#Naliz

[lalizah]

In the midst of the crowds, in the shapes in the clouds

Nate x F!MC (Nate Sewell x Liz Langford)

Rating: T

Author's Note: Thank you to the wonderful and amazing @serenpedac for giving me the best writing advice, helping me move this thing forward and actually write a half-baked idea into something more (This was a massacre of a fic, a war crime even until my darling friend stepped in!)

This is the first thing that I have actually completed (oh my God) and even if it's not perfect, I am quite happy with it. Happy reading and thank you to everyone for leaving such lovely comments on the snippets!

His disappointment dissipates at the sound of Liz's poorly concealed laugh, her eyes betraying her neutral expression as they twinkle with amusement, finding his exasperation humorous. His pout turns into a smile as he turns toward her, watching as she leans over the wheel, brows furrowed in concentration, lower lip caught between her teeth as she begins to shape the vase with delicate, precise movements. Her vase is forming into a lovely shape—the neck long and proportionate, the base symmetrical and simply perfect, just like her smile, not unlike everything she sets her mind to. She purses her lips and pretends not to notice his mock offense, her eyes flitting about before finally meeting his, causing them both to laugh a bit too loudly for the small, cozy studio. A few pointed stares are thrown their way, and they both mumble apologies, as if they’re schoolchildren being chastised.

——————————————————————

Nate is ever-patient and seldom frustrated, but with the situation at hand, he wonders if he's ever truly been tested before. Clumps of discarded and ill-shaped clay lie beside his worktable, a sad and pathetic display of his failures. He lets out an annoyed tch when he notices some of it sticking to his expensive wool-cashmere cardigan, the muddy gray horrendously marring the rich, deep green. Inhaling deeply, he reminds himself that he cannot be good at everything on the first try. No one can—except, perhaps, his enthusiastic partner.

They return to the task at hand—or at least Liz does—while Nate stares dejectedly at the new piece of clay he’s propped onto the wheel. A small, disappointed sigh escapes him, and he almost decides to give up entirely. Watching Liz do it is far better anyway, but he’s made a promise, and he will not back out now. He takes the sleeves of his cardigan by the tips of his fingers and carefully folds them up to his elbows.

Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Liz struggling with the rim. A small, adorable sound of panic escapes her before she corrects it. He tilts his head slightly in confusion as he catches her looking away from him, eyes pointedly fixating on the wheel.

"Your good luck finally running out, Agent Khan?" Nate teases, though he's probably more relieved than Liz that the vase hasn’t met an untimely demise like all of his did.

"Jealous, Agent Sewell?" she shoots back coyly, a hint of pride in her tone.

He chuckles deeply and hears her heartbeat flutter.

"Not at all. In fact, I am glad your efforts are coming to fruition, dear friend." And it’s true. The failure of his own endeavors does nothing to hinder the happiness he has felt this entire evening. He looks around and takes in the whole room—people like himself and Liz, new and experienced potters scattered across the small, intimate studio, talking about everything and nothing as they work on their respective pieces. Nate takes a sip of his tea from a gaudy mug (he smiles as he remembers Liz taking a picture of his barely concealed disgust at the poor design) and exhales happily. To be in the midst of life, of humanity itself, not as an observer but as an active participant, to have someone to learn new things with, to finally live again—he couldn’t think of anything more splendid.

He turns his grateful gaze toward Liz, who had brought them here to take a class and make some decorations for the warehouse. They’ve been doing things here and there, her spontaneity leading them to places unknown, tiny worlds of wonder hidden in the nooks of this splendid town. They spend hours walking and laughing as if there is nothing to worry about while she tells him stories of this town—stories of her childhood, how she shaped this place as much as it shaped her. And between those moments, he finds himself sharing too. Tales long forgotten by the world, perhaps, but not by him. Little sentences here and there, just enough to offer a glimpse without giving himself away. She listens, and he becomes lighter.

