#Small business accountants in Mold

[blogaccounts]

Small Business Accountants in Mold

If you are looking for a small business accountants in Mold, Ruthin or surrounding areas we can help. Based between the two towns we are fully qualified chartered certified accountants with over 25 years experience. We offer a complete accountancy service for small businesses throughout the areas which includes Deeside and the rest of North Wales. We are Xero certified accountants and can help you install the Xero software. We are tax and VAT experts and specialise in helping small business grow. If you need an accountant in Mold, Ruthin or surrounding areas for your small business please view the rest of this site for details.

[kurokawaia]

❛ Sasuke Head Canons ❜

Uchiha Sasuke X Fem!Reader

| SFW + NSFW |

WC; 800 + | !MDNI! | TW/CW; FAB, teasing, cervix fucking, praise, degredation, size kink, the uchiha breeding kink

⋆·˚ ༘ * 𝑅𝐸𝒬𝒰𝐸𝒮𝒯; @lovelyandproblematic - your account is so so pretty 😭💜🫶🏻 may I humbly request: Sasuke head canons? 💐 can be sfw or nsfw lol

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

m.list | naruto/boruto m.list | uchiha m.list

SFW

I feel like Sasuke is always cold- Like every time you two touch each other you involuntarily shiver causing Sasuke's face to contort in worry if he's done something wrong and he never fails to ask you every time if you are okay.

He doesn't admit it but he loves touching you, not in a sexual way (as much as he loves to), loves to hold you and does that childish thing of holding the hem of your shirt.

Loves to randomly kiss you, when your cooking, cleaning, or doing whatever. Sasuke hands would cup the back of your neck and angle your head up just so he can give you a soft press to his lips to yours. He loves to see your cheeks flush pink at the unexpected actions and proceeds to give you another just to make you even more flustered.

He loves to mention that you are his girlfriend/wife whenever talking to a stranger. "Me and my girlfriend/wife have to go now." Sasuke just loves being territorial but he just doesn't know it. He gets jealous easily so that's why he does it lmao.

Sasuke isn't one to say 'I love you' that often because he believes that actions speaks louder than words. He is more of an acts of service man for the both of you. Sasuke gets so nervous inside when you say you love him because he is scared that even after saying you love him you will still leave, the poor baby... 😕😭

He is so scared to fuck something up, he doesn't admit it to any one (apart from Naruto) if he's doing things right because he loves you too much.

NSFW

I personally think that Sasuke wouldn't even know what aftercare is until you tell him about it. His reaction would be like, "That's a thing?" Don't think that Sasuke would do much for aftercare, but I know that he would hold you close to him as you are family to him, girlfriend or wife.

Either loves to fuck you in missionary or doggy, no in between. He wants to see your face contort in pleasure as he pounds your pretty pussy as deep as he can. Sasuke loves to watch your beautiful face mold into the most fucked out expressions.

But with doggy now... he is either going to tease you, going slow as he can, dragging his thick length in and out of your gummy walls, inciting needy whines from you. Or, Sasuke is going to be pounding into you, so fast and deep you can't even think. He gets off seeing you all helpless in front of him, the pretty arch of your back as your dainty hands grip at the sheets, your plushy breasts pressed hard against the mattress--

When you and Sasuke are having more of an intimate moment for sex, he holds you hand with his by your side, his tongue slowly exploring your mouth, inciting small whimpers from you. That just gets the man off.

Let's be so for real guys, how can Sasuke not be into fulling you flush with his cum. He loves thinking about breeding your tight cunt. Wanting to see your stomach full of his children, thinking about having to help you all the time because you can't do any small mundane tasks anymore.

Sasuke prefers to be given head rather than give it himself. Now, that doesn't mean he doesn't absolutely love eating out your soaked cunt but he just rather your tight mouth try to fit his length without gagging.

Sasuke is a busy and tired man most of the time, so having his pretty girl be at his disposal for him makes him go crazy. Loves coming down your throat and making you open your plump lips to make sure that you swallowed all his seed. The other alternative is coming over your chest, he just loves squeezing them after, cfi.

Sasuke isn't a loud moaner but he deeply groans into your skin or mouth as he is either eating you out, getting head or thrusting into your folds. He occasionally lets out moans but it's only when he's coming :( He knows how much you love hearing him moan and that makes the poor man embarrassed.

I don't think Sasuke would crave for sex all the time but he definitely won't disagree to having some special time with you if you asked. He'd tease you about it, "You needy?" and then proceed to give you the time of your life. Sasuke prefers to be in more classic setting when having sex, like a bedroom but he isn't opposed to having sex when the both of you are out on missions.

He definitely doesn't like to spit on you, he values your entire existence and doesn't want you to feel any less then how you want to feel. Sasuke might call you slut or a bitch during sex but he knows you're okay with that.

Sasuke can and will go all night long, his stamina is through the roof, especially if you egg him on saying he can cum inside your sticky walls, then how can he not go all night?

Sasuke is a strong defined man, in the body of course. Defined abs and a big strong body. He is over six foot so what's in his pants doesn't disappoint.

Do not copy, steal, modify, etc. Relogs and like are appreciated.

m.list | naruto/boruto m.list | uchiha m.list

thank you for requesting bby 🫶

[loulouwrites]

HOME . ALFIE SOLOMONS

summary: alfie comes back to a not so peaceful home warnings: unedited, pregnancy, period typical sexism, gender roles, angst, alfie isn't a very good husband but he's trying, they're a lil toxic but they're in love, swearing, slight sexual content (literally one mention of it), lmk if i missed any. word count: 3.8k

The days were too fucking long.

That's what Alfie thought as he walked through the front door, the sun had set hours hours ago, a nighttime fog clouding the dimly lit streets.

His day had been an easy one, by all accounts. He hadn't had to reprimand anybody, he had received minimal visitors in his office, and his knuckles were not bruised from where he had to smack a man for mouthing off. All in all, it had been a good day for the gangster.

Home had always been a welcome reprieve from his day job. Growing up in Camden, with no money and without a pot to piss in, he had never known the comfort of having your own home to come back to, one without the shouts of arguing neighbours coming through the walls, or black mold coming through the peeling patterned wallpaper.

Once he had finally made enough money through his multiple business ventures, he had bought a pretty house on the corner of a nice street - a street with trees that blossomed in the summer, one where the residents had time to take pride in their gardens - a truly upper class paradise.

He always thought his mother would have liked a home like this one.

It didn't come without its challenges - his neighbours would tend to cross the road when they saw him walking home, they would rush back in their houses when they saw him leaving his, even his dog was isolated from the other canine residents of the street - still, it was his home.

It was the home in which he had held his wedding reception, big enough to host the many people that came to wish him and his bride a happy life together. It was the home in which his first and second child had been born in - the first tears they cried occurring in their parents bedroom. It was the house the baby that was still growing in his wife's belly would be born in, too.

The house was different now. When he had first moved in - a single man that spent more time in his distillery than the expensive home - it had been slightly cold all the time, bare walls and empty cupboards. Now, the house was always the perfect temperature, the walls were decorated with stylish wallpaper and art he didn't understand in gold frames, there wasn't a cupboard in the house that wasn't full, perfectly organised and tidy.

It had gone from Alfie's status symbol to his family home.

It was hotter than usual when he walked through the foyer, though he didn't have time to dwell on it, the screams of his youngest child piercing his ears the second he opened the front door.

It was unusual and it made Alfie reach for the gun he always kept tucked into the back of his belt. The house was always filled with laughter when he arrived home from work, especially when he was home as early as he was now.

He crept toward the kitchen, the pained cries of his little girl getting louder with every step he took, his gun held in front of him.

"Daddy's home!"

He barely had time to register what was happening when he reached the kitchen, a harsh shove to his side sent him flying into the door frame, the gun going off and shooting a hole in the china cabinet before he even knew what was happening.

"What the fuck, Alfie?" He could barely hear his lovely wife's voice over the cries of his children. Looking to his right, his son was crouched on the floor, his hands covering his ears as he cried for his mummy.

His little girl was crying even louder now from her place on her mother's hip, her small hand gripping the woman's hair that had fallen out of her up-do.

"It was an accident," Alfie held his hands up, quickly dropping them to his side when his children cried louder at the sight of the gun in his hand, "he pushed me," he gestured to the boy that was still crouched on the floor.

"He's fucking eight years old, Alfie," his wife scoffed, rushing over to the little boy and kneeling beside him, running a hand through his hair in the comforting way only a mother was capable of.

"Stop swearing in front of the children."

"You just fired a fucking gun into the china cabinet," she shrieked, struggling to stand with the pronounced bump of her belly and child in her arms.

"I'm sorry," he sighed, tucking the gun back into his belt and running a hand over his face. "Benjamin," he held a hand out to his youngest, who had stopped crying, his face stained with tears. The young boy ignored his father, tucking himself into his mother's side, throwing a glare at the man.

Alfie sighed heavily, hands on his hips as he studied the three most important people in his life as they stood in front of him, a team that he was not on.

He was about to open his mouth and apologise when a cloud of smoke drifted over to him, stinging his eyes. He glanced to the oven, where the pot on the stove began to shake. The liquid inside bubbled furiously, its simmering turning into a violent boil. The aroma, once promising and inviting, transformed into an acrid, burning smell that hit everyone in the kitchen all at once.

"Shit," his wife spat, shoving their daughter into her father's arms carelessly before rushing to the stove, grabbing the pot with uncovered hands, and throwing it into the sink. She hissed as the pain registered, running her hands under the cold water, the skin red and angry.

"I can get these two ready for bed," he offered meekly, shrinking back slightly at the glare he received.

"Oh, how kind of you," she hissed, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, turning back to the sink before anyone in the kitchen could see them fall.

Bedtimes were not Alfie's forte. He would usually arrive home after the children had been bathed and changed, just early enough to dip into their respective bedrooms and kiss them goodnight. Even when he was home, he was too tired from his day to do much more than that, leaving it to the woman that seemed to be a natural at such things.

"Bessie, please," Alfie huffed as the two year old splashed him with water. It had taken him longer than he would like to admit to even get her in the bath, her body straightening into an unbreakable line when he tried to lift her in, wriggling through his hands in a way that made him feel like he was holding the world's strongest jelly.

The little girl laughed as she continued to soak her father with bubbles, blowing them from her tiny hand in his face whenever he tried to reach over and rinse the suds from her curly hair.

He gave up eventually, hoisting her out of the bath before she knew what was happening, wrapping her in a towel and carrying her to her bedroom.

She sat on her little bed, watching him with curious eyes as grumbled to himself digging through her wardrobe trying to find a pair of pyjamas.

