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noladyme · 3 years

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As It Should Be - A Raymond Smith One Shot

Raymond is the perfect gentleman, with a perfect home, and very settled habits. One of those habits had become to cancel dates at the last minute; and in stead spend the night in with his girl.

Now, she's had enough, and decides to challenge him on it, doing everything she can, to get on his nerves. The result is much more interesting than she'd anticipated.

Hell hath no fury like a girlfriend of a gentleman gangster, who has been stood up one too many times.

Ray had given me a key a few months before, during dinner at our favorite steakhouse – his backyard. We’d been celebrating 6 months together, and he’d handed me a small wrapped box, with a pretty bow tied around it. He’d most likely used a ruler to get the paper and the ribbon exactly the sizes he needed, to make it look as perfect as possible. His perfectionism both drove me mad, and turned me on immensely.

My hands had been shaking, partly in fear – I was no near ready for any diamond rings – but Ray had given me a slight smile. “Don’t worry, darling”, he said. “Nothing near as serious as you’re worried it might be”. “You telling me we’re not serious, Raymond?”, I replied snarkily. “Just open it, love”, he said.

Inside the tiny packet lay a golden key. “It’s for the house”, Ray said. “I want you to be able to come and go as you please… Just don’t try to break in to any locked freezers”. I raised a brow at him. “Is this because you don’t like my flat?”, I asked. “I know you have issues with council estates…”. “You spend most nights here anyway”, Ray said. “Look, I’m not asking you to move in… Unless you want to of course”. I laughed at his amused expression. “You wouldn’t last a week with me in the house!”, I said. “First time I use the wrong glass for red wine, or leave water stains on the bathroom mirror; you’ll go mad”. Ray blinked – his little adorable tick. “No, I won’t”. I tugged at his beard, and smiled. “Yes you will”.

Ray pressed the key into my hand. “Just… keep this, alright? The house feels more like a home when you’re here”. I leaned towards him, and placed a soft kiss on his lips. “I didn’t get you anything…”, I blushed. “That’s alright”, Ray smiled. “You can give me head in the shower later”.

I had used the key on more than one occasion – admittedly preferring Ray’s more comfortable bed to my own lumpy mattress in my one-bedroom rental. And both Ray and me had enjoyed when I’d been waiting for him in it, naked and ready to help him relax after a tense day of whatever it was Mickey had him doing all over London. Tonight, my plan was different.

Ray had cancelled four dates in a row, just as I was about to leave the house. He’d call just as I would be about to put on my shoes. “I’m so sorry, love. Work ran late. I’ll have Bunny pick you up, drop you at the house, yeah?”. And once again, I’d end up waiting for Raymond in his house, in my pretty dress; until he’d show up – an hour later – with a bouquet of roses or a pair of earrings too expensive for the queen, takeout from some fancy restaurant; and an apologetic smile on his face.

I was beginning to wonder whether Ray didn’t want to be in public with me. I wasn’t the kind if woman he’d usually meet while wining and dining lords and ladies all over England. Maybe my teacher’s salary and fondness of things like public transport – he’d practically begged me to let him get me a car, which I’d declined vehemently – was becoming too lower class to him. I decided to challenge him on it – and maybe, just maybe, I wanted to punish Ray just a little bit, for cancelling our plans for the hundredth time.

This time, I was ready. Ray called, on cue, just as I was about to slip on my shoes. “I’m so sorry, love…”, he began. “It’s alright, Ray. I understand”, I said. “I’ll pick up dinner on the way”. Ray paused for a moment. “I don’t want you waiting in some restaurant alone”, he said. “Don’t worry, babe. Bunny will be there”, I replied. “Tell you what. You can pick up the wine”. “Ripasso?”. I heard the smile in his voice. “You know me, I’m not choosey. Just make it red”, I said. “See you soon”, Ray said, and with after a few more warm words, we said goodbye, and hung up.

Bunny gave me large grin as I jumped into the back seat of the large Mercedes, dressed in leggings, a hoodie, and a smug expression. “Hello, Bunny”, I said. “We need to make a stop”. “Of course, miss. Where?”, he asked. “McDonalds drive-through”, I said. Bunny’s smile became impossibly bigger. “Ray is in for it, isn’t he…?”, he asked. “You fucking know it”, I smiled, and leaned back in my seat.

Once inside the house, I began my preparations. My first stop after kicking off my shoes and setting down the bag of food in the kitchen, was in Rays closet. I checked to see Fletcher wasn’t hiding in it, as he’d done once before; and then went through the collection of shirts. I chose a white Armani, shrugged of my hoodie; and put it on. For an extra touch, I left the closet door open, mussed up the sheets on the bed, and threw the duvet and a pillow on the floor. Next up was the bathroom. I opened the lid to the toilet, washed up – making sure to spray some water on the mirror – and dropped the towel on the floor, once I’d wiped my hands.

I dropped my hoodie on a chair in the hallway, and made my way to the kitchen. Being a big fan of Rays espresso machine, I made myself an americano, poured it into a tea mug – drank half of it – and left the mug in the sink. I took out two plates, carrying them over to the coffee table. I chose the actual silver silverware from the drawer, and put it by the plates.

With a few final touches, and after touching up my makeup, I sat down in one of leather recliners, and put my feet up – waiting for Raymond to come home. It wasn’t long before I heard his keys turn in the lock, and I readied myself for a potential catastrophe. I heard his footsteps in the hallway, and got up to stand. “Darling?”, he called out. “Something smells… deep fried”. I heard him stumble for a moment, probably over my sneakers on the floor. “I’m in here”, I said, and went to meet him in the kitchen – knowing his usual route when he got home.

Ray looked as dapper as ever, in a tweed jacket, a vest, and a pair of dark grey slacks. He looked mildly annoyed about having tripped over my shoes; and was holding a bottle of wine in one hand, and a wrapped box from Selfridges. When he saw my relaxed attire, he looked confused.

“I love when you wear my shirts, but that’s…”. “Armani. I know", I said, and tugged at it. “It’s very comfortable“.

Ray shrugged, put down the wine, went over to slip an arm around me, and kissed me deeply. I was finding it difficult to keep my composure, as I stood pressed against his firm frame; and inhaled his scent. “I brought you something… to apologize", he said, and handed me the beautifully adorned box. “You didn’t have to, Ray", I said, and suppressed the urge to open it; in stead tossing it on the kitchen island. He looked at me with narrowed eyes, and I kissed his cheek. “Dinner’s ready. Go wash up". Raymond stole another kiss, and squeezed my bottom, before going back out into the hallway, and towards the bathroom.

“Is this your sweater in the hallway?”, Ray called out to me, as he passed it. “Probably”, I responded. “You don’t usually wear hoodies”. “You could hang it…”, he said. “Never mind, I’ll do it”. I smiled to myself, imagining his grumpy face as he hung my 15 quid hoodie, next to his own Burberry trench on the coatrack.

Once Ray returned from the bathroom, I was sipping some of the delicious red wine, from one of the cognac glasses. Ray didn’t say a word about the state I’d left his bathroom in, but he did twitch at my choice of glass. “Something wrong?”, I asked sweetly. “Nothing at all”, he said, and tried for a smile. I handed him a glass of his own, and he struggled with not holding it in his palm, as he would have, had it been filled with brandy. I clinked my glass to his, and smiled. “Everything alright with work? What made you late?”, I asked. “A meeting with some people… Nothing that would interest you”, Raymond said, and turned towards the counter, noticing the half full mug of coffee in the sink. “I’m happy you’re making yourself at home”, he grunted, and peeked out the corner of his eyes at me. “Well, you told me to…”, I said, and linked my fingers with his.

Rays eyes twinkled, and he leaned in for another kiss; parting his lips, to deepen it. His tongue probed for entry to my mouth, but I pulled back. “Let’s eat”, I said, and walked towards the living room area. “I’ll set the table”, Ray said. “I already did”, I smiled. He looked confusedly at the dining table. “We eating outside?”, he asked. “No. I set us up over here”, I said casually, and threw myself on the couch; patting the seat next to me. Ray looked flabbergasted. “I have this lovely dining table…”, he tried. “Bring the wine”, I said, ignoring his words.

Ray sat down next to me, and filled my glass. I picked up the paper bag of food, and began distributing burgers and fries on the plates. “I got chili cheese tops and chicken wings as well”, I said. “Eat up”. I picked up the knife and fork, and began cutting into my burger. “That’s a … salad fork”, Ray said, his voice choked. “There’s salad in the burger”, I shrugged. Ray looked at me incredulously, as I dipped a few fries in my ketchup, and then – deliberately – let some of it fall and stain his shirt I was wearing. “Woops”, I said, and grabbed a napkin, beginning to dab at the stain. “Fuck, darling. That’s dry clean only!”, Ray sighed. “I’ll get it out… maybe some bleach”, I said. His eyes widened.

“What’s going on with you?”, he asked. “Nothing", I said, feigning confusion. I took a big bite from my burger, using the silver salad fork to put it there. “Yum". Ray took the fork from me, just as I was about to take another bite. “What are you doing?", I frowned “Why are you testing me?”, he demanded. “I haven’t the slightest idea what you mean, babe", I said. “I’m just enjoying a date with my darling”. “In a stained Armani shirt, and leggings?”, Raymond said. I shrugged. “It wasn’t like we were going out anyway". “I had reservations at…”, he began. I blew a raspberry at him, catching him completely of guard. “Like there was ever a chance we’d use those", I said.

Raymond’s eyes finally lit up in understanding. “You’re angry that I was late, and we had to change plans tonight". “Tonight?”, I sneered. “Try the last… five dates we were supposed to go on". Ray pinched the bridge of his nose, and took a deep breath. “I see… This isn’t how I’d seen the evening going either, love". “Sure it was", I said, getting up from the couch with my cognac glass of wine in hand. I took off my socks, and walked over towards the door to the yard. I opened it, and threw my socks outside. Ray got up behind me, in shock. “Its fine, really. I don’t mind the fact that you don’t want to be seen in public with me. That I’m not worth enough to be taken out somewhere nice”. Using a chair as a step, I walked onto the dining table, and made a little catwalk back and forth. Ray looked equal parts terrified, astounded and enraged. “This way, I can show you how truly at home I feel here".

“Please get off the table", he croaked. “No”, I said, taking a sip of my wine. “Please", Ray tried again, obviously trying to control himself. “Not happening", I said. I stopped my leisure stroll back and forth, and looked Raymond square in the face. We were both quiet, and it was like a standoff in one of those old western movies. “Get off the fucking table, or else…”, Ray said, patience clearly wearing thin. “Or else… what?”, I challenged him.

Though enjoying my little game, I was also beginning to fear that I was digging myself into a bigger hole than I could get out of. Raymond’s eyes were on fire, but I thought I could see something behind the rage – something quite intriguing. I decided to keep my game going. Either Ray would kick me out on my ass, or something else would happen; something much more fun. Either way, I’d have some sort if closure. “I will spank you six ways from Sunday", he said. I hadn’t expected that. “Is that a promise?”, I asked, not sounding remotely as confident as I’d hoped to.

As I lifted the glass to my lips again – all the time keeping my eyes on Ray’s – I shifted my fingers, so that I was palming it in my hand. Ray blinked again, twitching from my teasing.

Suddenly he made a jolt forwards, as if launching himself at me, and I almost fell of the table as I stumbled backwards. Looking down myself, I realized some of the red wine had splashed onto his shirt. “You made me spill my wine!”, I said. “Last fucking chance, darling”, Ray said, walking towards me; almost on the prowl. “We gonna dance now?”, I said. I walked to the middle of the table again – downed my drink – and used my toes to push the bowl of fruit towards the edge. Ray caught it just as it toppled over.

He walked over to the kitchen island, put down the bowl, and calmly took of his jacket; before rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. He walked over to the head of the table, cleared his throat; and set down his palms on it – his eyes dark. “Right. This is going to hurt me more than it will you”, he declared, before pouncing on me; catching my legs, and throwing me over his shoulder. He gave me a hard spank over the ass. “Will you behave now?”. “No!”, I yelled. He set me down, and turned me around by the shoulders; forcing my upper body down over the table, with a hand pressed down between my shoulder blades. I could honestly say I’d never been more turned on in my life.

“I asked you nicely, and you still acted like an imp”, he said. He used his free hand to pull down my leggings, exposing my panty-clad bottom; and as I kicked my legs, he removed them completely. “Impish behavior demands punishment”. He delivered a hard smack on my left cheek. “Ow!”, I yelled, trying to wrestle myself away from him. “You’re spanking me like a child, now?”. Ray leaned to hold me down with his whole arm. “Well, if you’re going to behave like a child…”, Ray said, and spanked my right cheek. His hand rubbed over my skin afterwards, almost soothingly. “You’re the one who should be punished!”, I growled. “You’ve been cancelling all our plans lately”. Ray spanked me on the left cheek again. “That’s what you’re doing? Punishing me?”, he asked. He gave my right cheek another smack. “When all I’m doing is keeping you happy… getting you flowers and presents; telling you to make yourself at home in this nice house… Oh, no; love. I’m a fucking prince to you”. “Yeah, I’m really feeling my princess Di fantasy here!”, I scoffed.

Raymond began spanking both my cheeks in turn. I let out yelps and whimpers at each hit; as they sent signals straight to my core. “This is for the silverware (smack)… This is for throwing the towel on the floor (smack)… For the glasses (smack)… For leaving your shoes about for me to trip over (smack)… And this (smack), is for walking all over my dining table on your bare feet (smack)…”. I was struggling in vain to get free; and at the same time wanted this torture to never end. His fingers ghosted my covered folds, and I drew in a short breath. Ray pulled me up to stand, and raised a brow, as he looked down at me. “Now, will you behave?”. “Not in a million fucking years”, I said.

Before he could catch me, I sprang towards the kitchen island, crawling on to it. Ray caught my ankle, but I managed to get free; and got down on the other side – the island now a barrier between us. I smiled wickedly. I grabbed the half full mug form the sink, and held it up as to spray the coffee at him. “Careful, Raymond. I know how you dislike getting dirty”, I smirked. “I’ll show you how fucking dirty I can get, babe", Ray growled, and sprang over the island, making me drop the mug back into the sink in pure shock.

Ray pulled me into his arms, pinning my arms down at my sides, and attacking my lips with a feverish kiss. I didn’t struggle now; my body responding by completely giving in to lust. After a moment of passionately kissing me, Ray let me go; and ripped open the shirt. “You ruined my shirt”, he growled, and pulled it off me; leaving me in my bra and panties. He was still impeccably dressed himself. The mix of his warm body and the cool fabric of his vest pressing against my naked skin was heaven. I began leaning against Ray, and bit my lip with a smirk. He shook his head. “You want to use things the way they’re not supposed to be used? Fine. Get your ass on that counter”.

My jaw dropped. Sex with Raymond was always thrilling, and we’d enjoyed these sessions, not only in his – and a few times my – bed, the backseat of his car, and in the shower; but also, one time in a fitting room, where Ray had come with me to help chose a dress for a job interview at a private school. I made the mistake of bending over with my back to him; and suddenly found myself pressed against the wall, with Ray covering my mouth with his hand, to muffle my moaning as he screwed me into oblivion. I hadn’t gotten the job, but I did gain a memory for life. In spite of this, we’d never had sex in his kitchen. Ray had this obsession with keeping everything in his home as it should be, and I had a feeling that it might be because he needed to control at least some things in his otherwise quite unpredictable life.

I gave myself a second to feel bad for having disrupted his perfect home base; before he lifted me up to sit on the kitchen island. He snatched a pair of scissors out of a drawer, pulled out the fabric of my panties, and cutting through them at my hips. “You bought me these!”, I said. “I don’t care”, he growled. “I’ll get you some new ones”. He ripped the ruined panties of me, and looked down at the apex of my thighs. The cool wooden surface against my bottom made the sting from the spanking subdue, and I shifted to get more comfortable. The moment seemed to drag out forever, as Ray just looked at me. He took a deep breath. “Don’t move”.

Ray left the room for a moment, and then returned; having poured himself a proper glass of probably very expensive scotch. Leaning back against the counter opposite me, crossing his legs; he took a sip of the drink, and commenced his staring at me. “I have to say, that is the most appetizing piece of meat laid out in my kitchen in a long time”, he said. “Ray…”, I said, feeling myself melt under his gaze. A wicked smile ghosted his face, when suddenly his phone buzzed in his pocket. He leisurely took it out, and picked up the call.

“Yes?... Handled it this morning. Meeting’s set up for tomorrow afternoon… No, you didn’t interrupt anything, boss. Just preparing dinner…”. He began strolling calmly around the kitchen, and I didn’t dare move. “I was about to ask her, but she’s a bit preoccupied at the moment… I’m sure she’d love to, count on us…”. He took another sip of his scotch, and then held the glass to my lips; seemingly for me to taste. As I opened my mouth, he pulled the glass back, and dribbled some of the amber liquid down my chest instead. I frowned, and parted my lips to speak; but Ray set down the glass, and held a finger to my lips. “Will we be needing extra security…? I’ll take care of it… Yes, of course, I’ll wait…”.

With the phone still to his ear, Raymond licked the trail of scotch on my skin, from my collarbone, down to the top of my breast. My breath hitched at the sensation of his hot tongue. Just as he was about to move the cup of my bra down, to go for my nipple, he stepped back again. “Yes, I’m here… Did he…? Well, he’s a right cunt, but consider it handled… I’ll keep you in the loop. Goodnight, boss. Give my best to Rosalind”.

He hung up the phone, and put it on the counter next to me. His fingertips travelled over my thighs; avoiding my warmth. “Sorry about that, but you know how it is”, he said. “Now where were we…?”. “You were wasting a 1000-pound scotch on my tits”, I jeered. “1500”, Ray said. “And I wouldn’t call it wasted”. He took another sip of the scotch, but before he swallowed it, he put his lips to mine; letting me have a taste. “What was that about you not being worth enough? I usually don’t baste my meat in expensive whiskey”.

He put his hands on my ass, and made me scoot forwards on the counter. His fingers travelled down my belly, and finally met my folds; dipping in between them. I drew in a ragged breath, as he slid his fingers up and down. “Let’s have a taste”, he said, and removed them again, putting them into his mouth. “Sweet, bit tangy, perfectly moist”. He dipped his fingers again, this time letting one of them dip in to the knuckle, and crook upwards. I threw my head back, and closed my eyes. He removed the finger again, and I groaned. “Quit with the games, Ray”, I complained. “You started this, love”, he said. “I’m just finishing it”. “Then, bloody finish it!”, I retorted.

Raymond stepped back, corrected his glasses, and clicked his tongue chidingly. “Now, now. No need to be greedy. We’ve got all night. As you said, dinner plans are out the window”, he said. “Fine. I wasn’t hungry anyway”, I said. He raised a brow at me. “No? Let’s see if we can wake that appetite”. He thrusted two fingers into me, and used his free hand to get me to lie back; before moving it down to brush against my clit. “Please…”, I whimpered. “Please, what? Forgive me, Ray? I’ll never be a brat again, Ray?”. He thrusted his fingers upwards, touching my sensitive spot inside, as he began rubbing circles on my nub. “No…”, I said, not wanting to give in. I struggled to keep my composure, but as Ray began thrusting harder, and stroked deliciously at me, I was soon too far gone to speak. “I’m…”. “That’s what I thought”, Ray said calmly. I clambered to hold on to something, put found nothing but a rolling pin; which fell to the floor, making a clanking sound to accompany my own cry of passion, as I came.

Ray gently withdrew his fingers, wiped them of in a handkerchief from his pocket; and took my hand for me to sit up. “All good?”, he asked, his face not giving away an ounce of emotion. His pants were giving away enough, though; as the bulge on the front of them had grown quite a bit. “Living room”, he ordered, and as I got off the counter, and walked towards the door, he turned around, and quickly washed the mug in the sink. “Tea mug for coffee. Honestly…”, I heard him mutter.

