level. Your eyes never leave his.

“Yeah,” he says, after a moment. Soft but sure. “‘Course I am.”

You let out a soggy, incredulous laugh, but it somehow doesn’t feel out of place. He watches as you reach up and scrub at your eyes.

“I love you,” Osamu says, because it’s true. Because there’s no other words he can possibly think to say in this situation. Because it’s the only thing that he has in his mind.

You look over at him, sniffling a little, wiping at your running nose with the back of your hand in a way that Osamu absolutely should not find as endearing as he does. “How can you just say it like that? Like it’s so easy?”

Osamu wants to laugh too, like you did earlier, but he worries that the sound might come off as almost hysterical thanks to the misplaced hope he can feel simmering in the pit of his stomach. “Sayin’ it’s the hard part, that’s why it took me so long. But I’ve spent forever lovin’ ya. S’always been the easiest bit.”

You choke back a sob, your head hanging defeatedly as your body slackens. You’re a ghost of the angry little thing that was outside of his door only a few minutes earlier, but more yourself now than Osamu has seen you in weeks.

“What about you?” he poses the question so quietly he might worry you didn’t hear him if not for how silent the dark shop is around you both.

“What do you mean?” You know what he means. He knows you know what he means. You’re stalling, trying to buy yourself time that’s run out now.

“Do you love me?” he asks, praying to anyone who’s listening that he’s been a good enough man up until this point to deserve the answer that he wants to hear more than anything else in the world.

“Of course I do,” you say evasively, refusing to meet his gaze. But it’s not the same. It’s not enough.

“But are you in love with me?” Osamu finally dares to ask.

There’s a stretch of the most painful, profound silence that either of you have ever experienced. It goes on for an eternity, though the clock hands in the corner say differently.

You still refuse to look at him, your gaze fixed instead to a point on the wall on the other side of the restaurant. Osamu watches how the light from the windows catches in the tears that cling to your bottom lashes.

“Yeah, I am,” you say, barely a whisper. You speak the confession like it’s the most terrifying thing imaginable. Like it's wretched.

And it is maybe, but Osamu’s never felt happier to hear anything in all his life—he feels a rush of something so visceral and elated flowing through him, he thinks he might pass out.

“Can I touch ya?” he asks hesitantly, his voice thick and unlike its normal tone. He hardly recognizes it as his own.

You peek over at him for the first time, and Osamu revels in the feeling of having your eyes on him. Delights in watching you watch him and knowing that behind the gaze is the same feeling as the one he holds inside of himself. You consider it for a moment, and he doesn’t dare rush you, but eventually—mercifully—you nod. 

Osamu inches forward slowly and wraps you in his arms. Your body relaxes into his hold instantly, and he pulls you into his lap on the tiled floor. He holds you so tightly that he’s scared he might break you, but he still can’t find it in himself to be more delicate. You cling to him anyway.

It’s the first time he’s touched you in months, but every inch of you is still known to him. Still familiar in every way that matters. You smell the same. You feel the same. You’re soft and warm just like always. Osamu buries his face into the crook of your neck, and your fingers eventually lift to play with the hair at his nape. He holds you, and holds you, and holds you more—sating a thirst that’s been building for longer than the time the two of you have been apart.

And you let him.

You hold him too, in the same way.

“If I kiss ya, you gonna cry again?” Osamu asks you quietly after a while, his lips brushing against your throat as he murmurs the words.

You snort, your fingers twisting into the material of his t-shirt at his shoulders. Osamu peels himself away from you and looks up, and finds that your faces are so close. Too close, in any other circumstance.

His palm lifts, cupping your cheek in his hand, running his thumb against the smooth skin underneath.

“Shut up, Samu,” you say, a little smile twisting up the corner of your mouth.

And Osamu happily obliges by pressing his lips to yours.

[mochademic]

100 Days of Productivity [Day: 89] || 100 Jours de Productivité [Jour: 89]

expect the unexpected; sometimes, it's going to be just what you needed.

this weekend I said welcome home to this little ragamuffin; a surprise [& early anniversary gift] from my partner. he's been keeping me on my toes, but life's been a little less lonely these days. my 3 month review at this new company went over well, & also came with a crazy promotion. hard work really does pay off, & it's nice to be working somewhere where my work does not go unnoticed.

the reason why I say this promotion is crazy, is because it's completely unrelated to my degree. I had been given various projects over the last few months – predominantly to do with bookkeeping & finances – that have resulted in me being selected to be the new company accountant. this work is not unfamiliar with me since it's something I do for my own small business, but to be doing this on a corporate level is humbling. it reminds me of a conversation I once had with my department head right before graduation. they were the person who I went to with many of my tearful vents and frustrations, & during this particular conversation they told me "do what you need to, but do more of what you're good at. that's how you bring the right things to your table." I held on to that for years. right now, I wish I could tell them thank you.