"Don't suppose you fancy wearing this to bed?" He held up a frilly dress he remembered her wearing to his cousins wedding, throwing it back in the drawer when she giggled at him.

"Her pyjamas are in the drawers, not the wardrobe," Benjamin's voice called from the door frame. He was stood in his nightwear, his hair still damp from his own bath.

"I knew that," Alfie scoffed, slamming the wardrobe closed and stalking over to the other side of the room, pulling open the chest of drawers less than gently.

"Second drawer, not first," Benjamin stated, and Alfie failed to recall a time he felt more judged than in this very moment. He finally located a pair of pyjamas, moving to sit on the bed next to his daughter as he began to dress her, thanking his lucky stars she seemed to have burned off most of her energy in the bath, her body floppy with tiredness.

"Mummy cried a lot today," his son said, leaning against the door frame, his arms crossed in a way that reminded Alfie too much of himself. "Bessie was being difficult."

"Bessie is two years old," the older man's eyebrows pinched together. "You were difficult too at that age." He finished dressing Bessie, gently pulling the covers back and placing her small head on the pillow as her eyes began to droop closed.

"How would you know?" Alfie's head snapped towards his son at his words.

"Excuse me?" The question was asked through gritted teeth.

"Bubbe came over," Alfie fought the urge to roll is eyes at the mention of his mother-in-law. The old cow had never liked him. "Mummy told her you were never around when I was little and you're not around now."

"Did she now?" He muttered, his fists clenching at his sides.

"Bubbe said you always have been a bad husband, and you're an even worse father."

"Now you listen right here," Alfie rose to a standing position, pointing a finger at his son, his voice quiet despite the anger he was feeling, careful not to wake the sleeping terror now tucked up in bed. "I am your father. You do not speak to me like that."

"I wish you weren't."

Alfie didn't know what to say, it was as if the wind had been knocked out of him. He had received gun shot wounds that were less painful than hearing those words come from his son's mouth. Benjamin didn't wait for a response from his father, pushing himself from the door frame and storming to his bedroom, slamming the door shut.

His eyes drifted to his daughter, now dead to the world, her long eyelashes fluttering as she dreamed of whatever two year old girls dreamed about. He leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead, his stomach clenching as the words repeated in his head.

I wish you weren't.

She was sat at the kitchen table when he eventually made his way downstairs. The shattered glass from the china cabinet had been cleaned up, and he made a mental note to have someone come out to replace it as quickly as possible.

Her cup of tea had gone cold, but she still had her hands clasped around the delicate china.

"Your hands alright?" He asked, throwing himself down in the chair on the opposite side of the table. She hummed in response, her eyes not lifting from the kitchen table. "Is dinner ready?"

That got her attention, her narrowed eyes meeting his, and she scoffed in disbelief at his audacity. Her chair scraped against the tiled floor as she stood, stalking over to the other side of the kitchen. He kept his eyes in front of him, his hands resting on the table, not hearing her until she came up behind him, throwing the burned pot in between his hands on the table.

He was silent for a moment, his eyes fixed on the silver pot that had now turned black on the bottom, before he slammed his hands down on the table, his own chair scraping as he stood up angrily.

She rolled her eyes at him, walking out of the kitchen carelessly and into the living room, her husband hot on her heels. It was as if he wasn't there, the way she strolled into the room and sat on the dark blue velvet sofa, crossing her legs as if she were about to pick up a book.

The living room was always his favourite room of the house. It was warm and inviting, a room that had been filled with so much laughter and happiness. Now, it felt like the coldest room in the house.

"The fuck have I done now?" Alfie stood in front of her, hands on his hips and chest puffed out, ready for a fight.

"Besides shoot at me and your daughter?" She raised a brow, it could almost come across as playful to someone who didn't know her as well as he did.

"Fuck off," he sneered. "You were nowhere near."

"The bullet went right over my head, Alfie."

"I've shot a gun in this house several times - I know you're not upset about that."

"Aren't I a lucky lady?" She shook her head, rubbing her eyes tiredly.

"Fuck-"

"Tell me to fuck off one more time," she rose up from her seat on the sofa, poking a manicured finger in his chest.

"Tell me what I've fucking done, then," he tried to grab her wrist, but she shook it out of his grasp, taking a step to the side to avoid his reach.

"Nothing, Alfie," she groaned, running her hands through her hair. "You've done absolutely nothing."

Alfie Solomons was not a stupid man, nor was he ignorant to a woman's tone. He knew exactly what she was implying with her words, and it did nothing to stop the anger that was bubbling in his stomach, creeping up his chest, and out of his mouth.

"For fuck's sake, woman," he shouted, his anger growing when she turned her back to him, beginning to leave the room. "I do fuckin' everythin' to provide for you and this family, and you sit there with your fuckin' feet up, tellin' me I do fuckin' nothing."

She spun back around at his words, "keep your fucking voice down, the kids are asleep."

"Yeah, I know," he offered an exaggerated smile, "I put them to bed while you sat down here drinking fucking tea."

He could see in her eyes that she wanted to slap him, and in his anger, he wanted her to.

Just give me a fucking reason.

But she didn't, she barely acknowledged him, leaving the room and walking up the stairs. When Benjamin had been born, they had both agreed arguments occurred downstairs when he was asleep. Neither of them were naive enough to think they would never have fights - both outspoken and stubborn by nature - and they had honoured that agreement for the past eight years.

But not tonight.

Alfie stormed out of the living room, taking the stairs two at a time to catch up with her. He pushed the door to their bedroom open, finding her stood there with her arms held out, a pillow and blanket in them, offering them to him wordlessly. He grabbed them out her hands, throwing them to floor without a word.

He couldn't count how many times she had rolled her eyes this evening.

"It's that fucking woman again, isn't it?" He spoke finally, and she breathed deeply at his words.

"Alfie, my mother has nothing to do with it."

"Really? Because every time she pops in you suddenly have a problem with me."

Alfie's feud with his mother-in-law predated his relationship with his wife. The woman had never liked him, her lips would purse whenever she saw him at a mutual friend's wedding, she would glare at him in the street when she was walking home from the market.

When she found out he had been fucking her only daughter, she had gone ballistic, and they had shared a mutual dislike for each other for decades now.

"Don't be ridiculous, Alfie. She hasn't even been around today."

"Oh, really?" He crossed his arms, a smirk playing on his lips, and the way she avoided his face confirmed she was lying. “She didn't pop round, call me a bad father in front of my fucking son?"

His wife's brows furrowed at his words, her mouth opening and closing around words she couldn't speak.

"Let me tell ya, I don't give a shit what you and that woman talk about," he stalked towards her, every step forward matched with a step back from her. "But if she comes 'round, bad mouthin' me in front of my children again - poisoning their minds against me, me and you are goin' to have a big fucking problem."

"'Poisoning their minds?" she sneered. "You think they need my mother to do that?"

"The fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"You think she's the reason your son fucking hates you?" He took a step back at her words, Benjamin's words from earlier ringing in his ears.

I wish you weren't.

I wish you weren't.

"You're never fucking here, Alfie. Benjamin spends more time with Bessie than you do, he's the one who has to take her when I'm sick all morning, he's the one who sees how hard it is for me. Not you. You're always at work, even when you're home."

Alfie was floored by her words. He thought back to hours ago, when he was walking through his door with a smile on his face, ready to have dinner with his wife and go and kiss his children goodnight. How did the evening get away from him so much?

"Well he shouldn't have to do that," he spoke eventually, his voice softer.

"No, he shouldn't," she agreed, reaching to touch his shoulder gently. "But he feels like he has to-"

"Why are you making him do all that?"

Her hand dropped from his shoulder heavily, moving to place it on her chest in disbelief.

"Excuse me?"

"He's a boy. You're his mother, you shouldn't be makin' him pick up your slack because you're not feeling up to it," her eyes widened at his words, tears pooling in the corners. "I mean, what kind of mother are you?"

"I...I..." The words wouldn't come for her, as if they were getting caught in her throat. She stopped trying in the end, nodding at his words and sniffing quietly. "I'm going to sleep with Bessie tonight."

He didn't try to stop her from leaving.

It was nearing 9 o'clock when he knocked on Benjamin's door, stepping in before the boy had a chance to say anything. He knew he wouldn't be asleep, his son - like him - was a night owl by nature, staying up until the early hours of the morning.

He was sat up in bed when his father walked in, reading a book in the dim light of his bedroom. He reminded Alfie so much of his mother.

"I talked to mum," Alfie said, closing the door gently behind him, lingering in the room as if he were a stranger.

"I heard," Benjamin said, closing his book.

"I'm sorry," the words felt wrong on his tongue, he had never been one to apologise to anybody. "I know mum asks a lot of you, but you shouldn't feel like-"

"Mum doesn't as a lot of me," the young boy interrupted, shaking his head in protest.

"Benny, I know you think you have to defend her-"

"I don't. Mum never asks me to do anything. I like helping her, someone has to."

That feeling in Alfie's stomach returned, the twisting pain in his gut, it seemed his son was determined to kill him tonight.

"Today, Bessie wasn't feeling well and neither was mum, Bessie wouldn't stop crying and mum was being sick and then bubbe came over and kept telling mum the house was too messy and Bessie wasn't dressed properly and when she left mum kept crying."

"I get it's hard, but everyone has hard days, Benny."

"Not mum. She told bubbe she's scared to have the baby because she doesn't know if she can handle three alone. Mum's never been scared before."

"She said that?" Alfie asked, his voice breaking slightly and Benjamin nodded in confirmation.

"I lied before," Benjamin told his father, ducking his head in shame. "Mum didn't say anything bad about you. Only bubbe did. Mum said you were doing your best."

And just like that, the animosity Alfie held towards his wife disappeared, replaced by a shame he had never felt before . He had stolen, betrayed and killed, and yet, he had never felt worse than how he felt in this very moment.

"Thanks for tellin' me the truth," there wasn't much else he could say. "Now go to bed, it's late." He opened the door to leave when Benjamin called out to him.

"I lied too. I'm glad you're my dad."

"So am I, son."

Alfie leaned against the closed door, his eyes on the one opposite him. His hand reached for the doorknob but he pulled it back before he touched it, making his way to his empty bedroom.

The sunlight crept in from the cracks in the curtains, bleeding into the bedroom, casting the pink floral wallpaper in an orange hue. She reached over for the little girl that had slept by her side the whole night, finding the spot next to her empty, the sheets cold beneath her hands.

"Fuck," she muttered to herself, pulling herself out of bed with a struggle, the growing bump making it harder to move every day.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," she kept muttering, rushing down the stairs. She had overslept and her two year old daughter was probably missing. It felt like she cried more often than not lately, tears spilled from her eyes as she glanced in the empty living room before rushing to the kitchen.