He’s pulled out of his musings when he hears a proud “Ta-da!” and chuckles. Liz looks incredibly pleased, humming in satisfaction as she admires her work, occasionally pouting when she spots an imperfection that he does not see—her gaze analyzing her work just as she would a report. After an inspection she deems "alright," she sets her vase aside and turns to look at his wheel, only to find it empty. A frown of apology crosses her face as she begins to wipe her hands clean, standing up from the small stool and stretching, the pink of her cheeks matching that of her sweater. She looks lovely under the fairy lights strung about the room, her casual appearance and easy demeanor a stark contrast to how she is at work.

"I'm sorry for bringing you here so randomly. I really didn't think to ask if it’s something you'd like to do—"

Nate shakes his head to interrupt, smiling up at her and halting an unnecessary apology.

"I haven’t been able to make much… of anything, really," he chuckles, passing his gaze over the sad line of irregularly shaped blobs of clay, "but I have had the most wonderful time observing you."

At his comment, Liz huffs a little laugh, her cheeks turning a lovely shade of red against her warm, beige skin.

"Aren’t you the charmer?"

"I’m glad you find my honesty charming," he states, a seriousness catching the words he had meant to say lightly. And it's true.

Liz is usually the content observer, sitting by his side (he’s finding it hard to imagine all those years without her soothing presence), watching and asking, delighted by everything he has to show her. Today, he's taken her role—discovering a side of her he hasn’t before. Unguarded yet focused, her delight palpable, her frustration endearing, her small celebratory hums of victory tugging at his heart—life and its vibrancy teeming in her honey-brown gaze.

It makes him feel… He doesn’t know how to put it.

Nate has never been at a loss for words, yet he finds it hard to name this new sense of bliss.

What of the warmth he feels expanding in his chest?

It must be the room, he concludes.

It is warmer here than outside.

"I wanted us to make matching pots. You could keep the one I make, and I'll keep yours. You know, those matching BFF vases?"

He does not know of them, only having learned of this “trend” running around a gram that is instant, apparently. Something like that.

The lovely idea makes that unfamiliar feeling bloom in his chest tenfold, the sentiment touching.

"I’d like that. To keep a piece of you with me so it can keep me company when you are… not present."

His tone is soft, almost velvety, and he notices Liz's gaze crinkling, a beautiful, resplendent smile gracing her lips.

He smiles back and reaches up to wipe a smear of dried clay from her cheek, tucking a loose brown curl behind her ear.

He holds her gaze for as long as she allows, not lost in the depths of those lovely brown eyes, but found.

Seen.

He is seen, and she is appreciative of whatever she finds.

Unlike her vase, he’s not being scrutinized.

Her eyes are tracing, as if they cannot look their fill.

He lets her look, his thumb falling away from the small dot beneath her left eye (a lone star), before his hand drops from her face.

Instead, he lightly grabs her hand, rubbing the skin on her wrist absentmindedly, savoring her sole attention.

He feels like he is basking in the sun—a warmth, a rush pouring over him without hesitation.

The heady feeling flows like warm water cascading down his body gently, feather-light kisses to his being that make his toes curl as she twines their fingers together, moving closer.

"Nathaniel," she breathes, and he likes the way his name makes her voice lilt mellifluously.

Unlike the other times she’s called him that way (a teasing way to chastise him when he’s being a "diva"), she says it like… it’s something else entirely.

As if only she could do his name justice.

"Elizabeth," he answers, with the same reverence.

Someone clears their throat behind Liz as they make to leave and the moment breaks, snapping them back to reality. Nate feels his blood rush to his head and his face and makes to retract his hand before Liz places her other hand, stopping him. Something crosses her eyes, and he wonders if she felt what he did. She seems to debate something before clearing her throat.  "How about I teach you? We can still try," she suggests, her voice slightly husky. Nate’s voice sounds completely foreign to his own ears as he agrees. "I'd love to."