academic work:

-catch up on all unit reviews -re-write notes/organize

freelance work:

-catch up on all projects -continue signing up for markets -edit digital work -prepare shop listings

office work:

-answer all emails -complete payroll for tomorrow -review funding changes from last meeting -look at problems after system update

currently listening // Attention by Wyatt

Attendez-vous à l'inattendu ; parfois, c'est exactement ce dont vous aviez besoin.

ce week-end, j'ai souhaité la bienvenue à ce petit ragoût, une surprise [et un cadeau d'anniversaire anticipé] de mon partenaire. il me tient en haleine, mais la vie est un peu moins solitaire ces jours-ci. mon évaluation de trois mois dans cette nouvelle entreprise s'est bien passée et s'est accompagnée d'une promotion folle. le travail acharné paie vraiment, et c'est agréable de travailler dans un endroit où mon travail ne passe pas inaperçu.

La raison pour laquelle je dis que cette promotion est folle, c'est qu'elle n'a aucun rapport avec mon diplôme. Au cours des derniers mois, on m'a confié divers projets - principalement liés à la comptabilité et aux finances - qui m'ont valu d'être choisie pour être la nouvelle comptable de l'entreprise. Ce travail ne m'est pas inconnu, puisque je le fais pour ma propre petite entreprise, mais le faire au niveau de l'entreprise me rend humble. Cela me rappelle une conversation que j'ai eue un jour avec mon chef de service juste avant d'obtenir mon diplôme. c'est à lui que je m'adressais pour lui faire part de mes larmes et de mes frustrations, et au cours de cette conversation, il m'a dit : « Fais ce que tu dois faire, mais fais davantage ce pour quoi tu es douée. c'est ainsi que tu apporteras les bonnes choses à ta table ». J'ai gardé cela pendant des années. En ce moment, j'aimerais pouvoir leur dire merci.

travail académique :

-rattraper tous les examens de l'unité -réécrire les notes/organiser

travail en free-lance :

-rattraper tous les projets -continuer à s'inscrire sur les marchés -éditer le travail numérique -préparer les listes de boutiques

travail de bureau :

-répondre à tous les courriels -compléter la liste des salaires pour demain -Examiner les modifications apportées au financement depuis la dernière réunion -Examiner les problèmes après la mise à jour du système

chanson // Attention par WYATT

[lamemaster]

The Tale of Leren and Buthien

Pairing: Rog x GN Reader

Genre: Romance

Summary: The general makes dreams come to life with the play of ink and paper. The catch- the dreams are wet.

AN: No actual smut in a story about a smut writer this is what you call a true lazy ass. I am a proud woman. I mean look at this amazing title.

"What is it this time?" The hall full of elves buzzed with unfathomable tension. It wasn't a blinding gem, a delicate harp, or even a well-forged sword.

Instead, it was nothing more than a couple sheets of paper crudely sewn together.

"Oh my it comes with illustrations," an elleth fanned her flushing face as others around her peaked into the papers. "By Varda," another exclaimed breathing deeply but none looked away.

What was it that left the residents of Gondolin, millennia-old elves, gasping like teens undergoing puberty?

"It's the neighbor this time," someone added in an uncanny awe. "A peeking neighbor and a married couple who can't keep their hands off each other." Century-old elders in the room giggled childishly.

"The general never disappoints."

"The true pioneer of Edain must I say," everyone broke out into laughter.

All but one. Rog, the lord of the house of the warth of the hammer. As if glued to his seat, he sat with a tense back as the rest of the room cackled over the saucy novella.

Lord Rog had just been assigned his next assignment.

The general, the source of new weekly entertainment in Gondolin. You came with the host of Hurin and Huor. A warrior known for your might, you were respected, welcomed even by many. However, slighted by your appearance not once did the Gondolians expect you to carry another side with you.

Not until the first of your writings ended up in the hands of a flustered bookkeeper. A writing you proudly presented. Handwritten and bound by you.

Perhaps the bookkeeper had expected a mundane poem or war strategies, even something about the lives of Edain but never had the 658-year-old Ailya expected the raunchiest filth of a story of a night of pleasure shared between a king and their knight.

Let's just say that after a few years of peace and calm your story brought chaos to the streets of Gondolin. In the blink of an eye, every knight in the service possessed a copy of your creation. Even the whispers of your lewd tale were loud enough for the rest of the lords to find out. Some even gossiped about a copy in the king's office...

Surrounded by a babbling Glorfindel and an intrigued Penlod, Rog held it for the first time. Even as he wrapped his hands around the cool paper, written in the clean handwriting of an elven scribe, your original piece was an artifact at this point, Rog felt his fingers tremble with the weight of the mere sheets of paper that carried your words.