She released a breath she didn't know she was holding when she entered, seeing Bessie sat in her highchair, laughing in delight at a piece of toast.

"Mornin," she approached the kitchen table apprehensively, the sight of her husband and children sat there, already dressed and eating breakfast with smiles on their faces, not feeling real. "We made toast, know that's all you've been able to keep down lately," her husband told her, standing up to pull out a chair for her. She took it with a smile.

"Aren't you needed at work?" She asked, nodding a thanks as he poured her a cup of tea.

"I am," Alfie nodded, "but Ollie can deal with it, I've given him strict orders I am not to be disturbed today."

"Alfie," she shook her head in protest. She didn't want this, for him to feel obligated to be here, for him to take over her duties in the home.

"None of that," he stopped her spiralling. "They can manage without me for a few days until we figure out something."

She smiled gratefully at him. She knew he understood, she didn't need him there all the time, she just needed a break.

"I also spoke to your mum," her brows raised at his words. The only time Alfie had spoken to her mother voluntarily was when he rang her to call her a dozy cow before hanging up without another word. "She's going to come over more, take the kids out, pick Benny up from school and all that."

"Thank you." She reached out to take his hand on the table, linking their hands together, squeezing in appreciation.

"Just don't expect breakfast everyday, that toaster is a fuckin' nightmare."

thanks for reading. i enjoyed writing and am considering making a lil series of this family so lmk if that's something you'd like to see!

[beforeimdeceased]

A GIRL IS MISSING: SMALL TOWN, BIG PROBLEMS 🪰🔎🚬

synopsis: what happens when a young girl goes missing and you volunteer yourself to help find her?

a/n: this is like…i’m trying something new okay! let me know if you want a part 2 i hope you like my experimental mystery/thriller. please give feedback it’s highly appreciated! 🙏🏽

masterlist

everyone had gathered at the church on joneston, down the road from the chicken shack. you can’t miss it. everyone had been gathering there for days in the sharp cold of the winter. runny noses and swollen eyes. some crying, some from lack of sleep.

a young girl was missing. that was the headline of the town newspaper for the past 48 hours. missing poster plastered on the front. sweetest smile you’d ever seen.

dina woodward was witty, quick on her feet and excelled in all her classes. graduated from high school and went on to work at the local bakery for her gap year. just saving up for a car. she was in plays, never missed a festival, and lit up every room she walked into. that’s what everybody said. that’s what you wished you could say.

the truth is, you didn’t know her very well. you’d gone to elementary school together but she was bit off and hung out with a different crowd. all the way up till senior year. her friends were the ones with the tear swollen eyes.

ellie williams, her neighbor and girlfriend, had chosen the picture for the missing poster. you talked to her once and the conversation went like, “hey, do you know what time it is?” “2:30.” “thanks.” lined lips, freckled face, smelled like car oil and the cigarettes she pretended not to smoke in the stairwell.

abby anderson, her enemy turned friend, couldn’t even look up. her face was in her hands as she hid her wails. they had gotten into a fight about some miscommunication during lunch one day. threw the whole middle school into a ruckus. team dina and team abby. the brunch moms talked about it on weekends, you’d heard them while you sat off to the side as your mom waited tables. drunk ladies blabbering on about who should apologize first. they ended up settling it after a game of volleyball. real dramatic handshake. some people clapped.

jesse, last name unknown due to you never being awarded the chance of knowing it, was her ex boyfriend and right hand. as an outsider you predicted that it would’ve been messy. the way they’d broken up and she was seen slipping off into dark corners with ellie a few weeks after, but there was no war. no bloodshed. only whispers of drama from bored admirers and jealous bitches.

your eyes were sunken on account of your lack of sleep. days at the post office, mixed with nights at the police station, molded with mornings in the church for the search party meeting was a recipe for disaster on your sleep schedule. not that you could sleep anyway, too busy dreaming about finding her dead in a ditch somewhere. waking up sweating like a whore in church-

“alrighty! thank you all for coming again today. looks like the crowd is a bit smaller than it was yesterday, but let’s not fret. we’re all going to work together to find her.” maria, leader of the search party, wavers her gaze to the three close friends of dina. face falling into a sympathetic gaze. “we’re going to find her.”

that second sentence sounded far less convincing than the first one. you knew, and they knew, that with this shit weather there was no way she could have disappeared for a week and survived out there on her own. she could’ve been kidnapped, oh god that’s worse. let’s stop thinking.

since the crowd had gotten smaller, the groups maria had configured were forced to shrink. too many lone soldiers and people without partners. she had to start being strategic. playing on the strengths of each individual, hoping they’d all make well rounded teams. then she pointed her finger at you, then at the blonde, then at lips in a line, then at sweet jesse and she smiled in your face.

“and you guys will be team 4.”

[mt-oe]

its finals season (again..) and huge projects for classes right now. can we get a stressed reader x modern mizu where reader is like actually tweaking out? like I mean pulling our energy shots, shivering hands, 'gotta lock in', hysterically crying on snapchat video and sending it to their groupchat for moral support type of tweaking out and the reader is going BANANAS over all the final papers, and studying for finals and mizu helps comfort reader?? i hope this would be a silly little write but also helpful to anyone going through finals season right now. much love! xoxo <3

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Hey dears!

To start this, I am absolutely sorry for being gone for so long. I had my thesis defense, practicals, laboratory works, deadlines, and my finals all in the span of two weeks AND I fainted twice, got sick twice, and nose bled a LOT.

I was chugging 3 cans of energy drinks a day, eating one meal per day, sleeping minutes less than how long I showered, and smoked quite a lot. Someone even caught me sleeping on the fire exit stairs (istg so embarrassing ;;). Honestly makes me wonder how I'm not six feet under by now.

To those who are going through their finals, please don't follow my lead. Vomiting at 3am from how dizzy you are while some Sepultura song plays in the background is NOT the experience you'd think it was. Try to plan when you'll tackle your work and get some sleep as much as you can, on your free time, on your commute. I swear, answering tests are SOO much easier when your vision isn't spinning or tunneling.

Chose to do this request first to remind you all to take care amidst your finals (or as a reward if your finals are finished, good job dear!).

Hope you enjoy! Mwa mwa <3

warning: not proofread, my corny jokes, she/her for mizu, implied afab reader

Blue orbs watched as you cracked open another can of Red Bull. A small grunt leaving your throat as the fizzy caffeinated drink went down your esophagus. Was this your second? third..no wait..fourth?

Damn.

How are your blood vessels surviving this onslaught of caffeine you've been shoving down your system? She had no clue. But what she did know was that you've had enough. This wasn't healthy at all. Your lips were already as pale as the palms of your hands which were trembling to the point where you couldn't stop writing because that meant you'd feel the quivering of your hands even more.

The two of you had decided to slave off at Mizu's apartment for your finals. It was mostly Mizu dragging you there since your friends have been bombarding her to take care of you since she had the closest to what was considered a free schedule. T'was something about you freaking out and crying over the finals. She didn't have a Snapchat account so she didn't know.

Usually, she wasn't even interested in these stuff, but when Akemi showed her a picture of you with a thumbs up, holding a can of Monster, dark circles under your bloodshot eyes, tear streaks on your face, with the caption 'Boutta pull another Kay Chung tonight', concerned didn't even begin to describe what she felt.

Boutta pull a Kay Chung?

What or who was this Kay Chung anyway?

She knew you were a hard worker, probably one of the most studious people she knew, so she already expected you to be busy studying. What she didn't expect was the mess you were in.

The moment she stepped into your unit, cans of energy drinks, bottles of energy shots, cups of coffee, and random paper strewn randomly littered your apartment. The only source of light was your window and a small dim lamp you had.

Was that cup noodle container growing mold?

Ew.

It was like the Capital Wasteland in here, and she was the lonesome wanderer, awaiting the dangers to come.

And you were a radiated ghoul hunched over your desk with the emptiest gaze she has ever seen. Your head in your hands, as you scrunched your eyebrows together, trying to figure out what the fuck was wrong with your equation.

Now she understood the bombardment of messages from Akemi and the others, and damn was she grateful for the heads up because you looked like you were at death's door and death... Death just thought you looked too pitiful to let in.

The two of you were now sitting on Mizu's carpet, books, papers, and gadgets on the smooth wood of the coffee table. In her mind, she thought a bit of companionship would comfort you like it usually did. But she was wrong.

The shaking grip you had on your pen and the occasional 'what the actual fuck?' or 'the hell?' already told her that you were too locked in to relax even just a bit. You looked like you were losing it.

Her eyes peered over your review sheet before she raised an eyebrow at how scattered your handwriting looked, numbers and symbols italicized to the left and to the right as if they were dancing and your solutions scattered. Add this value here..derive the formula there..problem 3's solution is somehow on the back of the paper even though problem 5 was solved on problem 1's spot. It looked like a shit show.

"What...problem is this for? You did it wrong." Her tongue clicking as a slender finger encircled a formula you derived wrong, making you look at her with a mildly bothered look. Your eyes tiredly scanned your review sheet, looking away to the side to blink the heaviness of your lids away, then looking back at it before letting out a strangled sounding groan, shoulders slumping back onto the sofa as you covered your eyes with your hands before looking at your own solutions again. "I don't fucking know..maybe it's for..umm..for..fuuuuuck," you sighed defeatedly, realizing that you couldn't understand your own handwriting either.

You wanted to strangle yourself so bad right now or like, strangle your professor until they give you a passing grade. Maybe the threat of arson would scare the university admins into passing everyone for the semester???? The prospect of being a sugar baby is starting to sound better than trying to finish this degree.

It wasn't like you were an absolute idiot. You could solve these problems no problemo. However, your vision was already lagging and tunneling. Whenever you tried to read the problem or your own handwriting, it was like your vision was hyper-focusing on one spot and the areas around it were...spinning or it'd focus on everything else EXCEPT the ones you wanted to focus on.

The amount of caffeine you had consumed wasn't even helping anymore. Instead of waking you up, you just felt jittery like a hyper-charged toy. Before you were sleepy and slow, now you were still sleepy but faster.

And when was the last time you even ate anyway? Was that moldy cup noodle your last meal? You didn't even know anymore at this point. You could barely feel anything aside from the fear of your impeding academic doom. Not even hunger was strong enough to stop you.

Mizu's eyebrows furrowed at how miserable you looked before sighing and pulling a sheet of paper out of her own notebook. "Here," she sighed out, sitting beside you and scanning each problem you had printed out before re-writing each question you looked like you struggled with. Her eyes occasionally glanced at you, unseen worry rising with every hitch of your breath and every twitch of your eyebrow as you looked at the questions she rewrote.