The small space, as well as the even smaller stool he's been given makes it hard for them to find how to work together. He tosses the clay onto the wheel again as Liz watches and guides from his side. He begins to shape the vase and anxiously hopes he does not deform it again. Liz stands behind him, leaning over slightly, watching and throwing encouraging comments, guiding him as best as she can. Nate chuckles at her delight, his progress making him sit taller as he sees the clay finally take form. His excitement is short-lived when the structure threatens to fall over, and his hands hesitate. He takes his foot off the pedal and looks towards her helplessly.

Liz seems to assess the situation, hesitating before pointing to the space in front of him. “May I?” His mouth goes dry before he manages to nod, leaning back a bit as Liz carefully steps over his long legs, the task made harder with the limited space they have to make do with. She trips and flails before he rights her, grabbing her by the waist. She lets out a meek thank you, the expression of gratitude only audible due to his heightened senses. He’s not sure whose heart is beating faster, almost running a hand through his hair before remembering that they are still caked in dried gray clay.

She decides to sit directly in front of him, on her knees, her head coming up to his shoulders, making him hunch over as she grabs his hands by the back. Her smaller hands are warm and he can’t help but stare at the contrast between tawny brown and pink beige skin, his caked with clay, hers clean. She signals for them to start and he presses the pedal again, letting her fingers guide his. "You want to go a bit deeper here..." She whispers softly, ears flushed red as one hand directs his fingers, pushing down to make an opening, the other one keeping his over the base of the vase steady. 

This close, he can smell the deep, jasmine scent she carries, sweet to his senses like honey, entirely consuming and simply intoxicating. He closes his eyes and inhales, before slowly opening them, leaning his head slightly against hers. Her heart beats in tandem with his, the sound and thud of it familiar and welcome. His hands and hers are almost one, tangled and soaked in wet clay, moving together in rhythm. They start moving upwards, along the body of the vase, their pace unhurried and languid as they form the neck from the base, shaping it until it resembles the one she made. He moves closer still and she lets him, settling against him completely, back against his chest, her hair tickling his jaw and neck. 

She grabs his pointer and circles his finger around the rim, none of her nervousness present, a sudden confidence exuding, making it hard to look away from their hands as they work as one. This isn't the first time he's been captivated by the expression she makes when she's entirely consumed by the task at hand, eyes fixated and roaming across a book, fingers tracing each and every word, turning the pages with utmost care. He wonders what it'd feel like to be the subject of such rapt attention. With a final touch, the vase comes to completion and the wheel slows down, coming to a stop. His thoughts are interrupted when Liz turns to him, the completed vase in front of them, no doubt to celebrate. His mind goes entirely blank with her face mere inches from his, her slow breaths teasing the hair he'd meticulously styled this morning. He tilts his head slightly, to take her in better, or maybe to ask a question. He doesn't know what he's asking for, but he knows she'll have the answer for it. Her tongue starts to wet her lips and his eyes track the movement just as fast. She blinks up at him slowly, the warm lights of the room dancing in her eyes, the brown of them swallowed entirely by the black of her pupils. She closes her eyes and inhales shakily, and he shivers. He wants. What does he want? She moves closer just as he does, not even a breath apart, his heart beating loudly in his chest in approval. This, it seems to sing. Then-

He hears her shift, suddenly greeted by cold air. He opens his eyes, Liz farther from what she was in a way his being does not approve of. Liz clears her throat, her fingers flexing against her apron before she stands up rather abruptly, a nervous, breathy laugh escaping her. "I should—um—check when we can bake them." She doesn’t meet his eyes and looks around the room, completely turning away, almost running away, leaving him in a tangle of uncertainty. He watches her disappear into the crowd, his hands still tingling where hers had been, itching to hold them again. The room feels colder without her close. He glances down at their vases, standing tall and proud together, almost identical except for the indents that now mar the neck of the one they just made. His fingers ghost over the faint ridges left behind, tracing them in the air as he wonders what would have happened if she hadn’t pulled away. The knot of uneasiness makes him unsteady and he wonders if he went too far. He’s never felt this way before in…perhaps, forever. All he knows now is he does not want to lose Liz in any way. That he hopes he matters to her just as much as she does to him. 