The general was an existence whose presence was announced by Ulmo, the Vala of water. Accompanied by Huor and Hurin came their close companion and the leader of their forces, you.

A mere human who challenged the wrath of his hammer with every breath of their existence.

"Did you hear Lord Rog moved his room?" someone whispered in the group huddled by the hearth.

"What? That's so random..."

Looking around they exchanged exasperated looks before continuing "You're as dense as him."

"What do you mean? We're not here decoding our Lord's every move."

The Vanya sighed trying not to beat up his clueless companion."Okay listen, the general wrote a piece about knights and the next day Lord Rog drilled all his knights until the general saw them, then the general wrote about a misfit rebel and the next day Lord was seen wearing an all-black armor with a very mannish braid. And now with the new neighbor piece, he moves into the room that faces the room general lives in."

The room fell silent. Everyone stared at the paper in their hands. Was their lord truly...with the general...

"Do you think our Lord would be able to keep up with the general...he might fade of pleasure," the dark-haired ellon groaned as a metal vase hit him square in the face.

Late at night when the stars in the sky dictate the sleep of men, Rog watches you write away hunched over your desk. A clear view from his window. Unhindered by curtains or your own trinkets lying around.

And when late at night your eyes accidentally seem to meet his, Rog finds himself flinching away from the smirk on your face before you go back to wreaking havoc on the paper.

A week later the streets of Gondolin fill with hustle and excitement. A new volume clutched in every hand.

However, this time around the whispers seem to be shuddering with a different energy. Thrumming with a pulsing tension carried in quivering lips.

To sate his curiosity, Lord of the House of the Wrath of Hammer grabs the volume.

Rushing back to his room, he allows his eyes to gloss over the title.

Hidden behind the curtain, you watch Rog glare holes into the volume clutched in his hands. A warm red settles on his cheeks as his ears twitch with his shaking pupil.

Perhaps the mannish retelling of the Lay of Lethian was not such a bad idea as Ailya had made it to be. Especially given the faces your elf was making reading it.

[chhokar-accounting]

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[vncglobal]

5 Reasons You Shouldn’t Wait to Catch Up on Bookkeeping in 2023

As a business owner, bookkeeping is likely not the most exciting aspect of your job. In fact, it may even be something you dread or put off for as long as possible. However, delaying your bookkeeping tasks can have serious consequences for your business. Here are five reasons why you shouldn't wait to catch up on bookkeeping in 2023.

Stay on Top of Finances:

One of the most important reasons to keep up with bookkeeping is to ensure that you have an accurate understanding of your business's financial health. When you delay bookkeeping tasks, you may be unaware of your current financial situation, which can lead to poor decision-making and financial mismanagement. By staying on top of your bookkeeping services provider in Australia, you can make informed decisions and take action to address any financial concerns before they become major issues.

Avoid Penalties and Fines:

Late or inaccurate bookkeeping can result in penalties and fines from tax authorities. In Australia, the Australian Taxation Office (ATO) has strict regulations and deadlines for business reporting and payments. Failure to comply with these requirements can result in significant penalties, which can have a significant impact on your business's bottom line. By keeping up with your bookkeeping, you can avoid these penalties and ensure that you remain in compliance with ATO regulations.

Save Time and Reduce Stress:

Bookkeeping can be a time-consuming and stressful task, particularly if you are behind on your records. By catching up on your bookkeeping regularly, you can save time and reduce stress in the long run. You'll also have more time to focus on other aspects of your business, such as growth and development.

Better Decision-Making:

Accurate and up-to-date bookkeeping allows you to make informed decisions about your business. You can see where your money is going, identify areas of overspending, and make adjustments to your budget accordingly. With this information, you can also make more informed decisions about investments, hiring, and other important business decisions.

Get Professional Help:

If you're struggling to keep up with bookkeeping tasks, it may be time to consider outsourcing to a bookkeeping services provider in Australia. Outsourced bookkeeping services in Australia can provide expert help with managing your books, freeing up your time to focus on other aspects of your business. Additionally, bookkeepers services provider in Australia can ensure that your records are accurate and up-to-date, helping you to avoid penalties and make better decisions.

In conclusion, keeping up with bookkeeping tasks is crucial for the financial health and success of your business. By staying on top of your records, you can avoid penalties, make informed decisions, and save time and stress in the long run. If you need help with bookkeeping, consider outsourcing to a bookkeeping services provider in Australia.

[jsvirtualbookkeeping]

Managing Financial Success: The Effect of Illinois's Catch-Up Bookkeeping Services

Success in the dynamic realm of business requires maintaining precise and up-to-date financial documentation. For many Illinois-based firms, implementing Catch-Up and Clean-Up Bookkeeping Services in Illinois is the first step toward achieving financial stability. These services clear the path for sustainable growth and prosperity in addition to streamlining financial procedures. To read more click the given link. Source URL: https://theamberpost.com/post/managing-financial-success-the-effect-of-illinoiss-catch-up-bookkeeping-services

[jacksondom]

What Is Bookkeeping and Why Does Your Business Need It?