"Mizu..I don't want to do those all again," you groaned frustratedly, ruffling your hair own hair aggressively, strands falling to the carpet below. A hand held yours firmly, preventing you from tangling the ends of locks even more. "I'm going to teach you, dumbass. We can't have you failing and dying at the same time," she huffed, grabbing your calculator and placing it in front of both of you. She leaned closer to you, hand on your waist to pull you closer before taking the pencil and pointing to the first problem she rewrote.

"I'm not going to repeat my explanations, so listen well,"

...was what she said.

However, Mizu was a big softie when it came to you. Every time she caught you spacing out or having a hard time in general, she took her time and explained it to you again, even explaining it slower, simpler, or more detailed as needed. She really made sure that you understood the principle of the problems and the process of solving them, handing the pencil and calculator to you to make sure you actually understood her.

After a while, you were slowly starting to understand you earlier mistakes, and with her help, you were able to finally solve the review sheet. Thank god for hot smart women.

A look of amusement crossed her face as she watched you slump back onto the sofa with a loud sigh of relief. Shaking her head with a small lop-sided smile, she took the pen again before grabbing your laptop and searching for similar problems. "Here," she said, turning the device towards you. "Solve these. I'll be back in a bit."

You looked at her in confusion before letting out a tired groan. The exhaustion was starting to let itself be known through the heaviness in your lids. Another problem set was the last thing you wanted to do right now.

Oh wait.

Fuck, you still had to edit your methodologies and results, and you haven't even started on the discussion yet. Oh god...

'Better get started, I guess,' you thought with a defeated sigh. Muttering a string of curses under your breath, you picked up your pencil and calculator and began solving yet another set of hellish questions while the dark-haired woman stood up and walked off somewhere in her apartment. Silence filled the room aside from the aggressive scritching and scratching of lead against paper and the sound of clacking from your calculator.

Every now and then, Mizu would come back with something to comfort you. May it be a cup of water, a bigger pillow, a hair tie, or to charge your phone for you. She didn't really speak though, fully wanting you to focus on your work.

It was like her quiet little way of telling you that she was here and that she cared for you.

Amidst your problem solving, the smell of something being fried hit your nose, making you look up. It was a bit oily, but at the same time, homely and savory. Your stomach growled slightly at the smell, reminding you of that uncomfortable feeling of hunger that you were somehow able to ignore during your study sessions.

Just as you had finished writing your answers, Mizu came out of the kitchen with a bowl of rice and a plate of what seemed to be fried fish. Kinda burnt but maybe that's a charm point...or something. At least she tried.

She set it down on a clear space on the coffee table and gently urged it towards you. "Here," she mumbled, looking at you expectantly. You stared at the food she prepared, snorting a bit at the charred skin, some bits missing which obviously stuck to the pan while she was frying it. "Err..Mizu...?"

"Don't mind how it looks just..just eat, okay?" she groaned, sounding a bit embarrassed, a bit of pink dusting her cheeks. Her eyes looking away as her hand went up to cover half her face. You couldn't help but laugh a bit. Mizu? Embarrassed? God that woke you up, didn't it?

The sound of your laughter made her feel even more embarrassed but at the same time relieved. Your laugh was so fucking cute. She was glad that you were starting to sound a bit more like your usual self. Hell, you were smiling now. A big improvement compared to the face of misery you were making earlier.

Eventually, your laughter subsided upon the realization sinking into you. She really did all this just to take of you. Dragging you to her apartment, tutoring you, fetching things for you, cooking for you...

She really does care. Doesn't she?

Your hands picked up the chopsticks before breaking into the soft flesh of the food in front of you, picking off the bones before taking a bite. It was salty, the char even made it a bit bitter, and for god-knows-why, even a bit spicy?? But it tasted so good to you. Heavenly, dare I say.

As you continued to eat, bite after bite and scoop after scoop, the shakiness in your hands slowly calmed down. You couldn't help but look up at your friend who was now checking your answers, the ghost of satisfaction making itself known through the barely visible smile she had. "Mizu..."

She looked over at you, raising an eyebrow to indicate that she was listening. "Thank you for uh..taking care of me," you said shyly, giving her a small smile. A low chuckle escaped her throat as she shook her head slowly as if in amusement. "At least you're not shaking like a leaf anymore," she joked, followed by you letting out a small 'hmph!', making her chuckle yet again.

Though she wouldn't tell it to you right now, she'd be more than happy to take care of you anytime you wanted or needed it.

The sound of your pen tapping on the paper filled the room again as her eyes narrowed at your answers, checking it carefully. After a while, she handed the paper back to you, looking very much satisfied. "Looks good," she said, eyes watching the proud smile on your face. "How 'bout a reward?...Some rest I suppose?"

Your smile faltered at the sound of rest. "I can't...my manuscript is due in a couple of days and I haven't even finished editing my methodologies and results," you explained, opening the files for each of your chapters. "The data isn't even tabulated in the required format. It looks like shit."

She stood up from her spot and sat next to you, placing a hand on your head to pat it gently as she looked at the screen. Her eyes narrowed again while you scrolled up the file for her before she sighed. "Yeah, it does look like shit," she agreed before suddenly grabbing your laptop and setting in front of her. "Go and take a nap or something. I'll do whatever I can to...whatever this is."

"But Mizu, this isn't even your field. I can't—" She cut you off with a finger to your lips before gesturing towards the sofa behind the both of you. "Nap," she ordered firmly. You sighed before standing up and laying down on the sofa. You knew there was no use arguing. When Mizu makes up her mind, she's deadset on it.

Her eyes scanned your figure for a moment, taking in every curve of your body and the way your face relaxed. Then, she took off her jacket and draped it over you, before giving you a small loving pat. Before you could even open your mouth to protest, she immediately shushed you and turned to your manuscript, scanning over it.

Your eyes observed the way her eyebrows furrowed and the way her eyes darted from word-to-word. The sound of her typing and clicking filling the room, oddly relaxing you.

It didn't take long for you to drift off to sleep. And for the first time since hell week started, you finally relaxed.

No frustration, no stress, just...sleep.

You did nap for hours longer than expected though.

Don't worry.

Your methodologies were now updated, results properly formatted, and ideas in bullet points for your discussion were laid out in a new file. Even your references were fixed.

Damn, you really wanted to smooch Mizu reaaal hard after this.

[duuhrayliegh]

hey babes can i request more seb x singer!reader? thank youuuu :)

slowing down

Neither of you says anything for a few minutes, basking in the uninterrupted silence. In the recesses of your shared apartment, you can hear the faint click of the air conditioning. Raindrops hit the bay windows in your living room and you just know that the sunrise is going to be beautiful. or in which you can't sleep

pairing: seb stan x singer!reader (that’s right, I'M FUCKING BACK FOR MORE BABY)

warnings: it's kind of angsty? idk i didn't mean for it to be but i guess here we are?

a/n: of course you can love! i'm in the world's worst slump but i refuse to let this stop me. i can honestly tell you that this will probably be really shitty but nevertheless here we are :/

pls like and reblog if you enjoy my work. which you can check out more of on my masterlist.

You're quick to dim the glow of your phone, the illumination too much for your dry eyes. You're halfway through your North American tour and have finally reached the break in your schedule. Three whole days that you're able to fully relax and recharge after two months.

Two excruciating months that you spent away from home, sleeping in hotel bed after hotel bed, chasing peace and quiet on airplanes, private cars, and green rooms.

Two long months without Seb.

It wasn't so bad at first. I mean let's be real, you both have busy lives. He's a leading Hollywood actor who has film execs fighting tooth and nail to cast him in their upcoming projects. And you're touring your second album, playing in venues both large and small, never stopping for longer than five minutes.

Until now. When you were first planning out your tour schedule with your management company, you insisted that there be a break halfway through the run. You wouldn't label yourself as a homebody, but you're something close to it.

You knew yourself well enough to predict when you could burn out. Much to the dismay of your team, you refused to even consider a tour unless it had the required time off built in.

You've watched too many of your friends have to cancel shows to recuperate, you wouldn't do that to your fans. People have real lives outside of concerts--it's not always sunshine and rainbows, but rescheduling shows was the last thing you were willing to do. Compromise wasn't an option for this decision, and thankfully they bent to your demands rather quickly.

What you didn't account for was how wired you'd be.

You made sure to plan your time off for after your New York shows. That way you would already be where Sebastian was and you could spend the break with the man you love.

You'd think your body would enjoy the break. Instead, it doesn't seem to realize it's on a break. So here you lay, doom-scrolling on your phone with the brightness turned so low you might as well not even be on it.

You closed and opened the same three apps for the past thirty minutes. A lump is beginning to form in the back of your throat and your eyes are starting to burn. You could feel your breaths coming in faster intervals, fighting against the exhaustion in your bones. The words on your phone screen start turning into just random letters, then blurring altogether, becoming one big glowing blob in your hand that your mind can't seem to fathom.

"Birdie?" Sebastian's baritone startles you back to reality. You quickly flip the screen into the duvet, stifling the dim object from his sleepy view.

His hand finds yours, running his fingers over your tense knuckles that grip the phone steady. He pries the device from your grip and places it face down on his bedside table.

"What's wrong, bird?" By this point, he's preparing for whatever you throw at him. Sebastian's front molds to your back, pulling you into his warm skin.

"Do you ever feel so exhausted that you reach the point that you're not tired anymore?" Your voice is soft, not wanting to disturb the peace and quiet any more than you already have. Sebastian's fingers are still tracing meaningless shapes on your knuckles as he hums against your bare shoulder.

Neither of you says anything for a few minutes, basking in the uninterrupted silence. In the recesses of your shared apartment, you can hear the faint click of the air conditioning. Raindrops hit the bay windows in your living room and you just know that the sunrise is going to be beautiful.

"Like, you spend so long waiting for something and then once you get it, you're disappointed?" You breathe the words into the void before you can stop yourself. It's only when you realize what you've said do you rush to correct yourself. "Not that I'm disappointed. That's not what I meant."

Sebastian hums in acknowledgment. Beneath the blankets, he tangles his legs with yours, wrapping you in the comfort you've been without for the past two months.

“It's just that my mind won't stop running. Like, I've done the damn thing. I planned the time off so that this wouldn't happen." Your breathing quickens again but slows as soon as Sebastian nudges your feet with his. Tears pool along your lash line, threatening to spill over out of frustration? exhaustion? pure anger? You aren't able to fully discern what you're feeling.

"I'm just so. damn. tired, Bastian." Your voice lilts into a whine at the end, but you both know it's to mask the chink in your armor. You shuffle to plant your face in his chest, attempting to shield yourself from the world outside.