As I stood in the dimly lit living room alone, waiting, I shivered from the chill entering through the still open door to the back yard. “Ray?”, I called out. “Coming, darling”, he responded, and he came through the doorway; walking over to the patio door, and closing it. He gestured at me to get over to the couch. “Knees”. He was carrying the whiskey-glass, and refilled it. “Don’t I get one?”, I asked. “No… I said; knees”. He sat down on the couch, legs spread casually, and looked on, as I got down on my knees in front of him. The elitist machismo in the room, was thick enough to carve with a butter-knife. “How’s the appetite?”. “Getting there”, I admitted. “Well, bon apetit”, Ray said, and gestured towards his crotch.

I rested my elbows on his thighs, and unbuttoned his pants; pulling down the zipper. Ray made no move to help me unwrap his erection, so I went on to pull down the elastic of his boxer-briefs as well. He let out a silent grunt, when I wrapped my hand around him; and I smiled at his respond to my touch. I began stroking the velvety skin on his hardness; and Ray took a sip of his drink as he watched me. I stuck out my tongue, and flicked the tip over the sensitive spot under the head; before flattening it, and sucking him into my mouth. Ray tasted as good as he looked and smelled. A perfectly expensive taste, with an undertone of something animal – dangerous even. I bobbed my head up and down, hollowing my cheeks to make my pull on his penis tighter. Putting my hand into his bowers, I managed to get his testicles over the elastic as well. This made me able to massage them gently; rolling them in my palm the way I knew he liked.

My vagina was still sensitive from Rays former treatment, so when he leaned forwards, ran a hand down my back – between my cheeks – and slid a finger between my folds; I almost came from just that second of contact. Ray sat back again, and continued his viewing of my work on his cock. “Don’t stop on my account”, he said. I made a swallowing movement, and another stifled groan came from him. I hummed slightly; making vibrations to add to the sensation. I added pressure to his testicles, and felt them tighten in my hand. Apparently, Ray was even more impacted by my treatment, than his face gave of. I released him from my mouth with a pop, and smiled sweetly up at him. “Enjoying yourself, Raymond?”, I asked. He cupped my chin. “You know I am, darling”, he smiled. “But it seems to me, you are as well”. I nodded, and bit my lip.

I went back to sucking him off, while he finished his drink. I could tell he was struggling not to grab on to me, so I took his free hand, and put it on my head. At first, he simply ran his fingers through my hair; but then held on to it, and began controlling my movements. I let go of his testicles, and held on to his thighs, as I let him take charge of me. Ray led me to take him shallowly; then pressed me as far down as I could take him. After a few minutes, he couldn’t keep quiet anymore, and let out audible grunts and gasps, accompanied by a series of fuck, babe and that’s perfect, darling. With one final deep push, his cock twitched; and he came in my mouth – holding me there until he was completely finished. He let go of me, and I sat back on my heels; swallowing.

Ray took a moment to calm his breathing, before getting on his feet, and helping me to stand in front of him. He put himself back into his pants, and led me in front of him, towards the bedroom. I knew we’d end up there at some point; and suddenly felt a chill down my spine, when I remembered the state, I’d left the room in. Before he could open the door, I stopped him. “Ray… Uhm…”, I started. “What?”, he asked. “I sort of left a mess in there… The closet…”. “Fletcher wasn’t in it again, was he?”, Ray growled. “No, nothing like that…”, I said. He gently pushed me out of the way, and opened the door; stepping inside, and turning on the lights. “The fuck…”, he said from inside. I moved up behind him. “At least I didn’t spill ketchup on anything…”, I tried.

Ray began removing his vest and shirt, not saying a word all the while. I was worried – and at the same time hoping – that I was in for another spanking. I went to sit on the bed, and heard Ray open his belt behind me. “No", he said calmly. I turned to face him, and saw he was shedding his pants and boxer briefs. Undressed, Ray was no less regal. He might as well be wearing a dinner jacket, and holding a glass of port. As it was, he was naked as the day he was born, standing proud and fit. I sent a thankful thought to his personal trainer; or, Coach, as I knew him. Ray put his clothes in the hamper, removed his glasses, and placed them on the dresser in the spot he always did.

“Seeing as you’ve thrown half the bedding on the floor, we might as well start there”, he said. “But the bed is right there…”, I said, slipping an arm around his torso. I ran my hand up his chest, and back down, running my nails through Rays pubic hair – as always, well groomed, and blonde as his head. He raised a brow at me, and caught my wrist, as I was about to take a hold of his penis. “And the red wine glasses were right within reach too, but you still chose something else", he said. “You asked for this, love. Its upside down-day".

With a swoop of his arm, Ray had me on the floor, and he patted my hip to make me roll onto my stomach. Once there, he gave me hard smack over my bottom. “Lift", he ordered, and when I did, he took the pillow; putting it under my hips, so my ass was raised in the air, and my chest against the duvet covered floor. I looked back over my shoulder, and saw Ray kneeling behind me. The view of my bottom and wetness had made him hard again, within record time; and he stroked himself a few times, while he probed my entrance with his fingertips. Stroking my cheeks with his free hand, he then gave me one more hard spank. With a firm hold on himself and one of my hips, he pushed into me; bottoming out with the first thrust.

“Oh, my… fuck!”, I cried out. Ray stroked my back up and down gently, and then spanked me again. “I thought my spanking was over”, I whimpered. Ray leaned over me, to kiss my neck, and speak into my ear. “Why would I stop, when you keep making those delicious little squeaks every time I do?”. He smacked me one more time, and I whimpered loudly. “There we are".

He began moving his hips, the blunt tip of his cock rubbing perfectly against my front wall. I rolled my lower body, and with the pillow under my hips, my back was perfectly arched to make the sensation of Ray inside me more intense than ever. Ray kissed and nibbled at the sweet spot on my neck, as he moved in and out of me. “You taste better than a Big Mac, any day of the week”, he chuckled. His warm breath against my skin, sent small jolts to my warmth, and I moaned wantonly. I clenched the muscles in my tunnel around him; knowing that it was one of his favorites among my tricks. “Fuck, you know what that does to me, love…”, he croaked. I repeated the action, and Ray let out a choked moan.

He placed a hand on either side of me, and held himself up to thrust shallowly, before bottoming out again. I craved his closeness, and tried lifting my body to have his chest against my back; but Ray pushed me down. He took each of my wrists in one hand, holding them behind my back, and grabbed a handful of my hair – holding on tightly, as he forced me against the floor. I was completely at Raymond’s mercy in this position. I couldn’t move my arms, lift my back or my head; and he had placed his knees between mine – making it impossible for me to put my legs together. All this brute dominance, and his casual upper-crust demeanor, had me feeling like I was in sex-paradise.

He went back to shallow thrusts, and then one deep one, trying to make me reach my climax by stimulating my g-spot. Soon after, he was successful; heat rose from my feet and all through my body, and I felt my walls contract. I cried out in extasy. I heard Raymond groan, trying to hold back his own orgasm; apparently not finished with me yet.

After I’d settled around him, Ray pulled out. “I’d love to shag you in the backyard now, but its late, and cold; so, if you don’t mind, let’s go for the bed", he said. “That works", I agreed, though my body was still convulsing. Ray leaned down and left small kisses up my spine. “Do you need to stop?”, he asked softly. “No! Please…”, I pleaded. I managed, with Raymond’s help, to get onto the bed; my legs shaking, and breath ragged. Ray grabbed the pillow and duvet, and quickly made the bed up properly; an impressive feat, as my exhausted body was splayed out on it. He got under the duvet with me, and gently spread my legs, to lay between them.

Hooking a leg around Ray’s hips, I pulled him towards me. “I think you’ve learnt your lesson, now”, he smiled, and stroked my cheek gently. I put a hand behind his head, and lifted my head to catch his lips with my own. Our tongues stroked softly against each other, and I let out a content sigh. “Soft finish?”, I smiled. Ray lifted his head, and raised a brow at me. “Fuck no”, he declared.

Suddenly, both my knees were hooked over his shoulders, and he pushed into me with a groan. My eyes rolled back into my head, as Ray began thrusting hard and fast into me; without mercy. Every thrust felt like it reached the deepest parts of me. Gone was the well-groomed gentleman dom. Ray was a wild animal, his jaw clenched, and pupils blown. His hands were holding on to my breasts, making his arms force my thighs together. I was sure that I would have bruises on both my breasts and my thighs from his attack, could not give less of a fuck; from the extreme orgasm that was building in my core. Crying out wasn’t enough; I screamed Ray’s name so loud, I was sure his neighbors would show up with noise complaints. In his current state, I was convinced he’d probably meet them in the door naked, telling them to either get in and enjoy the show, or fuck right off.

I grabbed his biceps, and dug my nails into his skin, leaving my own marks on my lover. My legs stretched out, and every muscle in my body tightened, as I exploded. Ray growled from my walls tightening around him, and the pain my nails were surely bringing him. His hair was disheveled, and his eyes burrowing into mine. My orgasm was at its peak, and my voice hit a pitch I didn’t know it could. Ray kept thrusting, and the feeling was getting so intense, I was unsure whether or not I’d pass out before long. “Please… I… Too much!”, I whimpered; as my body was thrusted back and forth from Ray’s movements. “Almost, baby. Keep going…”, he growled.

Just as I began thinking this is it. I’m going to die from too much orgasming, Raymond pounded into me three final times, and came inside me with a roar.

I was shaking as Ray dropped my legs from his shoulders, kissed my unmoving lips; and pulled out of me. He laid down next to me, and gave a me a crooked smile. “You still with me?”, he chuckled. “I just came… a lot!”, I croaked. “I could tell…”, he said, and moved a lock of my hair out of my face. “You’ll be happy to know, that so did I”. I laughed hoarsely.

“I should get cleaned up, before I get cum all over your Egyptian cotton sheets”, I sighed. “Fuck it. They were on sale”, Ray shrugged. I shook my head in mock confusion. “Excuse me?”, I said. “You bought something on sale?”. “Just keep it between us, love”, he said, and pulled me close, to kiss me. I tugged at his bottom lip with my teeth. “I still have to go pee”, I said. I crawled out of the bed, and made my way towards the door. “Please put the towel back on the hook, when you’re done washing your hands”, he called after me. I smirked at him over my shoulder.

Once I’d finished my business, I made my way back to the bedroom. Ray had already fixed up the bed, and left his spare robe for me over a chair. Putting it on, I searched for him; finding him clearing up the mess I’d made around the house. I leaned against the doorway, watching him. “I’m sorry”, I lied. “No, you’re not”, he said. After having put the plates in the dishwasher, he walked over to me, taking my hand and pulling me with him, to sit down on the couch; where earlier he’d been enjoying my lips around his cock. “And as much as I enjoyed screwing you senseless just now, I’d like to know where all this came from”.

I looked down at our joined hands. ”You’ve been avoiding going out with me”, I said. “I know I don’t fit in to your posh lifestyle, but…”. “That’s what this was about? Getting back at me?”, he asked. “Partly”, I admitted. “And I suppose I wanted to… make you see what I’m really like. So, you could make a decision to either accept me, or…”. “Finish it”, Ray finished my sentence for me. I nodded.

He sighed deeply. “Darling… First of all, the fact that you don’t give a shit about which fork to use, and throw your clothes around, annoys the hell out of me; and makes me love you even more”. I met his eyes, and let out a short breath. Raymond had never used that word before. “Love…?”, I whispered. “Fuck yes, I love you”, he smiled. “And you not only fit in my life, you’d leave one hell of a hole, if you left. So no, I don’t want to finish it. You’re not getting rid of me by feeding me fast food, and throwing your socks in my yard”.

I frowned. “Then, why are you always working late? Cancelling our plans?”, I asked. “Well, that is the second part of this conversation, I suppose”, he said. “I knew we’d get here at some point, but I’ve been putting it off… You know what I do, isn’t exactly legal”. “Of course I do”, I said. “It’s not normal to sleep with a .48 in the drawer of your bedside table”. Ray brushed his thumb over my knuckles, and continued. “We’ve been having some issues with another… organization, in town”, he said. “They’ve been making some threatening moves… I’m worried, that of you’re seen with me, they’ll try to use you to get to me”. My jaw dropped. “As in… They’d kill me?”, I croaked. “I don’t think they’d go that far, but I’m not willing to take that chance”, Ray said firmly.

I took a few moments to think. “Ray… you can’t keep me locked up in this house”, I said. “I’m more than happy to do what you ask me to keep safe; but at some point, I’d like to get out… make all those posh cunts jealous of my arm candy”. I tugged gently at his beard, winking at him. “Who says you’re not the arm candy, darling?”, he smiled. “What, in my 20 quid H&M dresses, and worn shoes?”, I scoffed.

Ray stood up, and led me into the kitchen. He grabbed the wrapped box. “Actually, that’s why I got you this”, he said, and handed it to me. “Now, that was quite a bit more than 20 quid, but I’m sure you’ll look just as lovely in it, as you do in everything else you wear”. I blushed, and began unwrapping the box, opening the lid, to reveal a beautiful cocktail dress; in my exact size. “I don’t have anywhere to wear this!”, I said. “And it’s too expensive to keep at my flat. I’ll get robbed. I had to buy a lockbox for those earrings you got me”. “Michael has a birthday-party coming up next weekend. His wife will have my bollocks, if I don’t show; with a date”, Raymond said. “So, I can’t cancel on you this time”.

I took out the dress, and held it against me. “Bringing me as your date for your boss’ party… that’s pretty official, love”, I smiled. “It is, and it’s about time”, Ray responded. “And as far as where to store it…”. He tilted his head, and looked pleadingly. “Please leave that rat infested hell hole of a flat, and move in here permanently. I have to take a shower every time I come home from that place”. “It’s not that bad”, I said. “My next-door neighbor bakes me cookies every Christmas”. “And the one further down the hall, sells smack out of his trunk”, Ray retorted.

I bit my lip. “You really want me here? With my novelty mugs, and sneakers littering the hallway?��. “Absolutely”, Ray assured me. “Gives me ample opportunity to shag you on every surface we didn’t make it to tonight”. “Even the table in the backyard?”, I grinned. “We’ll have to make sure the grill isn’t so hot, you burn your perfect ass”, he said. “What do you say…?”. “Fuck it. Why not…?”.

Ray smiled warmly, and wrapped me in his arms. “Just for future reference; I prefer Burger King over Mickey D’s”.

---

#raymond smith x reader #ray smith #raymond smith #Ray smith reader #Raymond smith x oc #Ray smith x oc #the gentlemen #Raymond smith smut #Ray smith smut #Raymond smith fluff #charlie hunnam

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whatisgoingonpaul · 3 years

Text

Lost boys backstorys

I made a post while ago on my ideas of the boys past but now I want to update it. I just want you to know I’m still a firm Prequel lover/follower however we don’t get much info on the boys Pre 1906, so that’s what this is for! However personally I would have had more Max so this is going to be both pre 1906 but also include relationship with Max a bit.

I am also including my personal ideas on Last names and age. However I am under the idea that they wouldn’t know/take their last name seriously if the did know it cause- ya know. Orphans. This is going to be lengthy and I’m going to pin it, not just because I want it seen but also to remind myself in fic writing (when I don’t follow these ideas in a fic it’s gonna be Marked as Au- as I’ll probably be messing around with a different past.)

I’ll be doing appearance but only physical as there’s some stylistic changes. For clothing? Honestly so thinking workers clothes/cowboy esc

Also! Their stories are all going to kinda intertwine so I’d there’s not enough info under one theirs a solid chance there’ll be more for them under someone else’s!

David Hardy-

Age(as of 1906): 19

Born: 1887

Appearance: Average height, his hair a dirty blond- near reddish and is around shoulder length. Bearded. (Think doc but with slightly updated clothing)

Backstory:

David Is the only of the boys to grow up with at least one of his parents, living with his mother until her death when he was around 7. They lived in a decent, though cramped little space in San Francisco, by the docks. His father worked on and off- a not so stable style ending in him getting involved in not doing saviory things - getting arrested. His mother worked as a washerwoman. David worked the streets awhile, as a young child now left alone, he learned to pickpocket and live off what he could manage. It was around this time he had found Marko- doing the same thing he was - though arguably less effectively do to his more sporadic nature. At around age 10 the two became extremely close and rather inseparable, Marko even looking up to him despite being the older of the pair. However david wasn’t one to living completely criminal like... he did NOT want to be his father, which lead him to not drinking , EVER. (Even as a vampire he still doesn’t do alcohol.) he poked towards more honest work, also forcing Marko into doing the same , which he wasn’t exactly thrilled about- but did anyway. Tried. David did a lot of work on the docks, odd jobs and stuff like that- but it never paid even half as good as nabbing a wallet or cheating at cards. He wouldn’t be his father- he’d be better- better then all the nobody’s. More level headed then Marko though ambitious, big headed and still wildly child like- eventually Paul , Dwayne and Jasper joining the pair. Well now, David had himself a full on gang. Never robbery, not that far. The group pickpocketed , cheated at any sort of game or match, that sort of thing... they were still young after all. Smart enough not to go wild like some famous bandit (Though David will admit to his slight admiration of Billy the kid.). He’s a quick learner, and when he learns something- he learns it well- becomes a damn near expert. When he is good at something he is good at it. He is the leader out of the groups mutual respect towards him , quick thinker. Notable flaws: Huge ego, hopeless romantic.

Marko Connelly-

Age(as of 1906): 20

Born: 1886

Appearance: on the shorter side, golden - darker brown hair in this fluff of ringlets it’s long about just past his shoulder blades and typically tied back. Usually dirty somehow (Think Poli but with longer hair and updated clothing)

Backstory:

Born to a rich family , one of those who moved from east to west and actually did make it big. He was a pretty little thing, more a doll to his mother then particularly a child- only taken from Nanny to be dotted over or photos taken. However around the age of 3 or 4 things had tipped, scandal! Missing. That is what the newspapers said anyway he was found missing- was it that he was given away? Or stolen? He was never particularly a child to be quite or sit still or anything such as that... so who is to say? Marko doesn’t remember a lick of that either way as he was far far to young for it but he does remember being alone. This is how he had grown his attachment to birds, they always stuck around. He grew comfortable with being alone, having himself to depend on, getting good at grabbing what he needs- A mansion is stark contrast to dirty winding alleyways. He was always cursed with his looks- even filth covered at 6 he could make sad eyes and tend to swindle whatever he wanted... but he wasn’t completely quick. He’d get in trouble, his face memorable he could rarely pass the same trick again. At 11 David came across him, the two started working and living together (that is where they could find a place to sleep.) he sort of gained this complex. He felt he owed David , in some strange sense he became attached at the hip- a helper, a second- almost servant like the guy had saved his life and he is now the others. It didn’t help that at a young age, Marko had developed what was come to be understood as a deep crush- at times as teens this was reciprocated. As loyal and loving as he was to the other male he wasn’t nearly as cautious, as rule following... he had come to despise authority, to despise the fancy, the rich all of the crowd. He was never sure why. Even regular work got on his hate list... but he gave in and would try to do a normal amount pf work.. it never really worked as there was something, how he would sass, how he looked or smelled or spoke (neither him nor David really spoke ‘proper’ English - meaning no slang or accent). Around when Paul came things started to shift in the group, more mouths- more work and more thinking. Oh yea David and his thinking. Marko is a bit hostile right off the bat when it comes to people he doesn’t know, eventually he cracks and will be more loyal to you then to anyone you’d ever know. He opened up to Paul, a lot sooner then he would have thought the guy was funny and sweet - lil stupid too. David had this grand idea of a little gang, naturally Marko was all for it because illegal activity is fun- it was like a game to him. A liked stealing from pockets and playing distraction for David, as time grew he began to hate how young and gentle his face appeared to be. He LOATHED absolutely appalled the pity glances he would get, the hand outs the whole “oh you poor fragile little dear 🥺” he hated being babied and still does. He hated the stares he got on the opposite direction ... at first, it was funny, it was nice to be wanted in that sense rather then some baby. However... it grew creepy, it wasn’t women or a fella his age...it was more the gaze of older men. Marko detested it so much- he KNEW he’s seen what some of the guys... even younger then him ended up doing- he could see the occasional look in david’s eye. No he would never really consider....no. Paul was more his shoulder to cry on, someone to go to , to ramble to to speak with and just be with. The two were touchy, always leaning against eachother or grabbing their arms, laughing or sleeping or- eventually it became more then casual, it was serious. The two started ‘dating’ at some point- none of them were ever serious on titles but it was good to put a word to it.