Bookkeeping is a very important part of running any business. It helps you keep track of all the money that comes in and goes out. With good bookkeeping, you can see how much you are earning, what you are spending, and how your business is doing overall. It shows you if your business is making a profit or losing money.

Whether you own a small business or a big company, bookkeeping is something you should not ignore. It helps you stay organised, avoid mistakes, and make smart choices. It also makes things easier when it’s time to pay taxes or apply for a loan.

In this article, we will explain what bookkeeping means, why it is important, and how it can help your business grow. If you want to understand your business better and make good financial decisions, bookkeeping is a great place to start. It gives you control over your business money.

What Is Bookkeeping?

Bookkeeping means recording all the money that goes in and out of your business. This includes your sales, expenses, bills, and payments. Every time you earn money or spend it, it needs to be written down somewhere. Bookkeeping helps you stay organized and know exactly where your money is going.

This record-keeping is usually done in a ledger or using bookkeeping software. You or a bookkeeper will enter the information regularly, like daily, weekly, or monthly.

It’s not just about writing numbers down — it’s about making sure everything adds up correctly. Bookkeeping helps you catch mistakes early and gives you a clear picture of your business finances.

Why Is Bookkeeping Important for Your Business?

Bookkeeping is important because it gives you control over your money. Without it, you might not know if you are making a profit or losing money. Below are some of the main reasons why every business needs good bookkeeping.

1. Keeps You Organized

Bookkeeping helps keep all your financial information in one place. You can easily check how much you’ve spent, how much you’ve earned, and what you still owe to others. When your records are organized, it saves you time and stress — especially when it’s time to pay taxes or apply for a loan.

2. Helps You Understand Your Business

Bookkeeping shows you the big picture of your business. It helps you understand what products or services are making the most money, where you’re spending too much, and what changes you can make to improve. This knowledge helps you make better choices to grow your business.

For example, if your bookkeeping shows that a certain product isn’t selling well, you can decide to stop selling it and focus on something more profitable.

3. Makes Tax Time Easier

When it’s time to file your taxes, having clear and up-to-date bookkeeping records is a big help. You don’t have to scramble to find receipts or guess your income. All the information you need is already recorded.

This also helps you avoid paying too much in taxes or getting into trouble with the tax office. With proper bookkeeping, you’ll know exactly what you owe and when to pay it.

4. Helps You Manage Cash Flow

Cash flow is the money that moves in and out of your business. Good bookkeeping helps you track this. You can see when payments are due, when customers are likely to pay you, and when you might run low on funds. This helps you plan better and avoid running into financial problems.

For example, if you see that a big bill is coming up next month, you can make sure you have enough money saved to cover it.

5. Supports Business Growth

If you want to grow your business, you need to know how it's performing. Bookkeeping shows you which areas are doing well and which ones need improvement. With this information, you can plan for the future, set goals, and make smart investments.

You might also need bookkeeping records when applying for business loans or grants. Lenders and investors want to see that your business is financially healthy, and good bookkeeping gives them the proof they need.

6. Avoids Costly Mistakes

Without good bookkeeping, it’s easy to make financial mistakes. You might forget to pay a bill, miscalculate your profits, or overspend without realizing it. These mistakes can lead to fines, penalties, or lost money.

Bookkeeping helps you catch errors early and fix them before they become big problems. It’s like a safety net for your business finances.

Who Does the Bookkeeping?

Bookkeeping can be done by the business owner, an employee, or a professional bookkeeper. If your business is small, you might start by doing it yourself. As your business grows, you may want to hire someone or use bookkeeping software.

A bookkeeper is trained to handle your financial records correctly. They can also give advice, help with taxes, and work with your accountant.

There are also many online tools and apps that make bookkeeping easier. These tools can automatically track expenses, send invoices, and generate reports. They’re a great option if you want to save time and reduce errors.

Conclusion

Bookkeeping might not seem exciting, but it’s one of the smartest and most valuable things you can do for your business. It helps you stay in control of your finances, make confident decisions, and prepare for the future. When your records are clear and accurate, you save time, reduce stress, and avoid costly mistakes — especially during tax time or when applying for a loan.

Whether you’re just starting a small business or managing a growing one, bookkeeping is essential. Starting simple and staying consistent can make a big difference. And if it ever feels overwhelming, you don’t have to do it alone.

At Hello Ledger, expert bookkeepers are ready to support you with simple, friendly, and stress-free bookkeeping services. They help you stay organised and on top of your finances, so you can focus on what you do best — running your business. Your future self — and your business — will thank you for it.