Something you've learned about yourself is that you're so quick to give. The first to volunteer yourself. Always think of everyone else before yourself. It's a quality that people envy.

What they don't know is the toll it takes on the giver. The volunteer. The thinker. The envied. They don't know that you lay awake at night, exhausted beyond all reason with your mind racing when you try to put yourself first for a change.

"I don't know how to make it stop." He wraps you in his arms, burying both hands in your hair at the base of your neck. "I don't know how to make my mind quiet."

Frustration oozes from your every fiber and it makes you burrow deeper into Sebastian's hold. You squeeze your eyes shut, the action causing a throb to form in between your brows. You begin to match Sebastian's breathing, allowing your chests to rise and fall in sync. You rest your forehead on his collarbone and listen to the even beating of his heart.

No more words are exchanged. No more admissions. No more almost insults. No more dimly lit phone screens.

Just the rain. And the whir of the AC. And the matched breaths.

All the worries and troubles are pushed aside to be another day's problem.

For now, you'll rest.

--

please like and reblog if you enjoy my work. for requests.

for more of my work.

[literary-motif]

Act II — The Clouds

Scene i — The Strain

previous scene // overview // read on ao3 // next scene

Warnings: references to depression, talk of gambling addiction

Asirel fell asleep at his desk, as he so often did. He could not get his mind to quiet, restlessly tossing and turning in bed before he had given up the practice for good, choosing to work through the night instead. 

There was certainly enough to do to keep him busy, and when the exhaustion eventually made his eyelids drop, his body slumping forward until his forehead rested on his folded arms on the hard wood, at least he would be getting a few hours of sleep.

The discomfort of his aching neck and sore body in the morning was a small price to pay for the little rest he got. It was manageable. 

Still, some nights were unendurable. When he sat in his office chair and the words on the page swam together, the light of the screen burning his eyes and the entire room twisted in a wicked way that made him feel like he had slipped into unreality. On those nights, he buckled under the strain of this new life.

The words haunted him, the mountains of information crushing him. When he finally managed to succumb to exhaustion, his dreams were a twisted reenactment of the things he read — the intricate web around real estate, of all things. 

He could not shut his mind off, so he let it spin, calling up a quick fix to his restlessness when he could not take it anymore. Escorts did not ask questions, the good ones anyway. They just showed up, got to work, and left — or fell asleep in his bed while he slipped back into the study to continue working with renewed concentration. 

This night was no different. Old habits die hard.

The method was not failproof, and more times than not the encounter left him feeling more hollow than he had previously. But he endured, pushing through for the slight chance that they would tire him out enough and pull his mind into slumber so he could follow suit.

When he awoke the next morning, arms sprawled over his desk and an ache in his neck that made him groan before he even opened his eyes, Asirel wondered how long he could keep this up. 

Pathetic, considering he had just started.

It hurt knowing there was no driving force behind his actions anymore. They were all done out of a sense of obligation, not passion — something he had told himself he had in abundance. He only needed to live up to his father’s legacy, make his family proud, and fulfill his life’s purpose — but what was that, exactly? 

What was he supposed to do with the position he held, other than simply cling to it like a drowning man?

It all felt so unimportant in the face of death. He wanted to change the world, yes. He wanted to shape it into something better — How did he want to change it? — mold it to fit his vision for it — what vision? — and pull at the strings laid bare before him to get what he wanted — and what was that, exactly?

But memento mori.

What did it matter in the end?

He was reaching for strings to keep himself afloat, but the strings were an illusion and the water below him did not try to drag him under but push him out. Nothing made sense anymore, and he was desperately searching for a nook, a place of respite for his mind until he did not feel like he was floating and drowning and tearing at the seams anymore.  

Asirel buried his face in his hands with a groan, exhaustion weathering him down. The sun was just shy of rising, and his mind was already spinning. Flashes of his dream reappeared before his closed eyelids. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms and going over the information he read about last night, watching the scenes play out in his mind.

The world of real estate was slipping off its axis, and Incessant Inc. had greased the rail.

The company inflated its profit with accounting malpractices, boosting its market value with money that was simply not there. The irregularities in the balance sheet had raised eyebrows over the years, but dividends were good so the shareholders were appeased, and the overseeing authorities had evidently missed the fact that the numbers were not adding up, or they had deftly been paid off. Either way, the elaborate scheme of boosting their numbers was sure to rattle Wall Street once the morning paper broke, and the investigative journalist you had kept on a leash was finally able to share her findings. 

Patricia Kelley had stumbled on the red numbers of the company, finding billions simply missing. The fraud was spectacular, their accounts not adding up for years while they claimed enormous profits to lure in investors. She dug deeper, discovering a whole web of unlikely occurrences and spectacular coincidences that spun a tale of corruption from the secretary shredding dooming pieces of evidence to the mayor having secret meetings with the CEO, Sasha Zilk. 

It would not have mattered much to the Collective — another company pulled into ruin by the greed of its executives. But it did because in the supplemental file you had given Asirel, containing information the journalist had not managed to reach, there was the damning connection to Stockton and its branch of real estate. 

The CEO’s sister, Michelle Zilk, was the deputy head of a real estate company that had been going toe to toe with The Quetza Hotel for nearly a decade. Its chief executive officer had not so much climbed the corporate ladder as being thrust into his ergonomic leather chair without a clue as to what to do.

It was plain who pulled the strings in the company, and it would not be an enigma to figure out what Michelle would do when the story broke, and her brother’s company would crash. 

The question remaining was simply how much the COO would invest in the drowning tech company, and how much the dropping value of her own would shake the market. And Stockton. The city was fragile. Too many twists and the web would get tangled, sending houses of cards collapsing into insolvency and making strings snap all over the world. 

Stockton was the anchor point of real estate, after all.

A tight ball of anxiety churned in Asirel’s chest, and he groaned once more as he remembered Robert Kennedy. Perhaps he would chime in and seize the opportunity to snatch up a crumbling empire to add it to his own. It would fill the market void — if the real estate company should truly stumble over Michelle’s investment. It would boost the Kennedys’influence, and that was a fate better avoided.

There was a slow knock on his door, and Asirel straightened, running a hand through his hair in an effort to look more put-together than he felt. “Come in,” he called, voice rough from disuse. He should get coffee and wake up properly, preparing himself to face the day that lay ahead.

The door creaked open to reveal Morley, her blonde hair pulled back into a tight bun that made her look stricter than he knew her to be. She stepped inside, black heels clicking against the floor, and passed him a steaming cup of coffee Asirel gratefully accepted. 

As he took a sip of the searing drink, he wondered faintly if his father had the same habits as he had, or if Morley was just keenly observant. 

“The morning paper, sir,” she said, laying it on top of the scattered pages on his desk. 

There it was, front page news: CORPORATE FRAUD IN TECH-SECTOR, MARKET CRASH. Kelley had spilled her findings. 

“Your company” — she said the word with such disdain that he could not help but feel shame — “has left.”

Asirel was glad to have left the tip on the nightstand, five-hundred-dollar bills neatly tucked into the signed copy of his favorite author’s new release he had absentmindedly gushed about the last time they had met. Why that information had taken root in his mind, Asirel could not tell, but as the opportunity arose to obtain the book he thought back to the person he had shared a bed with, knowing they would be seeing each other again. The gift felt almost natural, a small act of kindness. 

It slipped his mind a moment later.

“Thank you, Helen,” he muttered, picking up the paper and trying to concentrate as he skimmed through the article. 

His secretary did not retreat, glancing at the files and documents littering his desk with close attention, her eyes darting from one to the other, gathering enough information to fill in the second half of the picture the article had not given her. “These are turbulent times for the market,” she said. “If you were to invest in a real estate company, I’d say it's like Russian roulette.”

Asirel paused, glancing up at her. “Have you been at the Aces Up again?” he asked, staring at her intently. She only mentioned gambling when it was on her mind, and only after she had relapsed into her crippling addiction. 

Morley tensed at the mention of the casino, snapping her mouth shut. It was all the answer he needed. 

“How much did you lose?”

She bristled, remembering her wretched hands at the table game, playing twenty-one and losing round after round. “I am well within my limits,” she snapped, clearing her throat a moment later to calm herself and remember who she was talking to. “Sir,” she added. “I can foot my bill.” 

He looked unimpressed, battling with himself to swallow the words and reminding her that over half of her considerable paycheck still faded into settling the debt she had accumulated over the years of gambling. 

There was a knock on the doorframe. He bit his tongue. 

“Good morning,” you said, arms crossed as you leaned against it, waiting for Asirel’s acknowledgment before walking in. “Hello, Miss Morley,” you said, giving her a nod and ignoring the anger raging in her eyes. It was not directed at you. “A pleasure. Asirel,” you hesitated when you saw the dark shadows under his eyes, exhaustion evident in the way he slumped against his desk. “Slept well?”

“Did you read this?” he asked instead, not deigning to answer. He handed you the morning paper.

Your eyes darted over the page, noting the small corrections that were implemented at your request. “Last night,” you replied, handing it back to him. You turned to Morley expectantly. She understood, quickly excusing herself and closing the door behind her a little harsher than she normally would. “Remember who runs the press? Of course, I read it, even before it went into print.”

“There is no connection to real estate.” 

“There shouldn’t be,” you said, placing your hands on the large desk and leaning against it, tilting your head to look down at him. “We wouldn’t want to cause a scandal before Michelle even had a chance to invest. And you shouldn’t fall asleep at your desk. It makes you look dead on your feet.”

He hummed noncommittally, taking a sip of his coffee as he motioned to the seat across from him, silently inviting you to sit down. 

“No, thank you. We are leaving for Stockton in approximately ten minutes anyway.”

He choked at this new information, coughing. “We?” he asked incredulously. “Did you come to pick me up for a field trip?”

“Intel,” you said in answer. “The Wraiths are worth keeping an eye on, and so is Stockton in general. But I suppose you know that already.” You gestured to the mess of pages on his desk, all of them related to Stockton and the business of real estate. “Found anything of note?”

“Nothing you wouldn’t know about already,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face tiredly. “I’m apprehensive about Kennedy. Do you think The Quetza Hotel can cushion the fall instead?”

“I don’t think it should, truthfully,” you said. “It would tip Stockton too much towards them. Kennedy — as much as I am weary about his intentions — is located elsewhere. If his chain of bars and restaurants gets bigger by expanding into the hotel business, so be it. It’s not as disruptive as it would be if Tara bought Michelle’s wrecked company.”

“Tara?” Asirel asked quizzically.