He turns to look at her, only to find her gaze on him already. A beat of emptiness before she smiles. Featherlight, soft, longing. She waves at him and waits. He waves back. The horrid feeling dissipates and the world starts spinning again. Someone taps her shoulder to get her attention and she turns to them, breaking their shared gaze with much difficulty. 

He stares down and smiles at the vase again. His nightstand would make the perfect place to keep it. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The walk back to her apartment was… an interesting experience, to say the least. Nate had tried to make conversation, and she’d tried to respond just like always. After a few failed attempts from both, they’d decided to walk back in comfortable silence. Something lingered in the air, almost palpable, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. She’d kept on sneaking glances at him as if seeing him for the first time.

His gait had been unhurried, the hand holding the small bag that contained their evening’s hard work swaying gently and carefully. She’d almost been fooled to think he had forgotten had it not been for the slight, worried glances he’d kept throwing her way. His other hand shoved deep into his coat pocket was also a giveaway, his practiced nonchalance a ruse she could easily see through.

Stupid, stupid, stupid her mind chanted, all the way from the studio to her apartment. Nate was kind enough to not question her silence – he never minds when she’s gone too far in her own head, pulling her out before she even knows she’s going the wrong way – and instead chose to focus on the town settling down to rest, tired from the morning, finally retiring as the last rays of dusk disappeared completely, the night sky blanketing and cloaking it in a gentle sleep.

Nate had looked utterly breathtaking in the moonlight and her heart did that funny thing it had been doing a lot more often these past few weeks. 

They now stand in front of her door and she finally turns to him, looking up at him for the first time since…since that moment. His perpetually kind smile – she wonders if he smiles when he’s sleeping too – doesn’t shift. He looks down at her, eyes searching, lips opening to say something before he decides against it. He shakes his head and she takes a step back, a knot of disappointment unfurling within. 

“Well,” she hates how weak her voice sounds with that one word.” This is me.” she points to her door as if he hasn’t been here for almost every day now, fulfilling their little ritual of drinking tea as they read and talk about the stories they hold so close to them, his company and their conversation as impossible to live without as her chai.

Nate smiles uncertainly before nodding. “Yes, it is.” He takes one of the bags from one hand and holds it towards her, letting her make the choice to come close. He watches her carefully, waiting patiently. She knows he’d wait here forever, even if she didn’t ask. Would she ask that of him?

She takes the bag with a grateful nod, the vase inside feeling heavy, almost as if it carries the memories from the hours before. He waits for her to go inside and she closes the door slowly until she gets one final glimpse.

She faces her apartment, sighing heavily as she takes her shoes off and hangs her keys. She carefully sets the bag down on the table, gently unwrapping and placing the vase on her dining table. He’d taken the one they’d both made, so she’s left with hers.

An annoyed sound escapes her when she notices the slightly crooked rim, her hands tracing over it. She’d been distracted. Her annoyance fades as she remembers looking at him then, deeming the imperfection worthy if he had been the cause for it.

She doesn’t know what the fuck is going on but she hates how hollow she feels.

Not thinking, she turns around and runs to the door. She grabs the doorknob and opens the door, almost dying of a heart attack as Nate looks at her with the same shocked expression, apparently not having left. He steps closer, grabbing her by the arms gently, running his hands up and down, worry twisting his features.

“Is something the matter? What’s wrong?” he peers over her head, looking for the non-existent threat. 

“Nothing. Nothing. I just…,” All thought and reason escapes her and she’s embarrassed to have caused him alarm for nothing. She leans forward, knowing damn well he’d hear her all the same if she stood 10 feet away. He doesn’t mind it though; he’s listening carefully, just like always.