Paul campbell-

Age (as of 1906) : 18

Born: 1888

Appearance: tall and lengthy, he has a mole on his left cheek, he has stubble/shadow opposed to a beard. He’s also usually dirty, dirty blond , long hair think Buffalo bill with volume and his hairline not receding

Backstory:

Grew up in a orphanage, hundreds of kids all stuffed together into a few rooms, often sharing beds and everything else. He was never a still child, he would always figit and move and shift - whenever he’s supposed to be quite or still like lessons or Mass he just couldn’t. This - got him most of the attention from the mistresses and overseers- much more quick to slap then to explain... he was docile , quick to flinch and try and stop. Never worked well. Once you get to 7-8ish you work if not adopted by a decent age. Sweeping, factory work he tried it all. He was particularly desensitized to violence at a extremely young age while working in a textile factory- he’s seen a kids arm come clean off. Terror turns to fascination eventually. At some point he’d stopped returning at night finding David and Marko at 15, he started hanging with them- it was safer in numbers that sort of thing- Paul could read a bit , David could write a bit- the three worked it out together. always so distracted- the others learned right off the bat he wasn’t built for pick pocketing no matter how hard he begged about it. Instead he’d do real jobs- sweeping , fighting, placing crooked bets that sort of thing. He always complains. A massive softie since he was young, Paul can’t quite handle being on his own- he’s used to having at least one other person around him at all times causing him to get quite hooked onto the other boys. He hovers around the same places. He is also a fan of dancing- Paul- is music obsessed the moment he heard the first noise of any sort of music he was hooked. He is one about fun- being restrained from it for so long as a child- always to sit out and watch or to think about whatever he did.. oh. Dancing, drinking, drugs, clubs, all of it is his kind of deal- he would drag the others with him when they had a bit of extra cash to deal with. Dwayne and his brother, when they joined on he was instantly accepting, unlike Marko he didn’t have the deep seeded trust issues, he was immediately touchy and happy to share a joke or a comment no matter the glares. He is the one to get Dwayne to lighten up a little bit, to smile he loves to see that smile :). He got around to dating Marko, when they finally put a label on it he was really giddy about it, making jokes and comments- he adores the little names like ‘sweetheart’ or ‘bo’ - he eventually gets around to just plain ‘sugar’ . Marko is the one who really entertains Paul’s love for dancing, the two of them trying to get the others to do something lighten up- eventually their pawing would bare fruit. Paul makes the best out of the worst situation, even if they end up sleeping on the beach more often then not- he somehow makes it seam alright. Except that one time he had gotten sand in Dwayne’s eye and all hell broke lose. He is the current youngest member of the group after Jaspers passing.

Dwayne Maher

Age (as of 1906) : 22

Born: 1884

Appearance: Tall, muscular , tanned(I will establish this now but Dwayne is Native American.) long Black hair with burnet highlights, reaches half down his back.

Backstory:

Born out more Midwest unlike the others he was not born in San Francisco, eldest son of a decent sized family of four kids. Do to conflict he and his younger brother skipped town, skipped state and fled to California.. better options you know?. He’s strong built, hard working and good with his hands though, rather playful most of the time. He looks after his younger brother closely, when there is work they work the same place, when there is not they both still do the same. Quickly took to David and the gang , having a tight knit bond with each of them. He was sort of the muscle - if there was trouble, he knew how to fight and it would likely work better then the knives the boys carried around or the gun David could barely shoot. It was Paul who got him to open up more, about himself and just to speak in general, he’s much more under his breath and jokingly commenting then he is saying something out loud- however if he dislikes something or thinks it stupid you WILL know it. Like David he carries the occasional thought of caution, however he’s not nearly as quick to worry. Maher is not his actual last name , nor does he ever mention it- he simply uses this one when it’s needed as some sort of identification or document. He’s surprisingly good at money, he ends up counting with David and is better at budgeting no matter how he may want or need something. He doesn’t speak on his past as he tries to make it seam he has little of one, he likes to make things mysterious he finds it amusing.

Jasper Maher-

Age (as of 1906) : 16

Born: 1890

Died: 1906

Appearance: shoulder length black hair, typically tied back and braided , tanned, string bean.

Backstory:

The younger brother of Dwayne who is much much more open on how he grew up, casually mentioning things he learned from his parents of his brother (he doesn’t remember his parents that much.) young hot shot sort of kid who’d much rather have action then he would some serious job, loud, energy filled and one for violence- however he’s surprisingly sweet. He often got himself and his brother into trouble. He was a quick and fast young child who grew surprisingly closest with Marko, the two having a habit for breaking every possible rule they could manage together. Their close friendship lead to Marko naming one of his birds after Jasper long after his passing.

Max-

Unknown age but he is seen as extremely old and powerful

Relationship with the boys:

After finding them he has decided to take them under his metaphorical and physical wing, acting as a sort of guardian. Food, clothing, shelter, he was everything the boys didn’t have and was surprisingly inviting in the beginning. ‘I do this for you, you on occasion do this for me’ sort of deal. He wasn’t a leader so much as he was a usual figure, the boys knew and understood him to be above them... so they followed you know? The whole new vampirism thing and the clueless kids- he had to explain and show nearly everything... especially to David, he wasn’t so much harsh to him as he was strict- more of a lead by example sort. Honestly he was father like in a strange sense- that someone is almost like a parent but very much your boss. See... with Max’s strength, there’s this almost automatic level of control- you can’t say no to him. You literally can’t not do what he asks (some supernatural level messing-). There’s something dark about him, in him that the boys still don’t understand in the 80s- but it scares them. It’s strange, it feels unlike him... he seams just like a Dorky , sweet man until...

Some random thoughts that don’t really fit anything

The boys are explicitly religious, past what you’d hear in passing or remember from growing up. Saying “oh god” and respecting religious officials are about what you’ll get

Whoopsies! This was a extremely long post lmao. Sorry for the long read but I could go on and on about them this was just a small blurb to all of it. If you ever wanna hear more do tell me. Also tell me if I should add tw for anything as I know I got a little dark at some points.

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ladyfloriographist · 3 years

Text

Descent of Man

[Image source]

Pairing: Commander Joseph Lawrence (The Handmaid’s Tale (TV)) x femme!Reader

Warnings: SPOILERS, Canon-Divergence, Non-Canon, Post Season 3, Repression, Oppression, Dystopic Future, Dystopian Themes, Older Man/Younger Woman, Mentions of Pregnancy, Mentions of Death, Traditional Gender Roles, Religious Extremism

XXXX

“Straighten your back, dear. Don’t slouch.”

“Yes, Aunt Lydia.”

You tighten your grip on the handle of your red leather suitcase as you walk up the concrete path that leads to Commander Joseph Lawrence’s front door. Nerves in your legs tingle back to life. The drive from the Red Center was long, and Aunt Lydia had counselled you to mind your patience when you’d grown restless. But now, as you make your way to the crescent-shaped steps, you can’t help but hope for even one minute more in the van.

The overcast sky looms grey and ominous overhead.

“Remember, the Commander is a very powerful man.” Aunt Lydia’s cane clacks on the concrete alongside your footsteps. “He is very well respected, Ofjoseph. This is quite the opportunity for you.”

“Yes, Aunt Lydia.”

The old Victorian becomes grander and more imposing with every step you take towards it. Your gaze lifts higher and higher: first floor, second storey, then dormers and a tower that let light into what must be the attic. Stonework and Roman arches over the windows and doors signal the age of the house—it has to be at least one hundred years old.

“He has suffered great losses recently, as you well know.”

“Yes, Aunt Lydia.” She had recited the story over and over—and made sure you could tell it back to her, too. Your and Aunt Lydia’s footsteps fall into stride along the concrete path, fast approaching the stairs up to the house.

“His dear Wife, Mrs Eleanor Lawrence—may God protect and keep her—and then his Handmaid, too.” The Aunt tuts. “Oh, that wretched girl. I’d had such hopes, Ofjoseph—but you won’t disappoint me so, will you, dear?”

“No, Aunt Lydia.” The knot in your gut tightens.

“No, good girl.” Aunt Lydia modestly raises her brown skirts to ascend the concrete steps with grace. “Posture,” she says pointedly, brow arched, looking back at you with an appraising, approving glance before she knocks on the large black front door.

Just before you bow your head to look to the concrete beneath your feet, your eye is caught by something to the right, attached to the burnt-orange bricks that make up the gloriously antiquated home.

It’s a black wooden plaque, with three golden numerals in the centre framed by a golden ovoid ring.

132

You glance down quickly. You should not even be making an attempt to read, whether it be letters or numbers or anything. If Aunt Lydia saw recognition register on your face, she’d march you straight back to the van to return you to the Red Center for the swift removal of one of your fingers.

Leniency, for your first offence.

“The Commander has been very gracious in accepting you, Ofjoseph. You have a privileged place here.”

“Yes, Aunt Lydia. Praise be.”

“Mm,” Aunt Lydia hums in righteous agreement. “Praise be.”

…But still, it strikes you as unusual, as you stare at the grey concrete, that such a plaque should even exist, now. Such decorative tiles are relics from the time before Gilead—forbidden, now, and what’s more, utterly useless. How could such an inscribed plate remain intact when there are no more street signs to direct your way let alone numbered houses?

The front door swings open, shocking you out of your thoughts.

“Blessed day. Come in, Aunt Lydia.”

A female voice. Younger? Deferential.

A Martha: one of the two you’d been told to expect here.

“Blessed day, Sienna, thank you,” Aunt Lydia replies pleasantly. “Come along, Ofjoseph,” she says promptly, without a look back at you as she steps inside.

The interior of the Commander’s house greets you like, once, a warm hug might have done. Off the foyer is two sitting rooms, and they seem dark, but not sinister inside. The walls are papered with cranberry-red brocade and muted-toned, aging florals, or else—painted with rich, deep hues of colour. Dark-stained wood pocket doors with etched glass inserts lead to one sitting room and an archway with a stained-glass transom at the top leads to another. The heavy, patterned curtains inside make the sitting rooms feel cosy and private—even, dare you think, warm. Full and ornate bookshelves, rugs of paisley and Persian patterns, and an abundance of leather seating furnish the cluttered rooms.

“This way, please,” offers the Martha named Sienna, gesturing through the open pocket doors.

You follow Aunt Lydia, your eyes struggling to adequately absorb every detail of the room. Lamps on side tables, artworks from many different Schools arranged effortlessly on the walls, chests, sculptures, a chandelier, a fireplace.

Cushions and blankets strewn over the leather couches. Stacks of books lazing on armchairs.

An old, freestanding record player in one corner.

Knowledge, art, and music all reside here.

The house is lived in. Still. Even now.

“Can I getcha a tea, some coffee, Aunt Lydia?” comes a man’s voice from the far end of the room.

Before you can think better of it, your gaze snaps to the sound of his voice—relaxed, even casual in tone. He stands just inside another arched opening, hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers. A generous head of ghost-white hair tops his head. He has thick grey brows and a white beard peppered with silver and grey. Thin-framed glasses rest on the bridge of his nose. He wears a waistcoat, and a buttoned vest with a scarf tied like a cravat, in an ascot knot.

It’s the first you’ve seen a man of Gilead not dressed in a black suit and black tie.

“Commander Lawrence,” Aunt Lydia smiles, with only a slight waver in her voice. “Blessed day, Sir.” Your raised wings catch in her periphery and she glances at you with beady eyes.

You drop your head immediately, quickly and quietly pretending like you’d been studying the many colours in the Persian rug beneath your brown boots.

The Commander’s gaze flicks to you—not that you see it—before he looks back at the Aunt. “Hi, yeah,” he says, “blessed, good morning.” He calls down the hallway, “Sienna?”

You shift on your feet, tightening your grip on your own gloved hands where they rest in front of you. The Commander’s casual, informal, incorrect greeting stirs a sense of unease in your stomach. Was he merely distracted or… wilfully disrespectful? Could you even think such a thing, about a man like him?

Beside you, Aunt Lydia bristles, drawing in a sharp, quiet gasp. But she settles herself quickly.

“Sienna!?” calls the Commander again, louder this time before turning back to his guests.

Well, his one guest, who brought with her the newest member of his household.

“’d you say coffee, Aunt Lydia? I think Beth made scones.”

“Ah…” the Aunt hesitates, gathering herself in a way you’ve rarely seen her need to do. “Oh my. Tea would be a delight, Commander,” she recovers. “No need to waste your delicacies on me!”

“Hm,” Commander Lawrence huffs a mirthless laugh in response to Aunt Lydia’s self-deprecating smile, and the resulting silence is broken by a set of hurried footsteps that quickly enter the room.

“You called for me, Commander?”

The young Martha, her rich brown eyes wide, a sheen of sweat making her warm-brown skin glow, her voice slightly breathless.

“Auhm, yeah,” says Commander Lawrence, swivelling to address her. “Tea, please, Sienna—and bring three cups, would ya? Some of Beth’s scones, too.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Three cups?

“Thanks.”

“Three?”

Aunt Lydia’s incredulous voice cuts through the room like a warm knife in soft butter. It’s so abrupt, so much shriller than you are used to that your gaze flicks upwards.

The Aunt’s round, wrinkled face is dropped in an expression of pure shock. The room is silent, even Sienna’s retreating footsteps have ceased, as the three of you look between each other—stunned in the face of this blatant and brazen flouting of Gilead-sanctioned decorum.

It seems, as tested as Aunt Lydia has been since arriving at the Commander’s house, that this act of hospitality extended to you, a Handmaid, is the extent of what she can handle.

For the first time since meeting him, you spot a hint of a smile flicker across Commander Lawrence’s face, as elusive as the passing of a shadow, or a ghost. “Three, Lydia,” he says quietly, with a self-assured confidence that dares her to question him further—especially since he refused to use her title.

The air is thick with tension. You hold your breath.

Aunt Lydia’s lower lip quivers as she searches for words. Her brow creases, her small eyes flitting between his as she holds the Commander’s gaze.

You hear her suck in a breath before she speaks again.

“Th-hank you, Commander Lawrence.” Aunt Lydia swallows. “Praise be, you are most generous, Sir.”

Everything breathes again. Footsteps recede down the hall once more, the walls themselves sigh with relief. For a moment you almost think you hear birdsong outside—but that’s next to impossible, over all the radio chatter.

“Welcome,” the Commander replies, lazily omitting words in his speech once more. His tone is breezily self-assured once again, but his dark eyes have hardened into a cold stare. He turns his gaze on you. “Sit.”

You look to the floor so quickly there’s a twinge in your neck, and you drop into the nearest seat. “Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir. Under His Eye, Sir.”

“Alright,” the Commander cringes at your nervous rambling. “No problem, just, yeah. Siddown.”

You clasp your gloved hands together in your lap, your eyes fixed on the tiny balls of lint that have gathered near the seams. Everything about this man, from his clothes, to his manner, to his home, is contrary to what you’d been told to expect.

“Please,” says the Commander to Aunt Lydia, gesturing and offering for her to take a seat also. He walks around one of the armchairs, picks up a stack of three books and unceremoniously drops them on top of the existing stack on a nearby side table so he can sit down, too.

Aunt Lydia, frazzled and just barely recovering from the disrespect afforded her by the Commander, uneasily sits down on one of the brown leather couches. She sits like she’s perching on it, not quite setting down all her weight, on an angle to take up only the smallest possible amount of space.

She clears her throat. “Commander,” she forces a smile, shifting to face him, “it is my great hope that Ofjoseph will bring some,” she pauses, anxiously looking around at the many artworks and stacks of books that decorate the room, “stability, to your household, Sir. By His Hand.”

“Thanks,” says Commander Lawrence. “’ppreciate it.”

“I…” Aunt Lydia stammers again, stumbling over the Commander’s audacious disregard for social custom. It’s unorthodox—or rather, much worse—it’s a deliberate, transparent, shameless violation of his role as a Commander in the Republic of Gilead.

Lost for words, Aunt Lydia merely nods her head in deference. Her fingers flex around the gilded handle of her cane.

The Commander hums to clear his throat as Sienna brings a laden tray into the room. One teapot, three teacups, a plate of scones, and one small ramekin of butter.

The Martha sets it all down on the coffee table and the porcelain rattles softly in the stifling silence.

“Thanks, Sienna,” says Commander Lawrence, leaning forward to pour himself a cup of tea as the younger Martha leaves the room. “Hey, uh,” he sits back in his armchair, cup and saucer in hand, “you.”

You feel his eyes on you. This is how he chooses to address you? To draw your attention to him? ‘You’?

The stillness in the room is expectant, now. You tell yourself to lift your head.

“Ofjoseph?” Aunt Lydia prompts you.

Commander Lawrence speaks over the top of her. “Look at me.”

You lift your gaze to meet his. There’s nothing hard or soft in his stare, nothing warm or cold in the way he regards you. He merely sees you—his eyes observing, his lips in a line that neither smiles nor frowns.

He’s a wall, but built to defend or protect, you can’t read right now.

“My last Handmaid was a bit of a rabble-rouser,” he says easily, his voice nonchalant, “so I'm gonna say to you the same thing I said to her, ‘kay?”

You swallow, absorbing his candour. Aunt Lydia had told you never to speak of the last Ofjoseph, even if it was asked of you. But this particular question posed by the Commander requires more than a passive response. You get the sense that a number of conversations with him will be like this, and so you steel yourself to speak with a clear voice. “Yes, Commander.”

He keeps his gaze locked with yours, and brings his steaming teacup to his lips. He takes a slow sip, eyes trained on yours, and you resist the urge to shrink and shrivel into yourself.

The Commander swallows and sets his cup onto the saucer. It clinks, and after letting the small sound land for beat he says lowly, “You’re not gonna be any trouble, are you?”

Your breath catches, your voice stalling in your throat. Staring at him heats your blood, makes your palms perspire in your gloves. The man is dignified; he holds himself almost regally wherever he sits or stands. Is it the power he holds that makes him handsome, or is innate attraction purling in the pit of your gut?

…What will the Ceremony be like with him?

“No, Sir,” you say, your voice so soft it cracks. You gulp and collect yourself. Timidity does not seem to be a quality Commander Lawrence respects—another lesson you’d ardently learned only to be proven useless in his house. With more confidence, but not too much, particularly for Aunt Lydia’s benefit, you say, “Praise be to you, Commander, and may He make me truly worthy.”

You can feel Aunt Lydia’s presence lift with pride. You can see the smile spread across her face without needing to look at her, and can hear her words in your head without her needing to speak them.

‘Very good, dear,’ comes the Aunt’s voice in your mind.

The Commander looks you over, stoic as ever. “Ya,” is all he says in reply.

“Ofjoseph is one of our most promising Handmaids, Commander, allow me to assure you,” Aunt Lydia chimes in, now, finally, feeling on equal footing again. “Since the horrendous tragedies that your household has withstood, we thought it right and just that you be unburdened in at least this regard, Sir.”

“Unburdened?” the Commander replies flatly, his stalwart gaze now fixed on the Aunt.

You’re not sure whether you can look away from him. Does he wish for your eyes to remain on him? Does he expect you to look at him and from him at your own discretion? Would he like you to use your own judgement?

Regardless, it is clear that the decision of the Red Center Aunts to provide a pious, docile new Handmaid as consolation for his wife’s death is—at the very best—unappreciated by the Commander.

But whether or not Commander Lawrence appreciates the gesture and the gift that the Aunts have made you into is, ultimately, not your concern. Your first and last and only priority is that you fall pregnant with Commander Lawrence’s child as soon as humanly possible—or it’s the Colonies for you.

However, you being his sixth Handmaid, the Commander needs you to fall pregnant with his child just as quickly—given, especially, the sudden exodus of most of Gilead’s children seemingly overnight.

“Forgive me, Commander,” Aunt Lydia frowns, her eyes softening apologetically. “I only meant—”

“’s fine,” he interrupts, setting his cup and saucer back on the tray. “Tea’s gone cold, anyway,” the Commander stands from his seat and straightens his waistcoat, clearing his throat. “You can find your way out, Aunt Lydia?”