The frown on his face made you chuckle. You pushed the cup of coffee on his desk further towards him, urging him to finish it. “Loyalty for knowledge. I am giving you connections on top of that. You’ll meet her soon enough. Now come on, and make the most of the hand you’re dealt.”

The hand he was dealt. 

It felt like he was clutching an ace and a ten in a game of blackjack to which he didn’t know the rules.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for not paying my brother for our business' supplies?

(sorry, English isn't my first language)

This happened a couple of months ago. Me (30NB) and my brother (29M) have full time jobs, but I wanted to start a small business selling things made of resin (keychains, ashtrays, those things). It was fun making them and the extra money would help me, but I wanted to start small since my job didn't leave me with much free time. I mentioned this to my brother and he said we should have a business together, so I taught him how to use resin. I told him I was busy with work so I wouldn't be able to work on our business right away, so he went ahead and made social media accounts and keychains so we could take pictures and promote them.

When we talked about buying glitter, molds and chains I told him we should wait until we got back the money I had already spent on supplies, and then we could afford to buy more things since both on us were struggling to make ends meet. He agreed to this and I thought it was the end to it, that we would just use what we already had. Everytime he brought up buying molds he saw on TikTok I reminded him of this, and the fact that none of us could afford a big purchase (our jobs don't pay that much and we both have kids).

The next time I went to his house he was so proud to show me the amount of glitter and molds he had bought, when I asked how much he spent on them it was a third of my salary. It was obvious he spent so much money on them because he expected me to cover half of the costs, even though I told him before I couldn't. Thing is I went to his house that day to tell him I didn't want to work on this anymore, he was clearly more excited than I was and I barely got to make a single thing anyways, plus we hadn't sold anything yet so I thought it'd be better to leave our partnership early, you know, before we spent a lot of money we didn't have. He said I should still pay for half of the supplies, I refused since I told him before I didn't have the money and I wasn't gonna use them anyways.

A week later he tried to get our parents and older brother involved, though they said we should solve this between us. You know, like adults. We haven't talked ever since and he refuses to go to our family reunions if he knows I'm going. I thought I was in the right but the more time passes I'm not so sure.

What are these acronyms?

[duskmachine]

"Time is money." is a phrase that has eaten away at me for a really long time. Presently, this is a really interesting metaphor. With the deplorable job market and the emergence of "I should've made a linkedin account and gotten an internship while in the womb" memes, "Time is money." begins to take shape in a profound way.

We are expected, from the start, to invest in a future we assume to be still. Businesses promise us they are legacies who will last the test of time. Coco-cola airs its ads focusing on families and the idea that the gift of Cola will be passed down from generation to generation. Brands are identities that we take on; to like Coco-cola is a separate identity from liking Pepsi. You are not A, therefore you are B. Essentially, we believe our lives to be as stable as the market. Which, under the rules of capitalism, will continue to rise and rise and rise. Our jobs, the money we have under our name, is a tool to help us invest in products that add to our identity that grows and grows and grows.

Money becomes something that gives you the right to be human. It gives you the privilege of earning an identity. These are subsets of culture. If you cannot buy your way into culture then you are simply not a part of it. Culture is then created by those who can afford it; that is the future. The future is molded by a culture created by a small sum of people who hold large amounts of a tool (money) that gives them the "right" to be human and be part of "society". That is the security we were sold. Consumerism is such a huge deal because it is a part of culture. Consuming is our future: stocks will rise and rise and rise and we will continue feeding into the market to make it grow and grow and grow.

Our future is only as stable as these stocks, as these legacy brands. If we choose to separate ourselves from the premise of capitalism, we then sever our human identity that we have "earned" through our job, our title, our money. "Time is money." teaches us that time is something we must invest in. It is a trust we must fund. While at the same time, we must spend time to earn that money. Time becomes a tower built by blocks of identities. You were a student. You used to work at that store. You used to really like that product.

Each moment you choose not to invest in your future is time lost. You must procure the time to spend by earning the funds to "buy time". Think about the ideology of: if you live a hard life now, you'll live an easier life later. For the majority of our lives, we will spend it attempting to earn a better future despite our present.

Well, but what if brands fail? What if the future they sell is founded on bad research and baseless lies? Coca-cola sells us a life in an idyllic nuclear family that has its roots in American imperialism. Fossil fuel companies have been paying researchers to stay quiet and to publish data that convinces the public that their production is something that we can rely on since it will never harm our future. For lack of better terms: The future they sell is complete fucking bullshit.

The white picket fence surrounding a beautiful house and lawn is not a future most can afford anymore. That is a culture that is essentially lost because it is hoarded by previous generations. This is wealth that is holed up in dying identities and traditions that do not exist to serve anyone, but the person practicing it. Temperatures rise, our over reliance on oil reveals to us a culture unwilling to change for the benefit of a genuine future: one where the planet is habitable. This future, as previously stated, is created by only a handful of people. It is a product sold and handed to people running out of a future to live meanwhile young people without generational wealth stand on bidding time.

"Time is money." is a saying from Benjamin Franklin. The face of the $100 bill. His legacy, our tool to buy an ungrounded future where the rich live in the stars, abandoning the Earth they set aflame. Not ever acknowledging they chose to treat our future as the fuel for theirs. A sacrifice that was never necessary.

[a-hermit-pining]

Feels Like Sun ☀️

Pairing: Nanami x Reader

Genre: Romance college AU

Summary: So that night, in the quite library you and Nanami constructed the most perfect presentation with just your names on it. Revenge that was served in the 8 am tomorrow.

AN: Hit too close to home. Low-key proud of this. Unedited I'm impulsive sure me!

College of Business was a wild place to be. Hungover frat boys, stressed accountants, quirky marketing majors. All the trade came settled into that one building.

Maybe it wasn't that special to others but to you...to you it was special. It was where you met him. Nanami Kento.

It was a stupid group project with half of the team burnt out before the break. So were you but as try hard, you could not give up just yet. Somehow your meeting with him had been inevitable.

You had seen him before, around the campus, walking to classes. Emotionally constipated guy, the one who stood out because he was the only one walking without headphones or talking to someone. He just existed.

"So...we're doing this...just the two of us," you stare at the guy next to you. His eyes already focused on his laptop screen.

"Yes." He replied curtly. " I am not giving those morons any credit." His words made you grin. A petty bastard. You liked him very much.

So that night, in the quite library you and Kento constructed the most perfect presentation with just your names on it. Revenge that was served in the 8 am lecture next day.

So, it wasn't a shocker when your obnoxious ass started waving to him at every spotting. Walking with him to classes. Even joined him for the extra credit studies.

He was perfect block of muscle with highest concentration of etiquette in his every single pore. Better than any finance bro ever.

It was only a matter of time before you dragged your new 'friend' to the bars. And the man was a beast with cheap college beer. Beer pong? He's in. Filthy grinding on dance floor? You're there trying to stop an orgy. Beating off creep? Yeah, you dragged him out of the bars.

So, the next morning waking next to him wasn't unexpected. You just did not expect the stoic guy with passion of eros to switch to a blushing mess. Albeit a hungover blushing mess.

That is how Nanami became your boyfriend. The most unlikely pairing according to your salty girlfriends.

But beyond the noisy college life and never ending god forsaken group projects, he was so gentle. As if a world with just two of you existed in the small studio apartment that you rented together.

Cuddling during movie nights, self manicures every Fridays, meal prepping on weekends after a hungover morning was what life became next to him.

As if smiling became easier. Hugging him felt natural. Your life molded itself around him.

You both got internships together. Spent summers making coffee runs together and then making out in the Manager's office in secret.

You were in bliss. People around you kept their eyes to your fingers. Looking for the confirmation that the world sought for your love for each other. And maybe, you, yourself wanted it. He was the one. You knew it.

Your graduation picture with him hold you both smiling at each other. He smiled with you. He was happy.

Until it struck him. The work beyond college dragged your boyfriend. As if the monotony of the world tugged him to the past you knew very little of.

It became easier to overlook each other. To bottle your frustration, when you could see him struggle. You had to help him, you reasoned with yourself. You could make him happy right?

You tried so hard. You became your old self. Smiled brighter for him. Partied, held him, you tried too damn hard to fight the cold dread seeping in your heart.

But you knew you could not keep him. He was leaving and you no matter how much you wished, could not hold on to him.

With a heart of stone, you kissed him goodbye. Became an amicable ex who understood him. Maybe you were a fool all along. All those people who had once warned you of your differences now seem to be mocking your failure to save your love.

He was gone and so was your heart.

You dated others. Tried to offer your heart but you did not possess it any longer. Nanami Kento took it with him.

Your steps paused. Your keys dropped as you rushed to him. Bloodied and battered. Burnt on his side, he was back on your doorstep.

"Kento!" You pull him to your lap dialing the emergency to the best of your abilities with your trembling fingers.

And just like that he was back. Broken and scarred but next to you. You did not ask of what he endured. You just held him close now that he was back. Your heart was back and beating with him.

[blogaccounts]

Small Business Accountants Mold

If you are a small business looking for an accountant in Mold, Ruthin, Deeside or anywhere in North Wales we can help. We specialise in helping small businesses grow and understand their needs. We can help with all tax and VAT requirements and are specialists in the field. We can provide fixed fee accountancy services and are a Xero certified accountant. If you need small business accountants in Mold or surrounding areas then please view the rest of this site for details.

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

WT #5: "It's Broken"

Summary: Spy AU. r/AITA post from a throwaway account asking if they're the asshole for accidentally torturing their best friend.

WC: 1363

Am I the asshole for torturing my best friend, despite him not knowing it was me? [UPDATED] + Poll

Throwaway account for obvious reasons. 

So I work for a… company with enemies. Lots of enemies. And my job is to make sure those who come prying, don’t get off easy when they get a little too nosey. Seven of these enemies come in the form of branded assassins, and they’ve been on our asses for a while. I won’t use their name as I don’t want any hate/harassment to go towards them, but If you didn’t know, they’re the UK’s legion of puppies - legal assassins and infiltrators who are conditioned to think they’re doing good, but truthfully they’re just nuisances. Like, really annoying. Why can’t we be chased by the French ones? They’d put up a much better fight…

Ugh. Anyway, the pups got in the way of several shipments that stopped the boys getting paid, they nearly got my brother arrested and they killed a dozen higher-ups - you wanna know how hard they are to replace? They do all this for clout and money; bigger enemies pay the small enemies to try and take us out, and for what? We’re a family business, for christ's sake! All we do is move shit around and own a few stores, what’s so threatening about that? Nothing I’ll say! I’m just trying to put food on the table and these assholes are trying to stop that. Not all of us belong to institutions who feed us cucumber sandwiches and lobster at the drop of a hat. 