“I just wanted to know if…you liked today?” 

He lets out a sound, deep and rich, something joyous. Tender. 

He smiles at her, his beautiful brown eyes impossibly soft as he looks at her in a way that has her wishing he wouldn’t look at anyone else. 

“I could not think of anyplace better.”

[ihaledanismani]

Aşırı düşük savunmada fiyat ile miktarların çarpımı sonucunda bulunan tutarlar

[im-phoenix-black]

Pee-nalty pee-nalize and maybe pee-nitentiary

Penitent def sounds better than pee-nitent but I wouldn't be disgusted to hear someone say jt

I say this as an American who nobody can place via accent. One substitute teacher in my high school thought I was a Brit.

hate the way brits say penalized. PEENalized. wtf.

[wjsn-girls]

wjsn + holding hands ♥ (secret, just tell me why)

[lalizah]

I have a small snippet of a Nate x Liz fic I wanted to write (romance, maybe regency era idk, definitely early 90s or smt) but I really can't get anywhere with a plot idea so I was wondering if anyone wants to maybe write it with me? I'm open to all sorts of ideas I'd actually like to read what's in my head 😭

Here's a bit of it from my notebook (really sorry if it's indecipherable)

[floweringeclipse]

@13nth replied to your post “//spanish, tagalog: 'cementerio' , 'sementeryo' english: uh, excuse...”

as a filipino this post activated my fight or flight instinct

// as;efilslefj im sorry to present u my dilemma 

[little-watcher]

y ou’re. you’re no t wrong. it’s- i t’s hard. t o admit th at its no t my fa ult. i inter nalized a lot of st uff wh en i wa s little. b ut it’s- it’s not m y fault. and it’s no t yours either.

yo u’re bei ng stu pid :) do yo u want jon t o be your br other?

Shut up

[milfsana]

Top 10 gayest idols lol

Oohhh this is actually tricky. There's so many!

1. This is completely biased because she's my ultimate boo: SANA MINATOZAKI !!!

Imagine wanting to apply lipstick by kissing your friend kfjdjsks. And yes a lot of straight girls act like that but idc I love seeing her trying to kiss her members.

2. Sua - Dreamcatcher: I don't really know this group (God knows I wanted to stan them since forever) but every time I see Sua on here or twitter she's always saying the gayest thing. So yeah we stan even though we don't really know her.

3. Eunseo - WJSN: literally Sana but make it with Fuckboy™ vibes. A true polygamist. She's with every girls in the group.

4. Momo - Twice: she loves every girls except Sana fkdjjdksk She can't stand her! RIP Samo shippers. I think she's in love with Dahyun but Dahyun is already in a love triangle with Sana and the Bible... so yeah relationships in the group are hard :/

5. Siyeon - Dreamcatcher: again I don't know enough about them. But Siyeon 🤝 Sua: loving girls and trying to marry them is their only goal. Siyeon is just more lowkey.

6. Nayeon - Twice: miss Nayeon is a weird case. She does a lot of gay stuff (i.e the time she lap danced her own members. Even Tzuyu!). But I think it's just because she's weird. And at the same time I'm like ughhhh girl are you gay??? 🤔

7. Hani - Exid: there has been a lot of speculation about her sexuality back in the days when OneHallyu was THE place to be. But I heard she has/had a boyfriend ? So bi icon ???

8. Miss Bae Irene Joohyun: she HATES men we been knew! And the whole story about how she started liking purple ? GAY RIGHTS

9. Nana: okay this is just me being thirsty because imagine a wlw Nana... also her character in the Good Wife WHEW! But let's not forget all the naliz content we had before. Bi icon ???

10. Heechul: this man is gay. period.

(I'm not even talking about mamaracist)

[teshknowledgenotes]

101 Things I Learned In Architecture Notes

Architecture begins with an idea. Good design solutions are not merely physically interesting but are driven by underlying ideas. An idea is a specifi c mental structure by which we organize, understand, and give meaning to external experiences and information. Without underlying ideas informing their buildings, architects are merely space planners. Space planning with decoration applied to “dress it up” is not architecture; architecture resides in the DNA of a building, in an embedded sensibility that infuses its whole.