“Certainly, Sir,” Aunt Lydia assures him, mirroring his movement and standing from the sofa, somewhat uneasily on her injured leg. On instinct, you rise to your feet too.

“Til next time,” the Commander says, his voice laced with sarcastic fondness, as he strolls from the room and into what must be his private study. He doesn’t spare you a single backwards glance as he pulls another set of pocket doors closed behind him.

Silence settles over the sitting room like night.

Just like that, the visit concludes, and the realisation washes over you.

You’re not leaving with Aunt Lydia, when she goes, which she’s sure to do in just a moment.

This is it. The transaction is complete.

Your place is here. This house is now your home.

“I’ll be back the day after the Ceremony, dear,” Aunt Lydia says, leaning on her cane to stand. “In about, oh!” she pauses, looks at you with bright eyes, “seven days! Oh, sacred number. Blessings, Ofjoseph. May God bring forth His miracle.”

You muster a smile for her. Despite how this woman screamed at you, berated you, withheld your food and your sleep and denigrated your sense of self until you believed you were worth nothing more than being impregnated and delivering a healthy baby, her absence from your daily routine will be an adjustment.

You say, “Under His Eye, Aunt Lydia.”

She cups your cheek. “Under His Eye, dear.”

The Aunt makes her way to the door, met by Sienna and the second Martha, Beth, who stand in the foyer to see her off. The front door closes behind Aunt Lydia, and as soon as the latch locks it’s as if a dark, heavy storm cloud lifts from the house.

The Marthas sigh and relax, chattering eagerly and bickering animatedly about tonight’s dinner and even complaining about the Commander’s fussiness as they strut down the hallway to the kitchen. From the other side of the house, you hear a flare of music go up: some kind of Big Band era song, with trumpets and tubas and horns playing vivace—lively and fast.

The sun peeks out from behind the shroud of overcast sky, lighting up the sitting rooms with the glow of mid-afternoon.

You take a breath.

This old house feels alive.

#commander joseph lawrence #joseph lawrence #commander joseph lawrence x reader #commander joseph lawrence x you #joseph lawrence x reader #joseph lawrence x you #the handmaid's tale #g writes

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witchiswriting · 3 years

Text

‘Tis the Damn Season Chapter 1

Summary: Pre-Apocalypse. Adrielle left her town and Negan behind three years ago but when she comes back along with her feelings she found the man she couldn’t get over is moved on. Dealing with depression at the same time, could Adrielle find what she’s looking for?

Warnings: Angst, Swearing, Depressed Main Character, Mental Illnes

Author’s Note: This is a story I came up with when I listened to Taylor’s Tis the Damn Season song. I don’t know how but the song painted a really clear picture for this story. So, I hope you enjoy this as much as I do. Also it’s my participation to @band--psycho‘s Music Writing Challenge.

Pairings: Negan x Adrielle (OC)

Enjoying feeling of the melting snowflake on tip of your nose, you watched the town you could never leave behind. No matter how long it has been, this place has been with you all the time. Thinking about the Christmas dinners your mother served every year even though you were absent in all of them for the past 3 years. During those years you thought you were healed, or you made yourself believe it. The difference doesn’t matter, you’re here because of him. Because you can’t deny your feelings anymore. You miss the man you hurt the most.

After all the things that took place and all the disasters you left behind your departure, you couldn't control your feelings and fears anymore. So, you left LA for the holiday season and came back to spend Christmas with your family, and if you are lucky enough, with him.

In the past 3 years you thought if he moved on and found someone else who is worthy of his love. The possibility left a bitter taste in your mouth. You know you are being selfish but imagining him with some other woman makes your heart ache. So, you’d done what you do best, drowning yourself in meaningless relationship and casual sex yet it wasn’t enough to stop that nasty voice in your head, none of them were him.

Shutting down your cruel mind, you quickly pushed the thoughts away. You were standing in front of the door of your home, your parents’ home to be correct. You put on the best smile on your face and knocked the wooden surface.

In a rush the door opened, and you found your mom, Jane, in front of you, smiling like a kid on Christmas morning. The years added a few wrinkles around her eyes, but her emerald green orbs shined with the same tenderness. Her hair was longer, and it suited her sharp features just right.

'Oh, thank goodness, you're finally here' Jane took you between her welcoming arms, surrounding you with that welcoming feeling you’d never forgotten, holding you tightly. 'Adrielle Pamela Wintringham! If you dare not coming back and visit us every year, you'll find me on your door with my bags. This is a serious threat miss!' She laughed into your raven hair.

Before being able to answer your mom, you heard a pair of very familiar footsteps. Your father, the only man you trust with your own life, is now standing right before you.

'Jane, leave the poor girl alone. If you keep saying shit like that, she will probably change her identity and start a new life who knows goddamn where.' He joked, showing his pearly whites.

Leaving your mom, you took a big step and hugged your dad. The break which lasted for 3 years made you miss your family more than you could ever imagine. 'Well, dad don't worry. I'll be coming back every year from now on. I missed you so much, guys.' You didn't even try to hold your tears back.

William laughed smoothly. 'C'mon Elle, let's get inside before we all get our asses frozen as shit.'

Stepping into the house, you immediately went back to 3 years back. Nothing has changed. The beige couch you used to spend your days on is still located at the same place, the warm colour of the walls never failed to make you feel at ease, the shelves are still stuffed with your and your sister’s pictures. Though a new one caught your eye, she was standing with her volleyball team, holding the medal she probably won and next to him was the person you wanted to see most and avoid at the same time.

He had that charming smile on his lips, of course he has changed over the years, the salt and pepper beard took its place around his mouth. You remembered the feel of his stubble on your skin. ‘Fucking great’ you thought, years did him good. He was more handsome than you remembered, and you used to think it wasn’t possible.

Clearing her throat, Jane interrupted your thoughts with a soft tone. You knew she saw you staring at that picture but didn’t say anything and honestly you were grateful for that. Yes, you came back mostly because of him but it didn’t mean you were ready to face him even though through a picture in the first moments of your arrival.

'Baby, go change. The dinner will be ready in 10 and hopefully your wayward sister will be back by then.'

Making a fake offended face 'Where the hell is Andrea? I mean the Santa is back in town but she's out.' you joked slightly.

You knew you hit a sore spot when you parents shared a worried glance, they were still thinking about your mental struggles probably, but you wanted to prove that you’d beaten down the illness that chasing you since your childhood.

'Honey, she's out helping to the others with the giant Christmas tree which they put in the centre of the city.' William explained like it was nothing, but you knew your father too well to catch the tension in his baritone voice.

Not wanting to address the elephant in the room so you shook your head replying with a cheerful tone, 'Apparently nothing has changed. God I really missed this town.' The words slipped out from your mouth, but you weren't sure your parents bought it.

It's an old tradition that kept going on in your town for years and you have no doubt about Negan being there, helping everybody with a joy. He always loved this kind of stuff, you silently hoped this hasn't changed, and unfortunately Andrea is one of his best students.

Jane called from the dining room, letting you know that dinner is ready. Feeling thankful for distraction, you pulled a chair, took your usual spot in front of her.

Just as you were about to take a big bite from the delicious chicken, your troublemaker sister stepped in and made her presence known. She was looking at you with a Cheshire cat grin on her face.

'YAY! The older one is back. I have so many things to tell you Adri, oh, by the way we're still having the dinner tomorrow night, right? There are 5 days to Christmas, and it would be a shame if we skip that famous tradition.' She let the words out from her lips with overjoy. Andrea has always been a social butterfly and on the contrary of kids her age she enjoyed hanging with adults.

'Is there a special reason for mom to not throw the party this year? Or is it my presence that bugs you little lady?' You said with a sassy tone before you could think about the sore subject you spotted on. As soon as you realised what you just said you kicked yourself internally.

'Don't worry babe, I already planned everything and told everyone. We're going to be so busy tomorrow night.' Thankfully, your mom ran to the rescue again and replied with nonchalance.

Beyond excited Andrea blundered without realization, ‘Oh great! That means Coach Negan is coming too.’’

For a moment everyone around the table didn't mutter a word and you heard your sister whispering 'oh shit' looking at her feet.

The awkward silence was starting to annoy you, so you sighed and decided to clear the air, at least with your family. 'Guys, I really appreciate your concern, but it's been years, we both are adults and what happened back then is water under the bridge. You can't prevent us from encountering each other. I'm pretty sure Negan wouldn’t have a problem with this too. I'm sure he's already moved on and living his life peacefully. I doubt he would turn his back and run as soon as he sees me. Also, I’m here to fix my past mistakes. I can’t do that if I avoid talking to him, right?’ You arched your left eyebrow, a faux smile on your lips, the tension you feel in your stomach could make you burst into tears and then make you laugh hysterically afterwards. You were trying your best to suppress this feeling.

Your mom examined your face with a suspicious look but didn’t pressure the matter further and raised her glass in a toast.

Quickly the heaviness in the air disappeared and left its place to cosy atmosphere.

You could feel your insides hurt from laughing too much at your sister’s adventures in the school.

The happy banter interrupted with the ringing doorbell. Andrea started getting up from her seat. ‘It’s probably Nancy, she forgot her folder in my room this morning.’

Before she could move forward you stood up. ‘If it’s okay with you I would like to answer the door. I missed her too since she practically grew up in our house.’

With a genuine smile you walked toward the door. Ready for greeting Nancy and chat with her after a couple of years. You loved her like your sister. Both of them always managed to cheer you up.

You met with a pair of hazel eyes instead of Nancy’s blue ones. Negan was standing before you just shocked as you were, staring at you with wide eyes.

You were speechless. You didn’t expect to face him this early, you’re caught off guard.

His lips curled upwards with a genuine smile. Trying to be polite and casual as possible he finally said something. ‘Oh, hi. I didn’t know you’re back.’

Shaking off the whirling emotions that made you dumbfounded. ‘Hi, uh yes I’m back for Christmas.’’ You said, managed to keep trembling off your voice.

You continue to stare at each other. There was so much you want to tell him, and you weren’t sure if you could stop yourself from your arms around his neck.

‘Elle, baby invite Nancy in. You’re going to freeze to death if you keep standing on the porch.’ Your father intervened before you made something stupid.

Your dad couldn’t hide the slight shock but shrugged it off quickly. ‘Hello Negan. Troublemaker daughter of mine forgot something again?’ He asked with a smirk on his lips.

Negan laughed, you wished you could keep the butterflies in your stomach cool. ‘Fuck, not this time William. Actually, I’m here to give you these cookies.’

Deciding to form a friendly banter with him and yourself you popped the question. ‘Wow, did Coach Negan learn how to cook finally?’ You teased slightly.

He bit his lower lip before answering your simple question. ‘I wish I could fucking say yes but no, Eleanor baked them.’

Yeah, he indeed moved on.

@negans-network

#jeffrey dean morgan #jdmdaily #negan #negan angst #negan x reader #negan smut #negan fluff #twd #the walking dead #twd negan #negan au #negan x adrielle #story: tis the damn season #negans thirst squad #negan smith #pre-apocalypse

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theinvisibledreamergirl · 4 years

Text

Chap. 1: “The Beginning of Everything”

————————————

3 years ago: 14th of September 2017

“Happy birthday to you!

Happy birthday to you!

Happy birthday to my gem!

Happy birthday to you!”

His soft and playful voice made her giggle when he did an impression of a birthday wish because she knew that he hated to say it out loud.

“Thank you Mr. Standall.” She kissed his lips slowly not letting a yawn to break this blissful moment. “And that was a very good impression on how boyfriends want to make surprises to their girls.” She giggled while tracing with her right palm his grown beard that made her weak whenever it scratched.

“And I’m glad that made you smile.” He gave her a peck on her forehead while smiling aback.

“You always make me happy like no one else.”She said it in full acknowledgment and wrapped her arms around his neck, giving that sympathetic look that Alex knew too well. Whenever those words fell from her lips, he knew that she would get teary so he tried to lighten up the mood.

“Whoa Miss Craig, we haven’t still arrived to the part of being emotional.” He cupped her cheeks in full adoration. “And I haven’t brought your breakfast here yet so…” He got up from their bed while she was admiring at his sculpted body only in his underwear and was catching her lower lip thinking how handsome he was. He wore his shorts while doing another mimic of her while biting her lip knowing she had a soft spot. “Oh Al you’re so fucking handsome ma-”

Before he would finish the sentence, was met with a pillow on his face and a stern voice. “Get my breakfast here ‘cause I don’t want to die hungry.”

“Your wish is my command, my lady.” He chuckled before bowed down while she was laughing at his poor attempt to be look like a 18th century gentleman but she didn’t care that much. Because her heart was so full and couldn’t be more thankful that he was by her side.

Present day: 14th of September 2020

She woke up from the irritating alarm of her iPhone while groaning loudly. She felt her body sweating on her sheets and knew that the dreams were still appearing in the middle of the night and were not giving her the peace she wanted. She had only been one week in Boston and was hating this city already. Crowded, disorganised, dirty and was nothing compared with Brighton or Washington. Even the great buildings that surrounded didn’t give her a slight awesomeness and rolled her eyes while some tourists were looking wonderfully and snapping selfies. It was 5 AM. She had a bad habit to wake up early in order to work out outside in the nature. Or better saying- somewhere far away from the flowers or trees that gave her allergies even though it was the fall season. But first she needed to change quickly her wet clothes before getting a cold. When she got up from her bed, was met with a wiggling tail and a huffing sound of her best friend- Jonah.

“Hey good morning buddy!” She kneeled down to him while he was licking her hands. “Yup we’re going outside but first mama needs a shower okay?” She kissed his head when he jumped on her bed waiting impatiently for his owner to finish.

She stripped off her clothes and didn’t want to give a spare glance to the scars in her forearms if she didn’t want to experience another breakdown. The warm temperature of the water cascading down her body was everything she needed and let out a content sigh. She mocked at her anti-grease shampoo for keeping her hair done only in two days.

“Bloody shampoos.”

She carefully rubbed the cores of her forearms with her sponge not letting to fall a single drop of blood while wincing. It was such annoying to wait for another year until they were regenerated completely and if not, she needed to undergo a plastic surgery in which she was worried about it.

This day was slightly different from what she’d been used to. It was her first day of work at a hospital after graduating with excellent grades from University College London and got an alumni award for her outstanding performance in saving five people’s lives (including her professor Dr. Sarah Bennett) doing solo operations without the practice and the leadership of an attending. And that’s why she chose Edenbrook Hospital but- with a bit lateness.

It was only three days ago that she got the acceptance e-mail from nonetheless the well known and the most respected diagnostician in the whole country Dr. Naveen Banerji. The reason was that she spent her summer holidays in Italy and wasn’t sure if she was ready to go back in USA almost four years after her parents died. But mostly she still was on search for the truth behind her grandmother’s unexpected death- Daisy Ahmad. A quest in which she hadn’t solved the mystery behind of it.

While putting on her Nike sneakers she took a brief look at the clock on the wall- 5:15 AM. She still had time until 7 AM to catch up for work so she whistled to the husky dog letting him know that they were ready to go- or not until she straightened up her back and raised her eyebrows while looking at the mirror.

“Mirror mirror on the wall, tell me... who’s the most badass woman here?” She chuckled at her poor joke. “Of course it’s me. Right Jonah?” He barked in approval tilting his head, showing his blue sky eyes to his owner’s. “That’s my boy.”

The hangout consisted of walking firstly, because Jonah always came the first into their priorities and sometimes she would call him the King Jonah I and if he would have children she’ll gladly call them Jonah II or JJ. Secondly, it was playing with him and doing some exercises to train him with what she had read in a recent book about huskies. Lastly, it was time for her to put her headphones on and listening to the great Arctic Monkeys band while running for an hour without breaks to the asphalt coastline. And Jonah was more than happy to follow his owner wherever she went.

Annoyed, after finishing her run, she totally forgot that she took a shower already but thankfully her hair was tied up in a ponytail so her tendrils weren’t at least wet. “We got sweaty again buddy huh?”

6:37 AM.

They finally made it back at her apartment and greeted the receptionist Billy for taking the morning shift. She kicked off her sneakers and went immediately to the bathroom to change again her sportswear and quickly finished her body shower. The breakfast consisted of baked bread, white cheese and fiches jam whereas for the husky dog were the raw meats and bones. While she was waiting for the slices of bread to be toasted, her eyes landed to his photograph placed in a black rectangular frame.

“Why Alex?” She whispered to herself and crossed her arms while tilting her head in one side. “Why are you still appearing in my dreams every night? What do you want to tell me?”

It became a monotonous thing for her to see the nightmares of the people who were gone now and the worse part was that they would always appear with unknown causes. Like her parents for example, died not because of a coincidental car accident- but a well-planned one- and after their case was solved, they didn’t appear anymore. She knew that her grandmother’s death was truly a devastating event for her and of course she needed to find the surgeon who took the responsibility to operate her. But what about Alex? She had no clue why this was happening but one thing was for sure... her PTSD wouldn’t stop if she didn’t find out the last parts to complete the puzzle.

After finishing her breakfast she wore her casual clothes despite her efforts in wearing a suit. She was so obsessed with them. Maybe if she becomes a resident... who knows what fate will bring for her? She shook her head in disbelief- she was going to work with Ethan Ramsey and was excited but stressed in the same time.

“My oh my... am I going to work now huh? What do you think buddy?”Jonah twirled around in excitement when his owner opened her arms to reveal the outfit. “You always have liked my style, haven’t you? Can you believe that I’m going to work with the attending who inspired me to be this doctor I am now? Nope, I can’t believe it too.” She chuckled wearily as her memories with Alex came back on her mind. How both of them were determined to be doctors and to be graduated in the same year, then going to their respective inspirational doctors who, for instance, both were in the same hospital- Dr. Ethan Ramsey and Dr. Simon Tennant.

“Y’know Jonah, I was thinking about how this Ethan Ramsey looks like because his face doesn’t appear anywhere. Like I’ve searched for him in any websites possible but no- he’s like an invisible man who has sealed every images of him. Even Simon doesn’t want to tell me and said that I would see him soon. What the hell? I mean can you imagine working with an old man and a grumpy one or who knows... maybe he’s a good one? He can’t be like those snarky and annoying attendees that have always appeared in the TV shows, right?” She twitched her lips in confusion and shrugged. “Whatever. Just wish me good luck.”

She grabbed his collar in the direction of the door but before that she glanced up to the photograph again. A hard lump was formed on her throat re-imagining the scene in which they could leave together but instead... she was going alone. A small and a sad smile tugged on her lips as if he was there too, smiling widely at her and wishing ‘good luck’ and giving a blow kiss while saying ‘I love you’.

Unfortunately the blue-eyed husky was cooing sadly after the owner left him to her neighbour Lola and her husband Mike and he really needed to fit into the new adjustment of lifestyle.

Klaw wanted so badly to drive her car to the hospital because she knew now all the streets of Boston but changed her mind in the last minute to go the metro line that wasn’t far away from her neighbourhood and it took at least 20 minutes. While she was seating in front of the window she opened her messages that popped up on her phone and she frowned in suspicion for who might’ve been. Then she chuckled softly. It was nonetheless than her friends.

Klaw scoffed.

Of course Imy would bring up those numbers as a reminder.

14.09.1995- her 25th birthday.

But she had already discussed with them to not wish her and to not make any presents despite Imy’s insistence to try to forget what happened two years ago that had wrapped their minds for a long time. But there wasn’t enough for forgetting and she still wasn’t ready to move on to another point of her life. She was afraid that if she believed in love again- she would lose it. Just like with Clay and Alex she didn’t want to experience another heartbreak or another trauma.

The great building of Edenbrook Hospital in the heart of Boston Massachusetts appeared in front of her now, where her life wouldn’t be the same again. She felt her quickened heartbeats and her tightened chest by the view and still couldn’t believe she was now a doctor. She shook her head in disbelief again while chuckling.

Well well Dr. Craig, seems like the beginning of everything to you, isn’t it? Just don’t try to kill anyone today. Keep your punches off to yourself.