He’s probably there right now, swaddled in a private hospital with a team of doctors putting him back together. 

I’m not looking for sympathy, but I guess I hate them so much because one of them killed my dad. I was a wreck! 

So yeah, I fucking hate them. They took everything and continue to take - my brother had to step in and take over dads role and it hasn’t been easy for him! For any of us! And those bastards got away with a pat on the back and a warm bed while we had to relocate a warehouse for the millionth time. My dad was just sitting in his office holding his gun as he usually does - so what if it happened to be pointing in the direction of the pup? Those  guys are so insecure they see anything as a threat. ‘Shoot on sight’. Hah. That mentality will get them killed if they weren’t so damn hard to catch. 

But imagine the satisfaction when we finally managed to get our hands on one - a live one. The small one with the blonde hair, is probably about 5 '5 and built like a stick insect. (I’m practically six foot, well-built and can bench about 200lbs) 

They’d gotten sloppy - too egotistical. Their mums had probably told them they’re the best in the world and they ran with it. We cornered the rat in one of our warehouses, and he relented when he realized he wasn’t enough to beat over a dozen armed men when all he had on him was knives. What, is he just old enough to graduate from safety scissors? No guns? Fucking amateur. 

He didn’t go down without a fight, and it was quite a show, too. Bastard managed to nick my arm, but my brother managed to crack the back of his head with a pipe and he was out cold… Well, we assumed so anyway because of those damn masks -  If you hadn’t been living under a rock, then you’d know the pups have these masks practically glued to their face. They all have their own ‘looks’, the blonde one’s is molded into a frown with those soulless, black eyes. The reason we didn’t take it off there and then is because… well, last time someone did, everyone in the room went missing, and I don’t know about you guys but I’m quite comfortable here. We play a very dangerous game - luckily I’m always one step ahead. 

I’ve had six years to think about this - to wonder what It would be like to get one of them. My brother called me crazy, but I could hardly wait as they took his headpiece and tracker from his uniform. Look, I know it wasn’t the short one that killed my dad but he was close enough, but who wouldn't want to enact revenge on the closest thing to their fathers killer? Granted it wasn’t the short one that killed my dad, but it was close enough to send a message and I only had forty minutes before the fanfare arrived. So that gave me about thirty minutes to do whatever I wanted… 

I wasted no time in getting my hands dirty. Just seeing his stupid mask made me feel all kinds of stuff, but mostly rage at what one of his teammates had done to my life. I saw red. 

So I cut every limb deep enough to see bone. I broke several fingers, his leg, and carved him a new six pack after I’d rearranged his ribs. I ripped his clothes enough to see the pale flesh they hide beneath layers of tactical gear. I took his gloves so I could at least have a trophy - a reminder of the time I beat up a ‘Sin. 

I almost feel guilty for loving it, but I hated how he made no noise. He was conscious, I knew this because of the heavy breathing but he didn’t say a single word. Not one. Not even a whimper.

So I hit harder. And I kept on hitting until my knuckles bled because the smug bastard didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve to be silent, but I’m also not sure he deserved the beating. I know, what a plot twist. 

I guess I should explain the title now, because how do I know I just tortured my best friend? Well. I think I did. Because only one person I know has a very specific scar between his pointer and thumb - right in the fleshy part. It stretches across his palm as well as down the back of his hand towards the wrist. It’s barely visible now, but I’ve known him for years, so even beneath all the blood I can still trace the faint line. I’m so used to seeing his hands and the scar… and that mop of blond hair that I know it had to be him. He’s also the only person I know that bites his nails down to the cuticles. 

I saw the scar when I raised the bar I was using above his hand - he’d been strapped to a chair, with his arms tied to the armrests. His fingers were broken for sure, but at the time I wasn’t done… the irrational anger I had had blinded me, but the sight of the scar swung me back to my senses. I paused for a solid minute, the pipe I was using poised above his hand. 

“It’s broken.” He finally rasped. 

And I stopped. 

I stopped. Like, I physically recoiled because despite the fact that he was hiding behind that stupid mask he actually spoke. I could put a voice to a body and for some reason I felt so sick I nearly threw up because it was so unmistakably him. 

So I dragged his body back to the spot and left him. I had time to spare but I couldn’t face it. If it was him, then he must have known it was me. I mean, I was wearing a pretty good disguise - a hoodie, sunglasses and bandanna - but I’m worried y’know, I don’t want this to affect our friendship going forward. 

I’m sitting in my car typing this and wondering AITA for torturing him? Because it was just to teach him a lesson but on the other hand… he’s my best friend and I genuinely didn't know? Like, I stopped right away! On the other hand, he is part of something that actively ruins the family business so I don't know. 

UPDATE: He does know it was me. 

I think we’re still friends.

[ronqueesha]

WIP Wednesday

Holy hell I actually have something to post today!

I was tagged by @persephotea, thank you! And I've also been tagged in the recent past by @gaeadene, @lookbluesoup and @halkuonn, so thank you too!

I'm working on something I actually promised to write a year ago. But work has been so stressful and life so unforgiving that I haven't had the energy or motivation until now.

It's yet another smut fic, this time starring my and @halkuonn's Cyberpunk 2077 OC's, Zoe Iwasaki and Dante Alkan respectively. Since they're both corpo characters, we have a not-really-serious headcanon that they both exist in the same world, but the main story of Cyberpunk 2077 kicks off with whoever Jenkins picks for the fateful hit job. But before that happens, they were co-workers who hated each other's guts.

What better scenario for some fun hate-fucking, impact play and other naughtiness than putting these two hateful, egotistical douchebags in a tiny, sweltering motel room with nothing but a little bit of alcohol to ease tension?

The only thing that convinced Dante to use his corpo account on this rat-infested motel room was the sign in front of the building that advertised “air conditioned rooms”. The sun had gone down hours ago, and yet the day's intense heat still clung to his skin. Sweat ran like rivers down his back and pooled into uncomfortable places as he swung the rotting door open. He would have kicked it to spare himself the grime of having to touch it with his hand, but he doubted the door would have survived the blow. Besides, he dared not risk losing his balance against a shoddy door frame while his left hand contained the only cold thing in a hundred meters. Two beers, ice cold and fresh from the vending machine two corridors down. “Why'd it take so long to get a couple beers? Did you suck off some junkies on your way back?” The room's other occupant, and Dante's supposed business partner for this assignment asked from the single bed that occupied the tiny space. Rather than dignify her with a response, he just huffed a deep breath as the only warning before tossing one of the two beers in her direction. A gentle toss, though, not hard enough to cause any real damage to her or the crumbling walls. To his dismay, his companion caught the bottle without even looking away from whatever held her attention. Zoe Iwasaki, the bitch hired on almost the exact same day as him, who worked in the same fucking department, and whose entire life seemed dedicated to making him miserable. At the very least, Dante could take a small comfort in knowing that her delicate hair, nails and makeup, no doubt more expensive than the shabby cars filling the filthy streets outside, clung damp to her head and had started to streak under the intense heat and her constant sweating. So much for air conditioning Dante huffed to himself as he took in the first breath of the tiny room he had spent far too much money on. The stench of mold, cheap cleaning products, and the remains of something disturbingly organic overtook him, enough for Dante to gag and crack open his bottle as fast as his reflexes allowed. He gulped half the bottle just to fill his senses with something other than the smell.

[sarelcon]

Harpy Eda Progress (random stuff because wow this project has been pure chaos)

Progress has been made but it’s all over the place since I’m procrastinating willingly on some things and forced to wait on others. So here is a bit progress update of random stuff

1. Wig

I bought a lace front in gray from Arda Wigs and one of their long white clip-on ponytails. I crimped both the ponytail and the wig, dismantled the ponytail’s mesh base, and took out the white wefts to glue them onto the main wig. Then I went back and teased almost the entire wig and steamed it to tone down the flyaways. I actually went through the spiking process twice because I hated the first version and didn’t account for the ears. (First version on the left, semi final version on the right)

2. Ears

I have tiny baby ears so I wasn’t sure I could find prosthetics in my size that weren’t custom made (aka expensive). So naturally I decided to spend a lot of time- and some money- to make them myself. I went through the long process of live-casting my ears with alginate (the goopy stuff they use to take tooth impressions at the dentist) and made a plaster cast of my small baby ears. I did a sculpt with Monster Clay and did a second alginate mold and plaster cast to have a nice base for the final latex ears. For the actual ears, these are liquid latex tinted with white acrylic paint and they are brushed/dabbed onto the base ears in thin layers. After 15-20 layers, I have to apply a stupid amount of baby powder to keep the latex from sticking to itself, and then I can carefully peel them off the plaster masters. They just get glued on with Prosaide afterwards and are pretty comfortable to wear.

3. Feathers

I have been in Adobe Illustrator hell creating feather SVGs for the laser cutter software Lightburn so that I can have a machine cut EVA foam feathers for me while I’m busy avoiding my corset mock-up by doing a full fabric stash inventory. There are five feather sizes with four variants of shapes in each size. Every feather has a red outline and dozens of detail texture lines drawn as tapered lines. These are plopped onto appropriately sized art boards that match the cutting area of the laser cutter which is 15x15 inches. Adobe also exports SVGs at 72 ppi (pixels per inch) and Lightburn treats everything as 96 ppi so I had to rescale everything. (Yes, me and the owner of the laser cutter found this through trial and error). The end result is a gorgeous bunch of feathers that I did not have to engrave by hand. There’s currently about 120 out of over 400 feathers cut so far

Everything else is still in early stages or waiting to be done after something else finishes (like the dress or corset that will support the wings’ backplate)

[ffxiv-cnd-rp]

"Your establishment has MOLD" BAH!

The carpenter AFTER he deliberately delayed construction NOW SAYS that the business lodgings have mold I SAY COWARD! i took upon myself to hire a shady person i mean... "trust worthy" yes that's the word... in "pearl lane", so he gracefully worked around the mold and we have suitable lodgings for everyone now! these of course will be upgraded with time... but we cannot DARE LEAVE SHINY MONEYI MEAN WEARY TRAVELERS! GO WITHOUT SLEEP! i do supposed it is missing some more art & decoration? i can ask a fellow thie- I MEAN acquantice...to assist yes... that's the word...

But we have accounted for one single room, a two bed and a master room. for our guest's ♥ also adding a small sitting area to rest your feet or right something before you go to sleep, a small laundry room for our caretakers or our guest's with the liberty to use & a bathroom with a toilet.

[itsuki-minamy]

"CRUSH ON BABY" (PROLOGUE)

NOVEL: REI RAIRAKU (GORA) / ILLUSTRATION: HIROKO UTSUMI

TRANSLATION: NARU-KUN

* List of Chapters

As he was approaching Shimokitazawa Station, he heard the sound of a piano carried by the wind.