Being process-oriented, not productdriven, is the most important and diffi cult skill for a designer to develop. Being process-oriented means: 1 seeking to understand a design problem before chasing after solutions; 2 not force-fi tting solutions to old problems onto new problems; 3 removing yourself from prideful investment in your projects and being slow to fall in love with your ideas; 4 making design investigations and decisions holistically (that address several aspects of a design problem at once) rather than sequentially (that fi nalize one aspect of a solution before investigating the next); 5 making design decisions conditionally—that is, with the awareness that they may or may not work out as you continue toward a fi nal solution; 6 knowing when to change and when to stick with previous decisions; 7 accepting as normal the anxiety that comes from not knowing what to do; 8 working fl uidly between concept-scale and detail-scale to see how each informs the other; 9 always asking “What if . . . ?” regardless of how satisfi ed you are with your solution.

The most effective, most creative problem solvers engage in a process of metathinking, or “thinking about the thinking.” Meta-thinking means that you are aware of how you are thinking as you are doing the thinking. Meta-thinkers engage in continual internal dialogue of testing, stretching, criticizing, and redirecting their thought processes.

Three levels of knowing SIMPLICITY is the world view of the child or uninformed adult, fully engaged in his own experience and happily unaware of what lies beneath the surface of immediate reality. COMPLEXITY characterizes the ordinary adult world view. It is characterized by an awareness of complex systems in nature and society but an inability to discern clarifying patterns and connections. INFORMED SIMPLICITY is an enlightened view of reality. It is founded upon an ability to discern or create clarifying patterns within complex mixtures. Pattern recognition is a crucial skill for an architect, who must create a highly ordered building amid many competing and frequently nebulous design considerations.

Create architectural richness through informed simplicity or an interaction of simples rather than through unnecessarily busy agglomerations. Whether an architectural aesthetic is intended to be minimalist or complex, its experience mysterious or clear, its spaces Spartan or richly layered, a building must be a highly ordered thing. Creating simplifying patterns in a building plan is a way of lending order while allowing multiple readings and experiences. Some examples of unnecessary complexity: • making a dozen separate design moves when three well-informed moves can accomplish as much; • busying up a project with doodads because it is boring without them; • agglomerating many unrelated elements without concern for their unity because they are interesting in themselves

If you can’t explain your ideas to your grandmother in terms that she understands, you don’t know your subject well enough. Some architects, instructors, and students use overly complex (and often meaningless!) language in an attempt to gain recognition and respect. You might have to let some of them get away with it, but don’t imitate them. Professionals who know their subject area well know how to communicate their knowledge to others in everyday language

Properly gaining control of the design process tends to feel like one is losing control of the design process. The design process is often structured and methodical, but it is not a mechanical process. Mechanical processes have predetermined outcomes, but the creative process strives to produce something that has not existed before. Being genuinely creative means that you don’t know where you are going, even though you are responsible for shepherding the process. This requires something different from conventional, authoritarian control; a loose velvet tether is more likely to help. Engage the design process with patience. Don’t imitate popular portrayals of the creative process as depending on a singular, pell-mell rush of inspiration. Don’t try to solve a complex building in one sitting or one week. Accept uncertainty. Recognize as normal the feeling of lostness that attends to much of the process. Don’t seek to relieve your anxiety by marrying yourself prematurely to a design solution; design divorces are never pretty.

Two points of view on architecture ARCHITECTURE IS AN EXERCISE IN TRUTH. A proper building is responsible to universal knowledge and is wholly honest in the expression of its functions and materials. ARCHITECTURE IS AN EXERCISE IN NARRATIVE. Architecture is a vehicle for the telling of stories, a canvas for relaying societal myths, a stage for the theater of everyday life

Just do something. When a design problem is so overwhelming as to be nearly paralyzing, don’t wait for clarity to arrive before beginning to draw. Drawing is not simply a way of depicting a design solution; it is itself a way of learning about the problem you are trying to solve.