Everyone were hurrying up and looked they were all in a moment of a rush. She took long stride steps while ogling to the new settlement which later she would call it home. Klaw could hear the urgency of nurses while taking IV’s with themselves to the patients, two doctors wheeling their patients who seemed to have done a transplant operation before, the receptionists talking to the phones and writing the names of those who wanted to leave a meeting with their doctors. Even though this gave her a lightened moment to truly appreciate, she felt lost and didn’t know where to go so she tilted her head to the sides almost panicking.

Is this how all of the interns have been before?

“Are you new here?”

A guy in violet scrubs asked her gently behind her back so she turned around only to see him smile.

“Uhm, yeah I am.”

“That’s pretty good! Are you our new nurse from Delaware?”

She chuckled. “No, actually I’m a surgical intern from London.”

“Oh, sorry.” He said sheepishly. “I’ve been asking all the new female faces here and all of them turned to be interns because we were waiting for a new internal nurse but seems like she’s vanished.” They both shared a laugh. “By the way my name’s Danny Cardinal.”

They shook their hands while nodding. “And I’m Klaudia Craig but please call me Klaw instead ‘cause there’s a loooong story about that.”

“Klaudia Craig... just give me a second to check the list.” Danny run his index finger while murmuring her name until he flipped the other page and her name was the last. “Ha! I found you... Klaudia Helena Craig, the tick is in the box. If I’m right you’re the last doctor who has applied here?”

“Uhm, yeah.” She let out a nervous laugh and scratched the back of her neck. “I actually wasn’t sure about this place to apply but- here I am.”

“Well because of Dr. Delarosa’s absence for the moment I’ll do you a quick guide.”

Danny was such a nice guy and now the first friend Klaw made in this hospital. She could see his cheeks flushed sometimes when he made eye contact with her and later he admitted that this year strangely all the new interns were so attractive. With her back-bag in one shoulder she entered the closet room to change her clothes to green scrubs until she saw a woman in her underwear. Embarrassed that she may be interrupting her, made a quick motion of closing her eyes.

“Oh, I’m sorry, sorry I’m truly sorry!” She waved her hand awkwardly and she thought that was such clueless move.

“It’s alright you can open your eyes.” Her accent let Klaw know that she could be somewhere from India. When she opened her eyes- damn it. Danny wasn’t lying that everyone were attractive. She was the greatest example of a hot woman. “And please don’t you know that this is a closet room or what?” She scoffed. “Are you shy?”

Klaw scoffed aback when her last words teased her. “No, but I don’t think I can invade someone’s privacy and that’s disrespectful y’know... maybe you were doing other things rather than changing clothes.”

“Alexa play “The Final Countdown” by Europe for Jackie Varma getting her butt roasted!” Klaw flinched when a half-naked guy barked in laughter. “I’m feeling sorry for you now Jackson.”

“Shut up Lahela!”

“So my prediction was right.” Klaw nodded slowly in acknowledgement thanks to her observation skills, she could see Jackie’s messed hair despite her efforts to put a proper bun whereas the guy named Lahela had a small glitter on the corner of his lips. And she couldn’t feel any prouder.

“You got a smart mouth sweetie don’t you?” Jackie challenged her by inching dangerously close, their faces mere inches apart. Klaw smirked knowingly and slowly lowered her head.

“I do and you should actually be afraid of me, darling.”

Jackie was caught off guard despite her efforts of staying neutral. This girl was so gorgeous and such a smart ass, she thought. She was wondering how her full lips would fit into hers and how her body would arch in the wall while doing to her the most nasty things. And when she got that look- god she thought- she looked even more sexy.

Stop it Jackie.

“I like this girl, she’s just my type.” Lahela added. “Can we please have a threesome?”

“Bryce!” Jackie shouted angrily. “That’s enough!”

So his name is Bryce.

Klaw felt her jaw tightening even though she knew that he was just messing with them. “Only in your dreams big boy.”

“Ouch you are hurting my feelings right now. Look, no one can resist my handsome face... and not even you pretty.”

“I’ll show you pretty when you’ll see yourself with your broken bones.” Klaw smiled wickedly.

“Who’s roasted now huh?”Jackie laughed while Bryce was left mouth gaped from this statement. He didn’t think that someone as beautiful as this girl could reject him in one click. She wouldn’t do that, right? Bryce Lahela had never been refused by any of the girls he encountered with- not even from boys who had tried to have an affair with him. This is was the first defeat he got slapped by and it looked like this first day was going to be a hell. But when he looked deeply in the dark and fiery brown eyes of that lady, he had hopes that she wasn’t a bad person. Maybe she was trying to shove him off or who knew... maybe it was a game plan and for that, he wanted to know more of her.

Be careful Bry. ‘Cause this girl is going to be harder than it looks like. What is she doing to me?

“Whilst I appreciate your words Varma I think we should let this girl present herself, right?”

“This time I agree with you.” Jackie was well aware of his changing of subject and in a brief moment she saw the hot guy going pale and silently thought that he had fallen for her. Yuck.

Klaw smiled. “Okay people I’m Dr. Klaudia Craig, a surgical intern with one condition- only if you call me Klaw.”

“Another scalpel jockey here?” Jackie let out her tongue in disgust. “Ewww.”

“Hell yeahhh.” Klaw rolled her eyes while Bryce was offering his hand to shake hers. “Dr. Bryce Lahela graduated at the top of the class 2020 from Harvard University and selected as the best face from all the nerds around the campus with one condition-” he kissed the back of her hand before winking “-be mine already.”

“As tempting as it may be Dr. Lahela I’m afraid I’m not the first one in your flirting list hm?”

Two can play that game, right? Bryce’s cheeks turned to a light pink as if he felt- embarrassed? Why did this girl make him feel like that? What was her real intention? One thing was for sure- she was different and mysterious. Before he could reply Jackie cut him off.

“Shit! Time is ticking! We must go immediately, the whole atrium is expecting us!”

“Who?” Klaw asked confused and with that expression made Jackie eyeing her incredulously.

“Do you live on earth or what? The doctors, our attendees, our bosses!” Klaw nodded slowly in acknowledgment since she was right. She lived in Moon. “Hurry up, we need to change!”

All of the interns were gathered as they were waiting for the attendees to come at any minute. Lots of unknown faces were about to work together in this place and lots of things were going to change forever their lives. Daniel Griffin appeared among them giving Klaw a small smile but also a relieved one. He still was worried with the yesterday’s incidence where she fought with some random street girls and almost she was caught by the police. He couldn’t ask her if she was okay because she wouldn’t tell him anyway so the only thing that caught his attention was that she was coming with other two strange guys. Not long after that his girlfriend Imy joined them and greeted with a warm smile that always crossed on her face which was why Dan fell in love with her. Again Jackie was disappointed that they were other scalpel jockeys and couldn’t wait to meet colleagues on her profile. The attendees were coming towards them with an assurance and a determination that Klaw felt a shiver on her spine. She spotted her brother (her guardian angel) Simon beside a woman who seemed to be a very important person in the hospital alongside with four other doctors whom Klaw tried to guess if one of them was Ethan Ramsey with the exception of the curly woman.

Or tried to guess- who was the surgeon she was looking after all these years?

“May I have your attention please?” The curly woman spoke up, trying her best to keep her calmness while everyone were speaking aloud until another grunting voice made them startled and turn their heads to them.

“Will you shut your fucking mouths and listen now?!”

Silence.

A genuine and a grateful smile came from the woman mouthing to the man her ‘thank you’ and he nodded in acknowledgement.

“Welcome to Edenbrook Hospital everyone! You have come a long way to be in this place and you have to always remind the Hippocrates Oath: ‘Do no harm’ which is going to be the first thing that comes to your minds. My name is Dr. Ines Delarosa and by my side is Dr. Zaid Mirani, your senior residents who will guide you in every step of the way.”

“Do not consider this as a favour because if you do, then you have to forget your big sacrifices to come here.”

When Zaid almost chewed them with his sentence, Ines tried to lighten up the mood. “But also we’re not the only doctors here- please welcome our surgeons Dr. Harper Emery, Dr. Simon Tennant and Dr. Edgar Allen!”

The speech was started by Harper who stood between the males giving her the authority that she deserved as she looked intensely to every intern.

“Thank you Dr. Delarosa. Again welcome to the most prestigious and the most competitive hospital in our country! I hope all of you have been prepared for this day and for more to come. I’m delighted to work as a neurosurgeon to help and to teach you how important is and what it means to be a surgeon. Mostly about our surgical interns- you will be tasked with a lot of cases from the easiest ones to the most complicated ones. And you have to remind yourselves that you must not neglect any patient because they are all equal and they need the same treatments. I think the doctors would agree-” her eyes flicked immediately to Simon’s, ignoring Edgar’s purposely. “- right?”

“Yes Dr. Emery especially after this looong speech everyone here is more motivated, right?” He mocked playfully while Harper was rolling her eyes.

You'll never change Simon.

“Hi! I’m Dr. Tennant as Dr. Delarosa previously mentioned and I’m a cardio thoracic surgeon, currently the chief of Cardiology Department. Which means that if you notice your heart quickening its heartbeats or if you notice that is breaking into two halves- feel free to swing by my office or in the O.R to fix it.” A laughter was heard among the interns who seemed to be more relaxed and many whispers said that he was going to be their God’s sent angel- which clearly he was. “Jokes aside- this year was the most difficult time to choose the ones you are here because of competitiveness and the strong knowledge you came from your universities, ranked at the top of your classes. What I want to say is- nothing is impossible. Everything can be achieved with work and passion for medicine if you feel it here.” He patted his chest lightly. “But if not-” he shook his head even though his smile didn’t disappear. “- then you weren’t ready for these days.”

A knowing look crossed Klaw’s face; she knew where his limits were when it came to being professional especially in medicine. He wouldn’t tolerate anyone who made unacceptable mistakes and everyone would see his worst side and wonder how this man could change so quickly- something that she was used to.

“Alright.” Harper was nodding and giving an eye to everyone and turned her gaze to the older man. “Do you want to add something Dr. Banerji?”

That’s when Ines realised that she had totally forgotten to mention Dr. Banerji’s name because of Zaid’s distraction.

So he’s Dr. Naveen Banerji- the person who accepted my application.

“Yes, thank you Harper. Well, hello everybody, for all of those who don’t know me yet- I’m Dr. Naveen Banerji the Chief of Medicine, but my real job is general surgeon which I’m very good at it rather than being a chief.” He chuckled and Klaw thought this man was truly like a father to all the interns. “I’m very happy that we have chosen the best students for our non-profit hospital and especially those who’ve already done a big difference during medical school.” Klaw didn’t notice it as Bryce whispered in her ear but Naveen gave her a briefing look before he continued what he was saying. “I hope everyone will get themselves accommodated, making new relationships uh-I meant strictly professional and friendly partnerships.” Everyone shared a laugh. “What I want to say is- if you want to be successful to your job you must at first be humans. If you want to understand the patients you must understand yourselves. And finally as Dr. Ramsey would say you should observe everyone.” Again it was heard a big laughter as he did an impression on him. “Anyways, you will have the chance to know him, now I must go back to work as you should do the same. Have a nice day doctors! We’re expecting the best from you.”

“Thank you Dr. Banerji!” When Naveen and Harper left another attending came in front of the other doctors- Dr. Edgar Allen.

“So, I think now that we have done our pleasantries, I’d like to call the surgical interns names to assign their cases whereas you internal medicine will be assigned under Dr. Delarosa’s and Dr. Mirani’s. Understood?”Everyone nodded and from the looks of it he was the harshest doctor they have encountered by far, leaving Zaid out of the black list.

“I despise this man so much.” Zaid grumbled under his breath enough for Ines to hear it.

“Don’t worry Zaid.” She assured him again with that infectious smile which made him less angry than he was. “He’s always like that. We can’t change someone’s personality hm?” He nodded in agreement.

Before calling the names Simon came closer to Edgar clearly not liking the way he was prodding.

“Shouldn’t you be less grumpy among them? It’s their first day and they don’t deserve this kind of treatment.”

“Hmph. Or what else is going to happen Dr. Tennant? I’m really curious about it ‘cause right now I’m shaking from your concern for such minions.”

Simon felt his narrowed eyes dagger in Edgar’s saying in a hushed tone. “Watch your language Dr. Allen and may I remind you where did your internship start huh?”

“Mass Kenmore.”

“Exactly. So if it wasn’t for Dr. Thorne’s insistence because you saved his life- your ass wouldn’t even reach in this position without him.” Edgar clenched his teeth in frustration knowing fully well that everything what Simon was saying was true. “Now you can continue doctor.”

With that Simon trailed off without sparing a glance to the worried look of interns noticing their little exchange not knowing what was said between them.

Klaw kept wondering where actually Dr. Ethan Ramsey was as he didn’t show up and was nowhere to be seen until Ines answered the same question raised by another intern who seemed to be just as curious as her.

“About Dr. Ramsey, we’re expecting him to come today from the Miami’s conference, so you don’t have to worry- you’ll meet him soon.” She assured the shy blonde guy who seemed to be more relieved now.

But still Klaw had gears on her mind about it if Dr. Ramsey would be present.

And how do we say it?

Some things happen in the most unexpected ways.

———————————————————————

Chapter 2: “First Impressions”

#open heart fan fiction #open heart choices #open heart fan fic #my mc #klaw craig #my writing #rookie writer

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cursed-ice-spirits · 4 years

Text

Prefect Timing

With the news of her assignment, Rebecca hopes to get closer to Summer Charn ( @thecursedvaultchild ). Good thing Emily Tyler is present. More context is here

It’s only been two years since she became an official Caldwell and she hated it already. Scowling, Rebecca tied her long hair behind her hair as she headed to where the other prefects were meeting, her heels clicking against the floor. Rodolfo may or may not be doing this with good intentions, but if her father hired someone to spy on her, she knows she’d be pretty pissed as well. Being hired to stalk her crush is not something she was looking forward to.

Just who is Rodolfo? Member of a noble family, yes, she would suspect that even if he didn’t outright say that in their brief meeting. He’s obviously important enough to get Summer Charn out of her detention AND shut her uncle down. But which noble family, she has no idea. Charn hid it as much as she hid her Caldwell heritage. While their business is highly valued, the Caldwells are looked down upon, so Rodolfo and Summer could belong to any family. Asking her uncle proved futile, because he just glared at her and gave her hair a hard tug, which meant he’s still pissed off about Rodolfo suddenly addressing her.

At the memory of her uncle, Rebecca suppressed a smile. And that man wonders why he was Grandfather’s second choice. Her uncle is good at his job… but he got too cocky. She had no idea how her mother would fare as Head, but she knew she'd have a better impression, as biased as she may be.

She missed being a Lord. Sure, there were expectations since their influence is more in the realms of America and Asia, but at least she has a choice. Caldwells never get a choice. If she were to half-arse this job, her uncle would know and he would kill her and she really doesn’t want a repeat of two summers before.

(Not to mention, the other option is Velia and she will never sic her on anybody. Not even Merula.)

The fact that Summer was made prefect as well didn’t help since it made her job easier; so she can’t half-arse anything even if she tried. Being prefects together will give her more opportunities to talk to her.

So she needed to be discreet. Problem is, Charn is clever. People may not think so, but after her experiences in the Vaults and being the daughter of an assassin, she learned to never underestimate anyone. And maybe she saw her cleverness only a few times, but if it’s there, it’s there. And if Rebecca slips up, Charn will notice.

Rebecca drew to a stop as she approached the meeting room, her hand hovering, hesitating over the door knob. Things will work out. They do share mutual friends, after all. Taking a deep breath, she grasped the door knob and pushed it open.

Her first round of prefect duty was with someone that wasn't Aydan, but with Summer Charn. Her mind was whirling. How she could be so lucky, yet so unlucky, she had no idea. But her first round of prefect duty is with Summer Charn, the very person she’s assigned to monitor and report about to her grandfather, and she has no idea where to start. Rebecca was not much of a talker and the only reason she had friends was because of the Cursed Vaults, otherwise she would be sitting in the library alone. Even then, it’s pushing it. She only spoke to Summer without the others a few times before, but other than that, she wouldn’t say they were friends. Even if Charn deeded her important enough to mention her to her grandfather. But... if she wanted Rodolfo’s approval and to piss off her uncle even more, she needed to do this assignment.

They were to monitor the Clocktower Courtyard. Rebecca resisted herself from glancing at Summer, seeing her leaning against the stone wall and pulling out her Arithmancy textbook in the corner of her eye. If Summer Charn wasn’t flirting or hanging with her friends or in class, she was studying, which was another reason why she preferred not underestimating the Slytherin.

She let her eyes scan over the Courtyard. Some students she only vaguely knows were socializing, others were studying. But one stood out.

Tyler.

She wrinkled her nose. She had long since forgotten the Gryffindor’s first name but she could recognize her anywhere with that pink she’s wearing. Summer liked gossip and was best friends with Penny, so she needed something to catch her attention. Although Rebecca isn’t exactly a gossipy type, Tyler can be an exception.

“God, what is she wearing?” She murmured to herself, her arms folded. “It looks like a baboon’s butt. Is she trying to match her clothing to her personality?”

Hook, line, and sinker. Summer looked up, eyes scanning the group of students. "Who?" Her eyes flew over the heads of the students and landed on Tyler. Her nose wrinkled. Good, she doesn’t like her either. "Wow, I think she is. And didn't anyone inform her that pink went out of style five years ago? Merlin's beard, her sweater definitely isn't cashmere. That's polyester for sure, not even wool."

Rebecca clicked her tongue. “She treats others like trash when her clothes aren’t much better. That shade of pink is not flattering.”

"How is she in Gryffindor? For her reckless sense of fashion? Please." Summer’s gaze slid back down to her book, returning to studying. But Rebecca knew she was interested. She knew that much about gossip despite people not seeing the Ice Queen as the gossipy type. The truth is she wasn’t, but she’s always up for sassing students she doesn’t particularly like.

What she cares about now is that Summer is interested. Maybe one more push. Charms? She’s heard Summer is a Charms prodigy as well. Well, there is one spell she’s been working on for a while. Similar to the beauty spell, yet completely different.

Ugh, she’s too much of an enabler to be a prefect. Maybe she can see a reason why Sprout chose her to be captain, but prefect? Rebecca shook her head and leaned against the wall, arms still folded. Her mind continued to whirl with plans that wouldn’t get her into trouble. It all drew to a stop when she realized exactly what Tyler was saying.

“Ugh, why did they let that transfer student from Ilvermorny come here? That hat is so ugly and that hair… what a disaster.”

Rebecca clenched her jaw, her nails digging into her palm as she shook with rage. Screw being a responsible prefect, that is her friend and you can insult Rebecca all you want, but insulting her friends is crossing the line. She flicked her wrist, making sure to keep her wand hidden in her robe sleeve and lifted it until she had it pointed at Tyler, tapping her finger against the wood three times.

One.

Two.

Three.

In a flash, Tyler’s sweater switched to an ugly brown color and started to thin out, gain holes, threads unraveling. The shrieking that resulted from the disaster had Summer looking up and Rebecca snickered, slipping her wand away as she murmured, “That’s what you get for insulting my friend, you bitch.”

Tyler shot up to her feet, shrieking as she turned in place, pulling at her precious sweater and staring at the holes in despair. "MY BEAUTIFUL SWEATER!” Her eyes flashed with rage and she looked around. “WHO DID THIS?!"

Summer turned to look at her in shock. "Oh my goodness, Bex, you did that? You really shouldn't have, but oh my—" Her own laughter cut her off. She covered her mouth with her sleeve, trying to keep it down. "It's as ugly as her insides."

Rebecca’s lips twitched into a tiny smirk. She would do this even if she wasn’t intending to attract Summer’s attention. “That’s what the spell’s supposed to do,” she said smugly. “Matches her personality perfectly. I may be a prefect but no one insults my friends.”

A perfectly manicured eyebrow went up. "You are surprisingly devious. Nice charmwork."