Kamijo Yozora stopped the bike and looked at where the sound was coming from. A straight piano that anyone could play freely, located in a place in front of the station square. A young man sat in front of the woodgrain piano, his fingers dancing happily on the keyboard.

Although he had a certain level of technique, while he played majestically at that busy time, the rhythm was too free and the sound flow was chaotic.

Yozora, who was used to listening to professional music, found the performance quite unsatisfying, but many people in the plaza were drawn to the sound of the piano and stopped to listen.

Yozora looked at the pianist.

He seemed to be enjoying himself from the bottom of his heart, and he was making animated sounds. He surely was someone who really liked playing the piano. You could tell he was rough around the edges, but the pianist's fun carried over into the sound and energized the performance, drawing listeners in.

Feeling the pain deep in his chest, Yozora moved away from the young man who was playing the piano and started the bike again.

Heading to his own little castle, leaving behind the sound of the piano.

Yozora's Castle... the small bar run by Yozora, is located on the second floor of a multi-tenant building on the corner of the first street. Thanks to the help of the owner of the store where he had worked until two years ago, he was able to rent an empty space at a low price, so he opened his own store there.

He parked his bike in the bike rack at the side of the building, he walked up the narrow stairs and saw a door with a metal sign with "Nox" etched in a thin typeface. When the door is opened, you can see an authentic bar with an atmosphere that is contrary to the worn appearance of the building. Yozora turned on the light of a small, but fully attached bar, and rolled up his sleeves to start cooking.

The snacks that are served at the bar are dehydrated foods such as nuts, cheese, olives. In addition to items like prosciutto ham and other items that are always in stock, it offers a slightly changing daily special. At the time, he was planning to make a special butter chicken curry.

For daily side dishes, caprese, ratatouille, various stir-fries, salads, pate de campagne, etc. are prepared. Depending on his mood of the day, and the curry is usually prepared the day before.

That day he decided to make a terrine, so he organized the ingredients he bought over the counter.

While he boiled the asparagus, baby corn, red and yellow peppers, and shrimp, he made a bouillon soup and dissolved gelatin in it. He stuffed the terrine mold with the liquid bouillon gelatin and the vegetables little by little, taking into account that the color of the cross section will be beautiful.

"...Good."

He arranged it neatly in a mold as if he were making a work of art, he nodded, and put it in the fridge to cool and harden. He put the prepared curry on the fire, checked the taste and adjusted the spices.

After he finished cooking, he polished the bar counter and the small table with a single seat, and cleaned the floor.

In his spare time, he spends time checking the sake inventory, polishing glasses, and looking at magazines while taking a break.

At 6:00 PM, he flips the input label to OPEN. The shop opens at six, but the bar customers are late. He thought he would be free for a while, but the doorbell rang a few minutes after he opened the store.

"Thank you for your hard work, Yozora-kun."

A familiar face appeared.

A young man with a slender body, tall and well-proportioned, with an affable and kind face with slightly drooping eyes. He wore a dolman-sleeved bra top over a black turtleneck, loose-fitting pants, and the combined style of the top with the loose-fitting pants was simple but well-balanced.

He seemed to frequent the city's overflowing thrift shops, both as a buyer and a seller. That day he also had a shopper from a second-hand clothing store in his hand.

"Minase. Come to think of it, the store was closed today."

"Yes. I didn't have anything planned, so I thought I'd take a walk around town and do some light shopping, see Yozora-kun's face, and go home."

After saying that with a smile, Minase sat in his usual seat at the counter.

"Gin fizz, please."

When he asked that in a polite tone, Yozora gave a light look and placed the shaker and the main cup next to each other. He quickly measured the gin and lemon juice into a measuring cup, added the syrup, stirred in the shaker, and used a bar spoon to drip a drop onto the back of his hand to taste. He added ice to the shaker and shook. The cool sound of ice crackling in a shaker rang out on a small bass.

Minase watched the series of movements with sweet eyes.

"Yozora-kun, I love how you make cocktails. It seems to flow smoothly, it's beautiful."

As soon as he lowered the shaker, Minase told him that.

"...Thank you."

He hid his embarrassment and responded, pouring the shaker's contents into a glass filled with ice. Carbonated and gently stirred, he added a lemon wedge and placed it in front of Minase.

Minase slowly tipped his glass and said, "It's delicious." Yozora breathed a sigh of relief.

"Gin fizz is a simple cocktail and hard to balance. The taste differs from shop to shop. I've researched how to make it myself, but get a little nervous when asked to make it."

"That's right... Yozora-kun, you're already a professional bartender."

Minase said so reluctantly.

Slowly, the lower part of his chest ached again.

The image of the person he had just seen playing the street piano happily flashed through his mind.

But that little memory soon faded away, and Yozora laughed and looked at Minase.

"Even you, Minase, are a very good professional stylist."

"No, I'm still a kid. I finally graduated as an assistant and just got to cut clients' hair."

"And you're a model too. I bought a magazine you were in the other day. It's great."

Minase smiled sheepishly.

"Did you buy it? Until my salary as a hairdresser goes up a bit more, I keep thinking about it, but I'm really not fit to be photographed that much. Hibiki knows how to handle himself better in that realm."

Yozora shrugged at the name Hibiki that came out of Minase's mouth.

"Hibiki is too assertive about his existence, so he's not suitable to be a fashion model, right? His face is loud."

"Loud face."

Minase repeated Yozora's words and they laughed out loud.

The doorbell rang almost at the same time.

Yozora raised his eyebrows at the young man who opened the door after shouting "Welcome!"

"If you spread rumors..."

"What? Were you talking about me?"

Hibiki Aisaka, a young man who entered the bar, raised the corners of his mouth and slid into the seat next to Minase.

Hibiki is a handsome young man with a strong presence and aura. The sharp and slant eyes that make you think of a cat are impressive, and people's eyes are drawn to his face. It seemed to him that the role of model, whose role is to make readers project themselves in such a way that they want to wear the clothes he was wearing, would not really be suitable.

Also, his fashion sense is strangely unique, and it's hard to imagine him wearing the clothes that they have sent him.That day, Hibiki was wearing a T-shirt with a design that mixed English, Japanese, and Chinese characters, and it was strong enough to embarrass him.

"I told him that Hibiki wasn't suitable to be a model."

When Yozora spoke, Hibiki pouted.

"What's that, you bastard?"

"Don't say bad words."

"Eh?"

"No, no, what Yozora-kun is trying to say is that you have too much presence, so those clothes are only suitable for a mannequin-like model displaying clothes. He'd rather praise you."

"Minase."

He said his name as if to criticize him, but Minase kept smiling softly, and as expected, Hibiki leaned forward with a smile.

"Are you acknowledging my charisma?"

"Don't be put off."

"I'll ask you while you're in a good mood, but don't you feel like doing a song for me soon?"

"No. More importantly, what is your order?"

He asked in a weird way on purpose, but Hibiki said with a smile, "Give me curry."

"I have practice after this, so I'll drink water. A big helping of curry."

"It's not the kind of place where hungry people come to eat curry with water."

With a sigh, he immediately reheated the pot of curry. If someone tells him, "Yozora's curry is delicious," he doesn't feel bad.

"How about you, Minase? What snack do you want?"

"What's today's menu?"

"I made a prawn and vegetable terrine."

"How nice. Give me that, please."

Yozora nodded and took the hardened terrine out of the fridge and cut it. He put the brightly colored vegetables on it and held the small plate in front of Minase.

Meanwhile, he served the freshly heated curry. A creamy curry with large vegetables. The spice mix is changed little by little through trial and error each time.

When ordered as a side dish or after dinner, rice is served less, but the order came from someone misinterpreting the bar as a restaurant. The rice was also generously served and, in response to the request for a large serving, he poured a lot of roux over it.

Minase and Hibiki's eating habits were in contrast. Minase looked at the served terrine with a smile as if he enjoyed it with his eyes, then carefully cut a bite with a fork and brought it to his mouth. Hibiki, on the other hand, raised the spoon as soon as he put on the curry bowl and began to eat with refreshing speed.

But equally, both of them expressed their satisfaction with the taste with all their faces.

"It looks beautiful and fun, and the jelly is really delicious."

Minase smiled and said that.

"In Shimokita, a fierce battlefield for curry, I feel like eating Yozora's curry, so it's amazing."

Hibiki said that while he ate curry.

He was really happy when people thought the food and sake he made was delicious.

As Minase said, Yozora is a "professional bartender" who is attached to his bar and takes pride in the sake and food he prepares.

He doesn't think he regrets the future he didn't choose.

But...

As Yozora polished his glass, he watched Hibiki's face as he moved the curry spoon.

Even when Hibiki looked up at the wrong moment, his eyes met perfectly. Hibiki narrowed his eyes and smiled.

"We have a live performance this weekend, so come see us, Yozora. Then maybe you'll get the inspiration for the songs you write."

"You're persistent. That's why you say you don't write songs, right?"

"Again. Even if you're willing to. Do you hide your shame?"

"No, you're annoying..."

"Hibiki, I think it's bad to speak without sincerity like that."

Minase looked at Hibiki with a laugh mixed with exasperation. Yozora let out a deep breath.

"Minase, you should choose your friends. Don't go the wrong way by hanging out with this dumb guy."

"Wait, Yozora-kun. Stop treating me like a weird kid."

Minase made a sour face, and shrugged slightly. Since the time they spent together as children was longer than the time since their meeting, Yozora tended to act like an older brother to Minase.

It's been about half a year since he saw Minase again, and met Hibiki. However, partly because they often come to Yozora's bar, it felt natural for the three of them to spend time together like this.

― "Finally I found you!"

He remembered the first time Hibiki came to the bar with Minase.

With cat eyes shining, Hibiki said to Yozora.

― "Do you remember ten years ago? I started listening to music that day. Make me a song."

Ten years ago, Yozora was fifteen years old. Known as a child prodigy, he composed his own music while taking piano lessons and giving informal concerts in restaurants and other venues when requested. Hibiki must have heard Yozora's music somewhere.

He doesn't remember, but it wasn't that he wasn't happy.

― "I'm sorry, but I've given up on music."

Still, that was the only answer Yozora could give, and it hasn't changed even now. For some reason, without hesitation, Hibiki kept coming to Yozora and asking him to compose a song jokingly.

Yozora looked back at Hibiki's face.

Having his own store in that town, he was able to live in peace. After Hibiki appeared, Yozora felt the ripples rising higher in his heart and muttered, "I won't make it.".