[maidmaryam]

sparrowspider started following you

Co+ngratulatio+ns o+n beco+ming my 100th fo+llo+wer! Fo+r yo+ur exclusive prize, here’s a perso+nalized greeting: ho+w do+ yo+u do+? 

[milfsana]

I FORGOT ABOUT THIS! Yeah you're right she's definitely going commando. Damn I forgot how crazy those 2 were.

On popular demand

[lalizah]

When Nathaniel Sewell Dreams

Note: this is the product of my anxious Nate infested brain that has two exams tomorrow and is STILL up 😭😔😭

Not proofread, probably has English that doesn't make any sense grammatically and is just piss poor in quality but yk why not?

This is just a small snippet of what I hope I can complete so read at your own risk!

He is heaving, trying to breath and failing and the tears choking him don't help. His mother is on his left, sewing and humming a song they all know and love, not noticing how Nate is trying to claw at himself to make the agony abate. The cruel perfection of this moment is made complete when he stares at the hand that now offers tea to his mother and brother, the hand that belongs to the woman he loves with every fiber of his being, the woman he has travelled the tides of time to reach and hold for as long life will allow them. She gives him tea in the expensive China his mother had imported (the same intricate ultramarine blue and gold details across it's pearl white body, the ones he remembers serving to special guests of his step-father), and smiles. His shaking hand makes to take it from her, gratitude on the tip of his tongue, when she takes it to her lips and sips, eyes locked with his. "Making it sweet, jaan." she whispers softly, delight in her eyes as if they are sharing a secret. She sits beside him, keeping a modest distance. It is far too much and so he reaches out to hold her hand tightly, as if she is the only thing tethering him, as if she is the lifeline onto which he must hold to survive. Her cheeks flush, a pale pink on her brown skin (and it is one of his most favorite sights), eyes wide and slightly bashful and he can feel the pulse through her wrist, beating fast and hard. He realizes he can't hear it. He is devoid of his vampiric senses and as human as the rest of the occupants of the room. He notices everyone else's surprise at the rather sudden move, and it is most definitely unlike him, but he ignores it and looks at Liz pleadingly, begging her to let him have this. Her gaze softens immediately, and she holds his hand just as tightly and he feels like he can finally breathe again.

And Nate knows it's a dream when the sheer beauty of the moment hurts him so much, he has to choke back a sob and try to stop the pain that hurts him. He feels as if he has been stabbed in the heart and has been deprived of the air from his lungs, air which he does not need but in this dream he does, just like his brother, who is sitting in front of him, engrossed in a book he can't make out the name of through his blurry vision, inhaling and exhaling. He never knew that the sight of Milton breathing could move him to tears until his face is wet with them. The day they buried a simple casket, devoid of a body for it was now forever lost to the sea, he had felt like it was a horrible, macabre nightmare he would wake up from any time. But when their home was devoid of the sounds of his brother's existence, his very being, Nate would feel the slap of reality across his body, the deafening silence of it so loud it echoed for centuries.

[pius2017]

Determine the total sales and the total cost of nalize the entries in the sales and cost of me sales were on account

Determine the total sales and the total cost of nalize the entries in the sales and cost of me sales were on account

FIFO perpetual inventory The beginning inventory at Midnight Supplies and data on purchases and sales for a three-month period ending March 31 are as follows: Date Transaction Number of Units Per Unit Total Jan. 1 Inventory 7,500 $75.00 $562,500 10 Purchase 22,500 85.00 1,912,500 28 Sale 11,250 150.00 1,687,500 30 Sale 3,750 150.00 562,500 Feb.…

[bestwebshop2020-blog]

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