Rebecca almost flushed but remained composed. You are an Ice Queen, Lord. Summer looked over at the chaos and sighed. Tyler was screaming and running around like a chicken with her head cut off. Maybe Rebecca should Silencio her. That’d stop the insufferable screaming.

"I'll go end it before someone gets hurt with something worse than Tyler's petty insults." She snapped her book closed and cleanly cut through the crowd until she got to the source of the disaster. "You're fine, Tyler. You're not dead."

"I MIGHT AS WELL BE!” Tyler snarled, turning on the Slytherin. “MY CASHMERE SWEATER!!!"

"Calm down." Summer waved her wand, the hideous sweater slowly stitching itself back together, the ugly brown color returning to pink. Rebecca felt a slight disappointment. "Here's your polyester eyesore back good as new. We both know you wouldn't recognize cashmere if it stood in front of you,” she said, casually brushing off her own sweater, her smirk indicating she meant exactly what she said.

Tyler turned her nose up, glaring. "I don't need to recognize cashmere to know I'm still prettier than you."

Summer threw her head back and laughed. "Wow, that might be the bravest thing you've ever done: state an obvious untruth.” She shook her head and turned around, but not before giving Tyler a smirk. “And didn't you hear? The sixties called, they want their clothes back. Byeee." She tossed her silver hair behind her and strode back over to Rebecca. "That was fun,” she said, smiling. “While still doing my duty."

Rebecca laughed, having a feeling the two will be good friends even without her assignment, "Thank you,” she said to the compliment before Summer had to deal with the disaster. “And nice burns there as well."

"You're welcome. And thanks." Summer had a smirk on her face as she ran a hand through her hair. "It's always fun pulling the rich pureblood card on jerks like her, take 'em down a few pegs.” She gave a roll of her eyes and scoffed. “I can't believe she tried to claim she's better looking! Tyler? Please." Summer laughed again. "Your spell really riled her up, nice."

"Thank you," Rebecca smiled, screaming internally. "I've been meaning to test that spell somehow. And her and her stupid ponytail can't compare to you. You're beautiful and your wandwork is amazing. Everyone knows that." She is definitely not being subtle but she really doesn’t care about it now. She’s pretty sure Summer is very straight anyway, so she has no chance.

Summer laughed again at that. "Thanks, Bex. I know." She winked. "Wouldn't be Summer Charn if I wasnt."

KEEP CALM KEEP CALM KEEP CALM, Rebecca's PANicked (ha) thoughts screamed at her, even as her smile grew. "I have a feeling we'll get along quite nicely."

Summer suddenly put an arm around her. Rebecca knew it was in a friendly way and not intending to hurt, but she went stiff reflexively. She relaxed quickly, hoping Summer won’t notice. Lucia had gotten her used to friendly hugs but old habits die hard. "I do too. I think we could accomplish a lot together. A Charn and a Lord, that's got a nice sound to it."

Summer has no idea. Rebecca gave a tiny smile. "That it does."

#i loved the puns here lololol #ty AJ for editing as usual #rebecca lord #summer charn #hogwarts mystery #hphm #hphm fanfic #hphm fic #hphm fanfiction #lunar writes

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wordywarriorwrites · 5 years

Text

Chapter 6: Set

Masterlist: The Boss of Brooklyn A03 Link Author: @wordywarriorwrites Summary: When it comes to being The Boss, James Buchanan “JB” Barnes rules with an iron fist. For him, there’s no room for sentiment, and certainly no time for distraction, even if it is in the form of an old flame. Steve Rogers had bowed out of the life a long time ago, but a twist of fate brings him right back into the fold, and face-to-face with a man he once loved. When a game of cat and mouse turns into a matter of life and death, both will be forced to decide whether they’ll be loyal to the business, or faithful to each other. A/N: Bucky Barnes Mob Boss AU. Stucky. For: Star’s Multi-Fandom Follower Celebration & Sherry’s Fall Into You Challenge. Warnings: Language, violence, drug use, alcohol, smoking, explicit sexual content, illegal activities.

Life was all about choices and consequences. Every action or inaction inevitably resulted in an outcome that could be either favorable or disastrous, yet, even with ample preparation, mistakes could be made, and unforeseen pitfalls and blind spots were often the undoing of many well-planned things.

The Families usually got what they wanted because they tended to be prepared for every eventuality, but nobody, least of all Steve, could’ve foreseen how easily something as commonplace as violence and heartbreak could unravel it all. Bucky had been the hazard right outside his peripheral, but by the time it had been acknowledged, it had been too little, too late.

Even though Bucky had made himself perfectly clear – said he didn’t care, wouldn’t leave, and didn’t want him -- Steve had been unwilling to accept it. He tried again because he’d thought if anyone on the whole fucking planet was worth the risk, it was Bucky. Steve had gone to his apartment; climbed twelve flights of stairs; used the key he’d been always been welcome to utilize before.

The grunts and moans should’ve been enough of a warning.

There had been no commitment between them, and yet, seeing Bucky with another man hadn’t just hurt him – it had decimated and eviscerated him. It had been an incomparable, unbearable agony, and at that moment, Steve lost both the will to fight for the man he loved, and the patience to deal with the Family and business he’d been embroiled and embedded in for his entire life.

He’d left the United States. Traded concrete and smog for tropical islands resorts and hot sand. For about a year, he bounced around between Seychelles, Maldives, Ko Lipe, Bali, Fiji, and Tahiti. In the depths of the ocean, in the bottoms of bottles, and in the beds of other men – that was how he’d nursed his broken heart and it had been liberating.

Even when the money ran out, Steve still considered himself rather fortunate, because he’d wound up in Bermuda – home to banks, tax-avoiding businesses, and the obscenely rich. The islands were the ultimate luxury destination for the affluent, and they were always coming and going without caution or care. Amongst the pink beaches, coral reefs, and pastel-colored mansions was where he sharpened his skills and discovered being a thief was very lucrative. From St. George Town in the east to Somerset Village in the west, along the the coastline, and on secluded beaches – he survived and thrived on the absent-mindedness and vices of others, but as with all good things, that, too, eventually came to an end.

Steve had always gotten away clean with trinkets and cash, but his luck ran out when a man named Nick Fury, who he would later learn was the head of his own crime syndicate in the West Indies, had caught him red-handed. Death seemed a likely outcome given what Steve had taken and who he’d taken it from, but Fury had surprised him. The man somehow knew exactly who he was, and instead of being gutted on the spot, Nick asked if he wanted to stop being a petty pickpocket and earn some real money.

Fury was an infamous man and his stock and trade was the exchange, purchase, and sale of information. He had the power to ruin lives for generations, which was why people simultaneously respected him and were terrified of him. On the off chance someone stepped out of line or tried to cross him, they weren’t given a second chance – they were made to disappear and never mentioned again.

The world of espionage hadn’t been wholly unfamiliar to him, but with Fury’s crew, it hadn’t taken Steve long to realize he wasn’t as well-versed in the art as he’d originally thought. They were superiorly cultured, uncompromisingly loyal, and possessed a combination of qualities and skills that allowed them to easily maneuver their way in and out of damn near everything. While Steve was no slouch and nobody could ever accuse the Families of being ill-educated or under-funded, the circles they ran in, the jobs they did, the information they got their hands on, the amount of money they played around with…

It made the Families look like a bunch of amateurs.

Trade secrets, favors, bribes, real estate, yachts, money, jewels, art, stocks – white-collar payments for white-collar crime. For four years, Steve earned both his way and his keep, and had gotten a taste of an entirely different way of living. They were bad people who did bad things, and he enjoyed it because it was familiar, and for once, the playing field was even. Equal contribution meant an equal split of the take -- there was no cause for anyone to feel slighted and nobody got greedy.

Steve hadn’t left everything he’d ever known with the intention of falling into a different life of crime, but he had, and it was probably the best thing that had ever happened to him. Fury taught him what it meant to be a true tactician, politician, enforcer, and diplomat. He learned just how powerful of a weapon his mind could be; had been whipped into the best shape of his life, both mentally and physically; was pushed to be who he was, not what anyone thought he should be; and though he’d been a stranger, Fury and his crew had taken him in, dusted him off, and shook the cobwebs out of his head. In a strange, fucked up way, they’d made him stronger and more confident.

When the job in Brooklyn had been presented to him, Steve had been more than a little taken aback. Fury had quietly expanded into the United States, but the senator he had on the hook was also in bed with the Families, which meant the man was serving and benefitting from two masters, and that couldn’t be tolerated.

Both the senator and his wife were to attend an important fundraising event, where all the city’s heaviest hitters would be gathered in one room, and the plan was to use that connection to get intel. Everything hinged on the couple being in attendance, which would allow for one of their team to easily get inside and put them down afterward, but the senator’s untimely death and the wife’s subsequent blabbing to the police had brought everything to a grinding halt.

Everyone knew about Steve’s past connections, which should have been more than enough reason not to put him in, but they were confident he could see it the rest of the way through. Steve had cautioned them; told them they’d have a fight on their hands; that the Families were not easily deterred or distracted. He’d warned them it would be bloody and messy, but in the end, they’d voted to move forward.

He’d never planned to return to Brooklyn, and every decision he’d made since the day he left was designed to take him farther and farther away from it. Yet, somehow, Steve had been brought right back to the start, and the only thing he could focus on was the finish line. The job needed to get done – no matter the cost. They were in the home stretch and the details had been finalized. The hired hands had been paid and all loose ends had been tied up.

Before readying himself for the final stage, Steve retrieved his cellphone, and made a call.

“How are things progressing?” Nick answered.

“As well as can be expected.”

“And the other matter?”

“Taken care of,” Steve replied succinctly. “She wasn’t useful.”

“Don’t get yourself into a situation you can’t walk away from,” Fury insisted. “Get the job done and get your ass back here where you belong – understood?”

“Understood.”

After agreeing to get in touch after he cleared customs, Fury signed off, and Steve headed to the hotel spa. The barber properly shortened his hair and trimmed his beard, but the man in the mirror reminded him too much of who he used to be, and while he didn’t much care for it, it was all part of the game.

Back up in his room, he showered, and continued to get ready. The evening’s battle dress consisted of a Burberry suit, highly-polished shoes, a vest, Glocks, a karambit, and a Ka-Bar. A notification from his phone indicated the car service he’d arranged was five minutes away, and once Steve ensured he had everything he needed for a quick getaway, he headed out.

The drive to Manhattan was a pain in the ass, not only because of traffic, but also because of the fundraiser. When Steve finally arrived at Tribeca 360, he was more than fashionably late, but still had time to get things done before his flight. The guard he’d paid off beforehand met him at the back entrance, which allowed him to bypass the metal detectors.

Glass of champagne in hand, he smoothed down his tie, and casually strolled along the outskirts of the carefully arranged tables. With a 360-degree view of the room, he was able to see downtown, historic Tribeca, and the Hudson River. Steve surveyed the auction display, where the master of ceremonies described the items up for bid, and observed most in attendance had their faces buried in their smartphones. While the bidding was being driven up, he maneuvered his way closer to the employee entrance on the north side. Another payoff, another easy entry, and he was in.

With the building’s floorplans memorized, Steve easily navigated his way through the maze of hallways until he reached the server room, and the tech who manned the area was absent as pre-arranged. After he double-checked the schematics on his phone, it was a small matter of a microchip and an activation code, and within seconds, security camera footage was erased and information was being siphoned.

Most people’s lives revolved around their phones, and now, every, single person connected to the network was feeding their personal data directly to Fury’s servers. When Steve received confirmation that the data was being transmitted, the countdown was on; the emergency exit door should’ve been propped open and the alarm deactivated, but when he reached it, it was shut, and the alarm was active. The microchip only allotted for five minutes of downtime on the cameras before they would automatically be turned back on, and he needed to get the hell out, or else risk being seen by security.

There were four other emergency exits, but he didn’t have time to check them, and that meant Steve was faced with two options: either go forward or retrace his steps. Both choices were less than desirable, but he knew if he triggered the alarm, the police would be called, and the surrounding area would most likely be shut down. Unwilling to risk being caught or hauled in for questioning, Steve made his way back, and managed to get out just before the timer on his phone indicated the cameras had gone live again.

Nearly everyone was on their feet, either drinking, dancing, or talking, which made it easier to blend in. Steve kept his head down and pretended to be focused on his phone as he weaved his way to the back entrance. Along the way, he pilfered a security badge, and used it to get through the side exit. He’d gotten a few steps away from the building and was headed toward his pick up vehicle when Bucky suddenly stepped out of an alleyway and right into his path.

Steve hesitated to reach for a weapon and was made to regret it.

A crackle and a buzz, followed by a paralyzing electric current that drove him to his knees. A sharp pinch, and then, the sting and side effects of a sedative as it was injected into his neck. He was dragged some distance before he was tossed into the trunk of an SUV, and the last thing Steve heard before he blacked out was a command that chilled him to the bone.

“Do what you want, but keep him alive,” Bucky instructed. “I want to take care of him myself.”

Chapter 7: Match

Everything: @jennmurawski13 @nerdy-bookworm-1998

Steve Rogers: @patzammit @hearttoearth The Boss of Brooklyn: @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety @captain-rogers-beard @lilliannaansalla

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semicolonthefifth · 4 years

Text

CROSS ch.1 - No Mercy

It’s barely past sundown over the red cliffs of Aurora, and the only lights to see for miles on end come from a bar a little off the Black Road. It ain’t the kind of place you come to stay and socialize, and it doesn’t possess the room to allow such in the first place. It’s a come-and-go sort of place, something the owners are quite proud of in fact

Sitting in the middle of some empty lot of dirt, the building is small enough enough to get in a good short walk around without feeling the least bit troubled. It’s a tight-fitting establishment. One third of the bar is used to store the stock; another third to serve it; and the rest for drinking. On the outside from its wooden walls hand all sorts of junk covering from inch to inch. Every single item hung there was savanged off the Road, left by the patrons to add their own little signature whenever the come to drink. Car rims; busted/shot signs; bottles hung on strings, and dozens of spent cartridges and shells. How it got started, nobody knows - yet it keeps going on and on.

The inside is much cleaner though, giving a more professional appearance. Despite the tight space, there’s some respectability in how empty the walls are of the junk that litter the outside. The only features that really decorate the bar is a small radio, and a shelf full of old magazines. A small part of the building houses all the drinkards that come, enough to house and serve maybe 10 to 13 men at the most. They’re separated from the rest of the building thanks to a long bartender’s table stretching from wall to wall - cutting a large portion off away from the front door.

From behind the bartender, the owner of this dive cleans a glass for the fifth time. A bit of an aged man, with sags of skin and a chin built like a brick; his black hair is oiled more from work than anything fancy, and his bartending uniform hangs off what meat is left in his body. He cleans the glass more so out of a reflex, with nothing else to do except to wait. It’s boring so far, with servings come by a long time away from each other. Meanwhile nothing else plays on the radio; the song, “No Mercy” by an Old Earth band once called The Stranglers, plays once more. It was recently recovered and brought to a station, and in celebration has been playing on repeat throughout the day, yesterday, and days since.

The current patrons don’t do much to liven up the place. Three men lay sprawled about, either against the bar or on the floor.

One man is on his fourth glass, his eyes all glazed and tired enough they show past through the bushiness of his brow and beard.

The other two men, much younger and livelier, keep on laughing at each other about a joke they can’t quite remember telling.

Towards the other end of the bar sits another man - far away from either the bartender or his patrons, his body up against a wall. He sits by the bar, with one hand on a glass and another tapping onto the table to tune of the song playing on the radio. He smiles, not as much as the livelier of the bunch on the other side, but he has vastly more energy than the drunkard.

He was a giant of a man, hard to miss were he not in his lonesome. The man measured a high 6 feet, closing in on 7. He was tanned a light dirty red, with a body that was muscular, with arms thicker than a man’s neck and with a broad chest that could dwarf most others; the stranger’s hands could wrap another man’s, and he looked enough like a wrestler that he’d likely break it with a grip. He dressed fairly casually: blue jean pants, lightly dirtied with red sand; a worn white shirt; and a dark blue vest with cut, tattered sleeves. His boots were large and black, and his belt possessed a worn out buckle. Wrapped around his long blonde hair was a bright red bandana, neatly tied with a knot facing back. Lastly, across his face were a set of black-tinted goggles, barely concealing a relaxed set of eyes which had a nice green hue.

All the man does is tap his fingers to the song, with 6 empty glasses of beer neatly standing around. He nods his head to the radio’s tune, showing no sign of stopping.

When the song ends, it eventually repeats once more. Then once that song comes on again, the man starts to sing the lyrics.

“Every day you’re working like a slave-- Sweating buckets hoping that you get it right.” He casually muses, singing softly and completely off memory at this point. For a man of his size, his voice is more youthful and chipper than what most would expect.

“Will it be as tough tomorrow-- Have to wait and see-- Life shows no mercy…”

He takes another sip of his drink, sapping it dry before sliding it with the rest. He doesn’t say a word, but the message is clear for the bartender. Without any provocation, the owner of the bar quickly knocks the bottle cap off a new bottle of beer and slides the newly opened drink towards the stranger. It’s grabbed, and no time is wasted before that too is being drunk - only difference being that the bartender finally has something to say.

“Oi friend”, he begins, with a dry and low voice. “That be your 8th now. Ain’t ya uh… feeling it by now?”

The man in the red bandana shakes his head a bit, partially out of synch to the radio’s tune. He takes a swig, and not once does his movement lose its energy; he neither goes off the beat or show even an inch of a drunken sway.

The bartender continues, “Well, you mind switching up the channels then? Looks to me that they ain’t changing the tunes for awhile. Better we listen to something different every now and then, don’t you think?”

Once more the man shakes his head, though he is polite to speak this time around.

“Sorry, no can do.” He replies, calm and casual, “Gonna be listening to this while I’m here. Besides, it won’t be too long now. Give me about… two, maybe three more plays, I think I’ll be leaving around that time.”

“Bah!” The bartender mutters as he turns to his glass cleaning. ‘Doesn’t matter much anyhow’, he thinks to himself. So long as the man keeps paying for his drinks, he’s free to listen to the radio for as much as he wants. By now the song had gotten a bit annoying for the owner, maybe not as strongly for the other patrons, but it’s still better than having it be utterly silent.

Eventually this same song reaches its conclusion, and once more it repeats. No one says a word about it then. Most are too lazy or uncaring, meanwhile the bartender is content in getting his dues. Meanwhile the only guy really giving it a listen isn’t too interested in singing it from beginning to end. He continues to drink and drink, often times casting a glance towards the front door. Every moment he side-eyes the door, enough to make the bartender think. Still, the way he just casually waits the day doesn’t draw anything work getting suspicious over. For the time being, all the stranger does is sit, drink, wait, and listen to his tunes.

Soon enough the last repetition starts to end - getting in on its final chorus.

Right then a new patron comes walking through the door all of a sudden. It was a punk-looking fellow, with pale-white skin, bald on the head and with very little fat on his bones save for the tight musculature of his body. His chest was bare except for black leather jacket, left open to show off a set of tattoos blaring the sign and writing of the numbers “66”. Hung under his loose, dirty leggings was a pistol shoved barrel down his pants line - it appears custom-made, with a silver colored bodey and black trimmings cut into it. It gave a slight noticeable rattle as he moved, likely from his exaggerated motions.

He gives a thuggish advance towards the bar, immediately grabbing a seat and giving the table a strong smack against its surface. He shouts out, with a crude tone and a set of yellowed teeth,

“Hey yo bar’man! Gimme one ‘em black bottles in the back there! One with tha’ green label!” He shows a toothy, mouth-breathing scowl. Bottom lip hanging, his browless eyes lazily directed at the owner.

Greatly annoyed but calm, the bartender reaches for the bottle, all the while the punk gives off wet coughs and mutters of crude cussing. Short of simply handing it over, the owner instead grabs hold of the bottle and stops right before the new bar patron. It takes a moment for the punk to register what’s going on, blinking slowly at the owner. He leans close to the table, bringing his hand up as he groans, “Ya stupid or somethin’?”

A short pause of silence occurs between them both, with the bar owner casting a casual glare down at the punk. Meanwhile the punk gives a light, arrogant chuckle, getting nothing still. The situation escalates when the punk then brings his other hand over towards his gun, letting his fingers jokingly hover in place around the pistol’s grip. Still the bartender doesn’t flinch, having been through this same song and dance far too many times in his life.

Eventually the punk finally gets what’s going on, and so he brings his gun hand towards his pockets. After some rummaging about he produces some creds - bills proudly blaring the green, blue and gold colored Earth on front. They are dirty and worn out, but they suffice.

Slowly he brings the currency up over the bar, only to then lunge his hand forward and throw it all onto the floor behind the table. He lets off an obnoxiously sharp and breathy cackle, shooting a cocky grin all the while. Yet again the bartender doesn’t reach. Instead, the bartender takes the bottle and - with masterful action - pries the bottle cap off with a hard swing against the table before then slamming down onto the top. Bits of froth and dark-green liquid spray around, spraying onto the punk and his jacket.

The punk jumps back a bit, coughing harshly from catching the cackling in his throat from surprise. He shouts out some profanity as he shakes the bits of beer dribbling over his attire. His eyes shoot an angered glare at the owner, only to be met with a more intense, stonier stare in return. Outmatched, the punk slinks back into his seat and proceeds to take a drink, having already lost an 8th of its contents.

Everyone else in the bar had watched the entire exchange, though largely done nothing. The trio of drunkards awoke a bit, but had enough trust in the barkeep to go back to their usual business. The only man to really take notice of it all was the stranger in the red bandana, who was sporting a cheery smile upon seeing the punk. The stranger just kept looking right at that man, the smile of his coming off much brighter than he’s been this entire time. Then, to compound this change in his emotion, the song repeats once more on the radio.

The opening guitar comes in, and when it does so it perks the punk’s ears almost instantly. He doesn’t react more until about the song is about 10 seconds in, as the instrumentals pick up to a catching beat. The punk starts to bob his head slowly, nodding relatively faster by each passing second as the song proceeds. He smiles, almost genuinely in fact. 30 seconds in and his body has already begun to sway to tunes excitedly. Then, finally, the lyrics come up - and right then he matches up with them better than the stranger in the red bandana ever could after repeated listenings.

Loudly he sings, though still quite poorly,

“Every day you’re workin’ like a slave”

“Sweatin’ buckets hoping that ya’ get it right…”

“Will it be as tough tomorrow; have to wait and see.”

“Life shows no mercy!”

Then as if on queue the stranger rises from his seat, taking his half-drunken bottle with him. Slowly he walks, moving right behind the punk, all the while he girates his hips and shoulders to the song’s groove. He almost matches the newcomer’s enthusiasm, with both men seemingly having the time of their lives with this one song. All the while the bartender rolls his eyes at them both, as his hands keep to their own work.

By the time the stranger gets close, the two are in synch with each other’s singing.

“Every day your love is getting warmer.”

“Just look at her and love her did ya’ get it right.”

“Will she soothe your brow with kisses; only meant for thee…”

“She’ll show no mercy… she’ll show no mercy.”

The stranger slows down once he’s perfectly in place, standing right behind the punk. While the punk’s absorbed into the music, the stranger lifts his drink and takes a long swig - downing every last drop in one shot. Meanwhile the punk doesn’t notice one bit, as at that point he’s entirely too into the song to be aware of what’s happening. At this point he sings more proudly then, bellowing the lyrics louder than the radio itself. He sings, all while the stranger drinks one final drop.

“And when you hold her close to you!”

The last drop falls to the stranger’s tongue.

“Just when you’re feeling good it’s true!”

He inspects the glass, making sure it’s truly empty.

“Life shows no mercy!”

He raises it…

“Life shows no mercy!”

Higher up the air than he possibly can.

“LIFE SHOWS NO MERCY!”

His muscles tense up!

“LIFE SHOWS NO MERCYYYYY--”

CLASH! Glass shatters all around! Hundreds of pointed, twinkling shards rain across the bar, with some sticking into the punk’s head. Blood starts to drip from freshly cut wounds, with droplets sprinkling onto the ground from the impact. He recoils fiercely in pain, twisting his body around from every which way - his mind and mouth screaming to register where the attack came from. His arms flail wildly until they make contact with the nearest person, and right after he throws his body at them.

The stranger is taken a bit by surprise, but grabs at the bloodied man as best he could. The two slam into a wall opposite to the bar - the punk’s chair scraping onto the floor as it’s knocked aside. As the two fight, the punk develops enough of an awareness of the situation to grab and claw at his attacker’s face. Meanwhile the stranger tries to stop him, knocking his grabs from left to right. With his attempts showing no success, the punk tries to move one hand down - the pain going away enough for him to remember the gun down his pants. This puts the stranger into a panic, as he tries to stop the grab amid their fighting.

Right then the bar becomes a chaotic mess. The radio keeps loudly playing its music as the pair fight each other. From his station, the bartender takes notice and starts yelling for the two to stop. He screams aloud, all the while slapping a palm heavily against the bar surface. The once sleeping patrons all wake in unison - some start to hurriedly move away from the fight so as not to get caught in the conflict.

The two men wrestle each other, with the leaner punk being the more violent and crazed of them both. In one bad move, the stranger fails to catch a swing from all the arm flailing, as the punk puts a pointed grip against the man’s neck. He flinches, letting out a pained gasp as the punk’s crude, long nails dig into the stranger’s thick neck. In response, the stranger tries to pry the hand off as quickly as he can with one free hand - all while the other grips the punk’s wrist as he manages to finally grab the gun. They struggle and pull at one another, each man groaning from the intensity before, all of a sudden, the punk wedges his finger into the trigger and pulls.

BANG! A loud, piercing sound rings across the bar!

The bartender ducks before crawling away to the back. The other patrons get frightened by the shot, diving away and trying to find cover as best they could. The gun shot pierces into the floorboards by the stranger’s feet, shocking him enough to make him trip over himself.

He falls, bringing the punk down with him onto the hardwood floor. When they hit the ground, both of their grips let loose - and the two are let go from one another. The stranger coughs and quickly inspects his neck wounds, as small as they are. Meanwhile the punk crawls away and tries to get up; he slips onto the floor a couple times before only managing to sit up from the floor. The stranger hears a click and looks up, seeing the punk - laid against the floor, with a pistol ready to fire.

The punk cackles, with blood dribbling down over his face from his head wounds. His expression is maniacal, with his yellowed teeth shown clear in his grin. “FUCK YOU… YA PRICK!” He growls and spits, his maddened eyes glaring down at the stranger.

Without a second thought, the stranger reers his leg back and quickly gives a kick to the gun! He hits it right as the punk pulls the trigger.

It is forced downward!

BANG!

Blood splatters across the floor!

A shrill scream drowns out all other sound, as the punk is utterly red-faced from how much he’s crying out from the pain. He brings his hands down to his groin, shaking in pain as the blood seemed to have come from a fresh gunshot to the groin.

He keeps screaming, louder and louder, as the stranger stares in absolute shock from what just happened. Without hesitation, he goes for the punk’s bottle from the bar and, with a tremendous swing, slams it down upon the punk’s face. With one strong smack, the bottle shatters, cutting into the punk’s cheeks and brow - and with that he is knocked out, and the screaming stops.

The stranger pants with soft yet pained breathing. Everyone else looks traumatized, with all eyes on the stranger and the knocked out, bloodied punk across from him. The radio was still playing, with the song nearing its end. Slowly, the stranger get up off the ground to collect his wits. He moves away enough to reach for the radio so that he may finally turn it off.

Once the music stops, the stranger lets out a tremendous sigh of relief. However the calm doesn’t last long, as the bartender returns from his hideaway, bringing with him a shotgun pointed right at the stranger who started all this. His hands are shaky, his aim uneasy, but he is close enough to get a good shot if he did so.

“Alright friend…” He begins, as calmly as he could. The tension was obvious in the slight graveling of his voice. “Hands up, and tell me - right now - what the fuck was that all about.

The stranger with the red bandana doesn’t turn his head to look at the bartender, instead first doing as commanded. With a hand slowly raised up, the other moves towards his vest pocket to produce a folded up piece of paper. He very carefully moves up further from the ground, standing up as best he could so that he may walk. With a gentle turn of his body, he faces the bar owner - eye to eye, only made possible by the stranger bending down slightly to his level. With as straight a face he could pull, the stranger moves closer to the bar before laying the paper onto the surface and then sliding it with a light push of his fingers.

Finally, the stranger answers, “Just a job is all…”

Not wanting to take a risk, the owner gives a not to a nearby patron to reach over and read the paper while he keeps his aim onto the stranger. The most able-minded and awake of his guests takes the job of reading it aloud. His voice gives off how dull the patron was, but he gave enough of a clear pronunciation to get the message across.

“This uh…” He begins, giving each word some emphasis, “This doc-u-ment, declares the official all-ow-ence and agreements between the parties of the… United Re-pub-lic of Earth and the holder of the contract. Said holder is free, within the laws of the state, to pursue the bounty target of one… Sid Leibers, AKA ‘Sid Sixty-Six’. Wanted for 7 counts of murder, 2 counts of arson, and the destruction of a village storage depot with stock. Bounty is armed and e-xtrem-ley dangerous. Bringing the target alive to an off-ic-ia-ted bounty office will grant the holder…”

The reader takes a pause, double-checking the paper before resuming, “...will grant the holder a reward of 850 creds.”

Immediately the bar-owner snatches the paper, quickly stepping back so he may safely confirm it while keeping the gun at the ready. He gives it a twice-over before finally lowering his gun down. Right then the stranger moves over to check on the man now confirmed to be Sid, making sure he was still breathing. With the man alive but knocked out, the stranger hauls him up off the ground and over his shoulder, before collecting the gun by shoving it under his belt. As he gets up, the owner shouts aloud a question.

“No hold on, wait a minute. This here paper ain’t go no picture or description, so how the hell you this is your guy?”

The stranger with the red bandana reaches out for the contract, all the while he explains as calmly as he could.

“They gave me enough to work with: bald; thin; the tattoos were a big clue. I’ll admit, it really didn’t click until he started listening to the music. On my way over I checked the places where the attacks happened, and nearly everyone there said he was listening to that one song a lot. Sung it too. All I had to do was give a tip to the station to play it enough times, and wait him out at the nearest bar on his path. Then I just to see how reacted to the radio, and right there I knew it was the guy.”

With the answer provided, the bar owner hesitently returns the paper back to its owner. The man starts leaving, but not before the owner chimes in with a final note.

He speaks more calmly, all of a sudden, and says to the man, “Guess I outta owe ya, next time. Capturin’ a wanted man and all that. Just want to know though, if you don’t mind… what’re your name?”

A smile appears on the stranger’s face, as he looks back towards the owner. Then, proudly, he answers back,

“Jason. Jason Cross, sir.”

Pleased, the owner retrieved a piece of paper from under the bar and, with a pen, begins to write down the name. All the while he says, “J-A-S-O-N C-R-O-S-S… Yup, that’ll do it. Thank you very much.”

He then adds, “and now you’re banned.”

Jason’s smile shrinks almost instantly, and at that point he just turns away and starts heading out from the bad. As he’s walking hurriedly, he hears the bar owner yell out furiously, “and don’t let me catch you in this bar again, ya hear?! Next time, it’ll be YOUR fucking head I smash a glass over, ya damn jackass!”

No time is wasted as Jason rushes over to his car - a busted up, old rusted piece of junk that’s seen more than its fair share of time on the road. He opens the trunk and throws Sid inside before slamming it shut. Frustrated, he gets into the driver’s seat and slams his foot to the pedal, quickly rushing on over the dirt and towards the grand stretch that is the Black Road - and as well, leaving the bar for good.

On the drive Jason thinks to himself. ‘Shame, really. That place had the best drinks for miles - lots and lots of miles’. All Jason could do was drive, in the dark cold night along the Black Road.

#original work #my writing #CROSS #KRONOS #original story #eyeofsemicolon #semicolonthefifth #the5thsemicolon #science fiction #western #writing #short story #Jason Cross

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whiskynottea · 6 years

Text

An interruption in the 1st law of thermodynamics.

Previously, Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33

AO3

@wunderlichkind, thank you so much for being my beta for this chapter!! ❤️

Chapter 34. Lingering Smiles

Lingering smiles are sly creatures. Reluctant to leave your face, they tug up the corners of your lips until you’ve forgotten they’re there.

Clueless, you keep going on, proud that no one can understand what’s hiding under your skin; until that lingering smile betrays you, disclosing information you believed camouflaged.

Jamie had been gone by the time Lamb came back home, but a soft smile was still changing the shape of my mouth, lighting up my face. Lamb’s glance traveled from me to the chemistry book in my hands, and a raised eyebrow accompanied the glint in his eye. I didn’t know what he’d thought or had guessed, for he didn’t talk – thank God. He leaned over me and planted a kiss on my forehead, saying, “Hello, lamb.”

His hands ruffled my hair, something that he hadn’t done in years. “Welcome home!” I said, and swallowed my self-consciousness as I sat up on the couch, carefully placing the book on the coffee table. Lamb moved to the kitchen, opened the fridge absentmindedly, and stared at its contents.

“How’s it going?” he asked in a casual tone and nodded to the coffee table. The air tightly held in my lungs left my chest in a sigh of relief, and I started talking about my studying plans, thankful for escaping an awkward conversation.

Two days later, I found out that I wasn’t the only one who couldn’t stop smiling on Friday.

“So?” Jenny appeared next to me the moment I entered the courtyard, pursing her lips as if she was trying to keep tons of questions inside.

“Good morning to you too, Jenny,” I said with a yawn. I’d overslept after staying up until late to study, and all I wanted was to get back into my bed. My pillow… my soft duvet… I had already closed my eyes, stretching my neck, when Jenny’s voice dragged me out of my dreams again.

“Good morning, Claire. So?”

“So what?” I opened my eyes to see Jenny Fraser looking back at me, expectant, her blue eyes slanted from the slight smile on her lips.

“So, my wee dolt of a brother came back home on Friday night, wi’ the broadest smile I’ve ever seen on him.”

“Did he now?” I asked, feigning ignorance, while a similar smile was curving up my lips.

“Mmmph,” Jenny rolled her eyes, but decided that the Scottish noise wasn’t enough – she needed to say more. “Claire Beauchamp, d’ye think I’m a bloody fool? I know ye two did it! I was almost sure when I saw my brother, but I actually know it because Jamie told Ian!”

“He did? Oh, cool. Glad we are all up to date then.” I looked around, searching for Jamie, not sure what I’d do to him once I found him. Ian was his best friend – of course he’d tell him. “Oh, wait.” I felt my eyes go wide and turned my attention to Jenny again. “Does Murtagh know, too?”

“Ah, I dinna ken. I guess so. When Jamie arrived, Murtagh let out one of his unexplained grunts, shaking his head, but I think I saw him smiling under that thick castaway beard of his.”

Oh my God, Jamie. You could have at least tried to be a little less obvious.

“He couldn’t help it, Claire,” Jenny said as if she’d read my thoughts. “The lad was positively shining.”

“So, what else do you know?” I asked, wondering whether I really wanted to know the answer.

“Not much. No details, at least… Just some rubbish about ‘making love’ – as he called it – being magical and him being the happiest man in the world.” Jenny batted her eyelashes, mocking her brother, but she suddenly stopped. “You did use a condom, right?”

“We did,” I rolled my eyes, but my cheeks soon burned crimson with the memory of how we came to use that first condom.

“Oh my god, you’re blushing, too! Ian told me Jamie’s face looked like a ripe tomato when he told him ye’d had sex! You’re both insufferable.” Jenny linked her arm with mine through mine and we started walking towards the building.

“So how was it?” she asked, he voice now caring and serious.

“Good,” I said, nodding to emphasize the single word that didn’t even begin to encompass the experience; something surpassing words and meanings.

“Just good?” Jenny asked, worried. “Did he do anything stupid or – ”

“No, no. Jamie was perfect,” I interrupted her, smiling at the thought of him. I hadn’t lied, he was everything I could ever ask for. “The first time was okay, I guess… The – ”

“The first time?” It was Jenny’s turn to interrupt me, and I could hear the smile in her voice. “How many times did ye bang? Couldn’t stop after trying it, huh?”

I chuckled and shrugged. “Well, the second time was more than fun… I can’t even imagine how good it’s going to be from now on.”

“Good… Fun… Are you going to tell me the truth, Claire, or am I just losing my time here instead of… doing nothing but wait in the classroom?”

We both laughed, and I felt an easiness softly spreading around us like a comfortable, warm sheet in the crisp winter morning. It kept the emotions safe, close to our bodies, protecting them from roaming freely around the courtyard.

“It was amazing, Jenny.” I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath. “The way we felt, the way we connected, it was so different from anything else. We were really one.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Jenny said and sighed, squeezing my arm. “Lucky you!” she continued with a pout. “And I’m with Ian for so long and still nothing.”

“Oh come on… You never know when it’s going to happen. It came out of the blue for us – and we had the whole place to ourselves. It’ll happen, don’t worry.”

“Yeah, sure. Ian thinks too much, in my opinion. He keeps saying that we can’t just do it and keep living under the same roof with Murtagh and Jamie!”

“It’ll be weird, you think?”

“Hmm, I dinna ken. But Ian definitely thinks so. I’m sure he’s afraid of Murtagh. Deflowering his niece and all.”

“Deflowering!” I burst out laughing.

“Ridiculous, aye?” Jenny joined me. “Anyway! I’m so happy for you two!”

“Thanks Jenny. Really.” We were just outside my classroom and I turned to face her, wondering how this amazing woman could be my friend. “I love your brother, you know that.”

“I do.” She smiled broadly and winked at me.

“Where is he, by the way?” I asked, while searching around for a glimpse of him.

“Monday.”

“Oh… Right.”

Monday. Morning session in the pool.

A few hours later, I saw Jamie Fraser entering the cafeteria and stopping short by the door, gazing around.

Searching for me.

I was sitting at our usual table, and his eyes didn’t leave mine as he was walking towards me, the curls on his forehead bouncing slightly with each step, his lopsided grin making me go weak in the knees. It was a good thing I was sitting down already. I smiled at him with my mouth closed, full of chicken, and my heart full of love.

He was like oxygen. Breathing him in was necessary to keep me alive. Having more of him made me light-headed; lost in a haze, never wanting to find my way out. It was always different between us, but this time I felt like nothing could break the bond we’d created. Something made by the two of us, for the two of us.

“I’ve missed ye so much,” he murmured when he sat next to me, pulling me to him and placing a kiss between my curls.

“Mmm, I missed you too.” I inhaled him deeply, his body’s musky scent mixing with the pear, nutmeg and driftwood of his shower gel - not that I could recognize the odors, but I’d read the description on the bottle when we bought it together.

“I’m sorry I couldna see ye during the weekend, Sassenach,” he said, lowering his head as his forehead came to meet mine.

“Power cleaning – I know.” I kissed the tip of his long, straight nose and he raised his head to look at me. “Is the house perfect to accept the Queen, now?”

Jamie chuckled, a hand moving from my hip to reach for my food. “Aye, ‘tis. Though I dinna think it’s the Queen. I’m pretty sure Murtagh regrets having his house full of people, sometimes.”

“He has someone?” I asked, raising both eyebrows and feeling happy for this grump, wonderful man.

“Mmm, I think so,” Jamie said, wiggling his eyebrows. “What are we eating?”

“I am eating chicken wings, Jamie Fraser, and you take your hands off my food!”

“Ye’re not going to share a wee bite wi’ the love of yer life?”

“The love of my life?” I asked, feigning shock. “That sure, are you?”

Jamie looked at me, seemingly deeply betrayed with a pout on his face and his eyebrows dropping low above his clear blue eyes. Before I had enough time to consider if he had taken my words to heart, a cocky smile changed his demeanor completely. “Aye,” he said, and his hand on my waist gripped me tighter. “And I intend to prove that to ye every day, until ye’re finally convinced as well.”

“Well now, that’s rather interesting.” Placing my elbow on the table, I cupped my cheek, ardently looking at him.

“I canna do it if ye dinna feed me, Sassenach.”

I sighed dramatically and pushed my plate towards him. “Here you are, my poor, starving lad.”

He gave me a cheeky grin and dipped a chicken wing in the tabasco sauce, almost emptying the container. “Hey!”

“You wanted that?” he asked, chewing. “Come, take some back.” He pursed his lips, full of tabasco sauce, and leaned in to kiss me.

“You fool,” I laughed and pushed him away. “Take it. It’s all yours.”

He licked his lips and came closer to me, bending his head so I could almost taste the tabasco on his breath. “I can’t stop thinking of you – of us.”

His husky words became images, dancing in my mind, and my body tightened in response. I breathed in deeply and gulped, trying to find something coherent to say in reply, but not a single thought in my mind made sense. Instead, I covered the small distance between us and kissed him, trying to share the fire he’d lit inside me before it would eat me whole.

“I didna ken that hot sauce is an aphrodisiac, Angus. D’ye think ‘twas written in Cosmo?” Rupert’s voice carried from a few feet behind us and we broke apart with silly, shy smiles on our throbbing lips.

“Ye’re the one who reads Cosmo, Rup,” Angus replied as he sat down across from us, but neither Jamie nor I had turned to look at him, still suspended between our precious bubble and reality. Angus lowered his voice and coughed, trying to sound more sophisticated. “Actually, tabasco peppers are grown in Mexico, not Africa.”

“What?” Rupert’s confusion was obvious in his voice. Jamie and I turned our heads in slow motion to face them, our initial frowns gradually transforming into wide smiles with understanding dawning on us.

“Aphro-disiac?” I asked, trying to suppress my laughter, already feeling Jamie’s body shaking against mine.

The next moment all three of us burst into laughing, with Angus looking at us confused. His furrowed eyebrows and the questioning grimace on his face made it even more difficult for us to stop. I had tears rolling down my cheeks when Ian and Jenny arrived at the table.

“What?” Ian asked, only to trigger another episode of uncontrollable, boisterous laughter.

I was in my room, with my chemistry notes spread over every inch of my desk, when my mind traveled back to the cafeteria and Angus’ dumbfoundedness. Chuckling quietly to myself, I did a quick search on google and reached for my phone.

Sassenach: So it seems that tabasco sauce actually is an aphrodisiac! And I found a Tabasco Chocolate Fudge Pudding recipe that we can keep in mind…

I turned my attention back to my notes, trying to focus, but the letters blurred, and the lines danced in front of my eyes. My gaze trailed back on my phone. No response from Jamie.

Sassenach: Hmm… Are you thinking about the pudding or would you rather have the chicken wings?

I put my phone to the side and grabbed my pen, deciding to concentrate on my homework on redox. A moment later, I reached for my phone again, realizing that he hadn’t been online for the last 30 minutes. Once in Oxford, I thought longingly, we wouldn’t have to deal with nights apart. We’d sleep together every night, whispering goodnights into each other’s skin with our eyes already closed.

But before that, we had our Easter holidays to look forward to. After Jamie’s win in the Scottish Schools championship, his coach had asked him to stay in Edinburgh during the break, not to miss his training sessions - which meant that he would stay with me, instead of going to Lallybroch for two weeks. And with Murtagh, Ian and Jenny gone, we’d have his place all to ourselves.

I looked again at my phone’s black screen. I missed him.

Sassenach: Do you think I can come to your place to study chemistry during the break? We could study together? 😎 😏

Sassenach: Where are you?!?!

It had been too long. It never took Jamie more than fifteen minutes to text me back. Moving from my desk, I lay in my bed and turned up the volume on my phone to distract myself.

“So if you're lonely

You know I'm here waiting for you

I'm just a cross hair

I'm just a shot away from you

And if you leave here

You leave me broken, shattered, I lie

I'm just a cross hair

I'm just a shot, then we can die”

Sassenach: Baby?

He must have fallen asleep. There was no other explanation.

I was already half asleep myself, when fifteen minutes later, my phone buzzed against my pillow. In my rush to grab it, I hit it with my hand, making it fly halfway across my room, where it hit a chair and fell down on the carpet.

I rushed to retrieve it, praying not to see the screen broken. Making sure that it wasn’t, I let out the breath caught in my chest and unlocked the phone, fully awake again.

Scot: I’m here.

Sassenach: You okay?

Scot: No.

With my heart in my mouth once again, I dialled his number and waited, only to have him reject my call.

Scot: Can’t speak right now.

Sitting on my bed, I texted him back.

Sassenach: What happened?

The next messages came one after the other, in a success that made my teeth borrow deep into my lip.

Scot: Spoke with my da.

Scot: I’m not allowed to stay in Edinburgh during the break.

Scot: He said, I’ll have to stop swimming if my grades don’t get better.

Scot: MacMahon called him today.

Sassenach: MacMahon? Why?

I couldn’t understand why our maths teacher had called Jamie’s da, instead of sending a formal letter to him – no matter the reason behind sending the letter.

Scot: They know each other.

Sassenach: And?

Scot: He told him that I failed the last test.

Sassenach: Shit. I’m sorry, Jamie.

Sassenach: But come on! Failing one test doesn’t mean you have to stop swimming!

Scot: Tell that to my da.

Sassenach: It’s just one test! You’ll do better next time. I’ll help you!

Without waiting for a response, I texted again, typing words I’d already sent earlier, but truly meaning them this time.

Sassenach: We’ll study together.

Scot: I’m going to bed, babe.

Sassenach: Jamie…

Scot: Sorry to fuck up our holiday plans.

Sassenach: Stop this!

Sassenach: You didn’t fuck anything up.

Scot: I’m going to Lallybroch for the break.

Sassenach: It’s just two weeks – and you can study there! Then you’ll be back, and you’ll rock both tests and the races.

Scot: I don’t know if I can. It’s getting too much.

Sassenach: Can I call you?

Scot: Ian is in the room. We’ll talk tomorrow, Sassenach.

Sassenach: Okay. We’ll fix this, Jamie. Promise. Sending a huuuuuuuuuuuge hug.

Scot: I wish you were here.

Sassenach: Me too.

Lingering smiles are sly creatures. When you think them gone, they’re still there; when you need them most, they disappear.

Chapter 35

#thermodynamics #The first law of thermodynamics #high school au #jamie x claire #outlander fanfiction #outlander fanfic #Franz Ferdinard #take me out

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bewarethelivingwra · 5 years

Text

Time (Juel)

Juel Browning rarely had much interaction with the families tied closest to hers. Landry and his twin, his daughter, and all that, she saw them on occasion. Her brother and his love, Gia, about as rare if not more so. Gia's family was even more elusive, except in the case of mail, though it had been a while since Juel had anything handed to her surreptitiously while taking time off in Orgrimmar.

Until she did.

Paege Ravenswood-Gladwynn, Gia's oldest sister who was close to Juel's own age when she had died, passed by Juel on her way into the inn. She tipped Juel a slight nod, holding out a sealed envelope just within reach of Juel's hand as she passed. Juel returned her nod wordlessly, reaching to take the letter as casually as possible, before stuffing it into her bag to look over in private. This mail was always considered forbidden, and to sit openly in Orgrimmar reading such a thing would be foolhardy indeed. Instead, she made her way to a less crowded area before sitting down to break the seal and read.

She immediately recognized the tight yet flowing script of her mother, and her hand went to her mouth, trying to suppress tears from bubbling up. It had been a while since she had seen her, and her mother was the only who truly knew everything that had happened since Juel was raised. However, she knew this letter was likely to be much more cheerful, as she also knew her mother had arranged to meet Gru'sta before, and he had told her things had gone well.

Dearest Juel,

I hope this letter finds you as well as you can be, though I'm certain it will, considering I just got the news of your engagement. From the horse's mouth, no less! Gru'sta is a lovely fellow, and it seems he has overcome even more than our family has over the years, without the comfort of second chances such as you and your siblings have had. Even so, he seems so trusting and open and rather upbeat. I can see how he was the one to break down all of those walls you had been putting up before your death.

I would hope to see you soon as possible in Dalaran, as it seems we have some catching up to do. I've been staying there for a week or so, just getting a break from Stormwind and the folks who still look down upon the poor widow with no children. If they only knew, hm?

Love always,

Mother

Juel smiled to herself, holding the letter at least twice as long as it had taken her to read before tucking it back into the envelope and into her bag.

“No time like the present,” she said quietly to no one in particular, before securing a quick flight home to clean up and change to then find her way to Dalaran.

The city was much calmer that it had been in months previous, with mostly those who called the place home or those in study roaming about. The Ledgerdemain wasn't even all that populated, due to the oddness of the hour. Ignoring the expression on the face of the innkeeper, Juel gave her a winning smile, asking if she knew the location of Dahlia Browning. The innkeeper, a human female, gave her a once over, as if her opinion truly mattered, then told Juel to wait before ascending the stairs.

Juel found a table tucked out of the way near a wall and sat, grateful for once for there being chairs to sit in instead of a dusty wooden floor. She chuckled quietly (lest she be thought crazy for laughing out loud to herself) at just how easy it had been to get used to the orcish city after being in human ones with more creature comforts. Her glowing golden eyes were trained on the only stairs from the inn rooms above as she nearly trembled with excitement over seeing her mother and sharing her news personally.

The innkeeper didn't even lead Dahlia over to Juel, just cast an annoyed look her way before going over to the bar to whisper with the barkeep. Juel shook her head at that, but her annoyance was broken immediately by her diminutive mother walking over with a wide smile and open arms.

She's so tiny, Juel thought as she wrapped her arms around her mother, still over half a foot in height shorter. Juel couldn't resist bowing her head, resting her face against the top of her mother's more silvery head. And she still smells of the lavender sachets she used on all of our clothes when we were small...

With one more good squeeze around Juel's unusually small waist, Dahlia pulled back to arms length, smiling girlishly up at her eldest. Juel laughed, still finding it amusing how much she and Divinia looked alike, only aged very differently.

“Love looks good on you,” Dahlia said with a laugh of her own before breaking away so both could sit at the table. No one approached asking about orders, but that was nothing out of the ordinary for Juel. Even in Horde taverns, she was ignored in such a way. It only bothered her that it passed on to her mother now, who may actually want something to eat or drink.

“I hear you had a visitor,” Juel said with a tight little smile. Her mother held her own, giving Juel a slight nod.

“He seems wonderful,” Dahlia said. “I was a little startled at first, considering...” She gestured to herself and Juel had to laugh. While Gru'sta dwarfed her even at her height, he must've been really intimidating at first for Dahlia, as short as she was. “But he was perfectly respectful. Even brought flowers.”

Dahlia shook her head, the smile still on her face. “He's brought you out of your shell, and you seem to have salved his wounds.” Juel tilted her head at that for a moment before realizing her mother must've read him. It was an ability only she and Divinia shared, at least within their family. She wondered just what her mother had seen when she did it, and if Gru'sta had caught on to what was happening. It didn't hurt, Juel knew. It was, in fact, rather calming, but invasive, nonetheless. Had she seen things in his past Juel didn't even know? She knew better than to pry. He'd tell her what he wanted to when the time came. There was little that could be done to damage her perception of him.

“I know a little of his family before, of their deaths,” Juel said. “He lives with a great deal of guilt for being the only to survive the ordeal. It comes up on occasion, but much less frequently of late.”

Dahlia nodded, her smile returning, though a bit more solemn. “I understand him almost completely.” It dawned on Juel then that they did have that in common, though Dahlia had the luxury of her children still being around, even if Isaac, her husband and Juel's father, was not. Dahlia reached across the table then, under the guise of looking at the ring on Juel's finger, when Juel knew she was likely being read. Juel had to clear her thoughts a bit, as her mind had wandered toward the many scars he had, the ones he had pointed out as being from that fateful day, as well as ones from his previous mate, larger than any Juel would ever make. Dahlia's pale brows rose and Juel startled. Dahlia turned her attention to Juel's ring.

“He made this?” she asked, sounding incredulous, tilting her eldest daughter's cool, slim hand this way and that in admiration. “So small for one with such large hands.”

Juel couldn't keep her mind clear at that, and her mother chuckled, finally releasing her. Juel worried about exactly what imagery her mother had picked up from her, but Dahlia said nothing.

“He is...full of surprises,” Juel said, a coy smile couched upon her lips. “I'm still curious, who told you? I was wondering how you knew to contact him.”

Dahlia sat back in her seat. “Your brother. Apparently your fellow is well versed in human tradition. Without....without your father, he is closest to ask permission to ask you to wed. Mal's letter was a glowing recommendation, but I still had to see for myself, as safely as I could. For all of you.” Juel nodded. “He...had an unusual upbringing. Once I've not been fully privy to as yet, but I hate to pry.”

“He speaks perfectly clear common,” Dahlia added. “I'm sure there are some that do, especially as many times as the Alliance and Horde have had to work together, but not all slip into it as if they are slipping into a warm bath, or worn clothing. He has a grasp of nuance not seen in those who just need enough to communicate on a battlefield.”

Juel nodded wordlessly, her mind reeling with questions, the timing for which never seemed to be right to ask. “He had dealt with many races when he was still sailing,” she said quietly. Dahlia nodded.

“I believe, if he was alive, your father would like him,” Dahlia added, turning to dig into her bag for a moment. “And he would have thousands of questions of his own for him as well.” Dahlia turned back to the table, a small velvet pouch in hand, as she took Juel's other hand this time. Juel had to clear her mind again, trying to keep her mother from seeing things no mother really wanted to see of her daughter, though Dahlia only grinned a little and released her. “Young love,” she chuckled. “Much better than the visions before,” she added, and Juel looked down at the table. When they had first spoke, ages ago when things were less taboo, her mother had seen everything she had gone through previously – a little good and mostly bad – and it had hit her mother hard to see how her eldest had suffered. Things, however, had changed greatly. Dahlia set the pouch on Juel's upturned hand once she had released her, and Juel looked at it in confusion. “I believe Isaac would want him to have this.”

Juel undid the drawstring that held it closed, reaching in with nervous fingers. She had a guess as to what it was, and it filled her with the strangest memories she hadn't thought of in years – sailing between Stormwind and Capital City, the wind on the deck whipping both her and her father's deep red hair. His smile behind his full beard as Juel, his shadow in everything when she was younger, would remain above with him while his son was below decks ill as could be. Following him as he went through the cities, attending various duties, his quiet little protege, taking everything in with the same bright amber, serious eyes he had. Her father flipping open his pocket watch, a flash of a small painting inside barely visible each time he did so, as he would remind her that being five minutes early was like being half an hour late. She smiled softly, her eyes welling at the corners as she popped it open. It wasn't running, as it had likely not been wound since the last time he packed it away before facing his fate. She ran her fingers over the crystal and the tiny painting inside of her mother and him when they were young, likely when they were first married. She even heard the music it played, some sort of sea shanty she couldn't name, even though it wasn't playing it, just from memory alone.

“He can change the picture inside if he's so inclined,” Dahlia said quietly. “Just send me the old one if he does.” Juel nodded, at a complete loss for words as she did so. She closed the pocket watch, tucking it back into the bag for safekeeping and rising to hug her mother tightly.

“You have no idea how much this means to me, and will to him,” Juel said, barely above a whisper, her voice full of emotion. She couldn't see it, but sensed her mother's smile.

“It may not be as he would have seen it if he was still alive,” Dahlia said, “but if there was anything Isaac and I both wanted, it was our children's happiness. No matter how unusual a way it would come to them...”

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laurelkrugerr · 4 years

Text

Can we trust automation in a time of crisis?

It’s a challenging time to be a marketer. Consumers are distracted, financial futures uncertain and volatility all but a guarantee. It’s a time when self awareness, realism and tact are crucial for success. We need to move fast, but controlled. Tomorrow is going to be different from yesterday, and two days from now different from today.

Can we trust automation in a crisis? When everything is different depending on the hour, can we trust machine learning? Will our automation move fast enough and provide the insights we need? Should we revert to the good ol’ days of staring at the screen for 24 hours a day, watching metrics change in real time?

Yes, automation can keep up with appropriate inputs. No, you should not revert to the stone age of SEM (even though my beard indicates otherwise). Each situation is different, so you must evaluate your own business under your own lens. Below are eight core elements to watch and adjust to ensure success for your search campaigns in a time of crisis extreme volatility.

Bid modifiers must adjust along with behavior

First things first, your time of day bid modifiers are (likely) broken. Or rather, they need a reassessment. COVID-19 has thrust much of the world into hibernation, working from home with a disrupted family life to boot.

Normal demand curves don’t look normal anymore. I took a look through one of our “normal” clients to see how search volume changed pre and post crisis.

Weekends are adjusting, the lunch break and the “getting to work” spikes have flattened. We remember volume taking a nosedive Friday + Saturday nights. We saw a slight rise Sunday evening as people got back to their computers. The current state is… well, different. I suspect it will be different for your accounts as well.

Odds are your curves have changed – you should check to see if your assumptions hold true.

We can expect geographic volume to shift dramatically as well. People aren’t commuting anymore, so we can expect a change in searcher behavior around cities. Crises (especially COVID) affect different cities, states and regions in different ways. As regulations around social distancing have shifted, so too can you expect regional search behavior to shift. Double-check your geographic bid modifiers and budget allocations – does performance pre-crisis still hold true in crisis?

I won’t go in depth to the shifts in device performance (as many already have at length), but device behavior shifts dramatically in a crisis as well. Particularly in times of COVID, if consumers are immobile there’s less of a need for a mobile device. Adjust accordingly.

Inventory and news cycle will likely influence each other

Humans are inherently irrational creatures. We make decisions based on what we observe and react to what we see, rather than trusting a clear course of action. In times of crisis, it’s amplified a kabillion-fold. As such, inventory will often dictate demand and vice versa. If a news report shows is about a given product (all but guaranteed during a crisis), odds are the masses will take to search engines to hunt them down.

This can yield false positives and false negatives, impacting both long and short term performance. As the mad dash arrives for a given product, you’ll see a huge spike in conversion rate (while inventory remains). Following the rush will be a near immediate cooldown. Ensure your inventory tracking is tip top and tied to bid modifications to ensure you’re not spending money to take in orders you can’t fulfill.

While a crisis can represent unprecedented times, there are precedents you can review in your history to see how you react. Was your product ever cited on a reality show? Spotted on a celebrity? Touted as a miracle cure, if even for a few minutes? Each scenario will resemble the short term spike and tail-off of volume. Review how your bidding tools and inventory management system reacted. That will give you a good idea of how to react both now, AND when the crisis concludes.

Smart bidding

I’m going to address these en masse, as the answer for each is similar. Look at your most volatile times. Every crisis is unique, volatile and requires different tactics to address. Algorithms can’t necessarily differentiate between an unprecedented crisis and a really good Black Friday sale.

You can generally assume that most bidding algorithms will favor the last 30 or so days worth of data. Take a look and see how long the last volatile period affected your campaigns. If it’s a spike then drop (or a valley then climb), make sure the tool is making the right decisions.

A safe way to predict the future is by looking at the past. Find your best day/week and your worst – did Smart Bidding keep up and make the correct decisions? Did it lag behind, and leave spend on the table? Did it react too quickly, or assume the good period would last longer than it did? The answer isn’t simple for any of these questions.

Expect slower creative approval and adjust your automation

When a crisis strikes, everyone affected reacts. In the case of COVID where the world is affected… well, you get the point. That means that Search Engines’ resources will be strained to the brink. You can safely expect a delay in reaction time. Google and Bing both have 48 hour ad approval windows, but rarely stretch beyond… instantaneous. In this particular crisis where support teams are affected, that time can be extended. Yes, that means your new promo ad may not go live while the promo is live.

Adjust your automated rules for any and all creative swaps coming up. Many advertisers have a rule to pause evergreen ads when launching a new set of promotional ads. In a time of crisis, wait until you have absolute confirmation that the new ads are live before pausing the others.

Brand safety and messaging need to be front of mind

It’s challenging to understand and react to brand safety in tumultuous times. Keep your brand principles and voice front of mind and you’ll know exactly how to act. If you’ve planted your flag of “we go where customers go,” then you’ll want to keep doing that. If you’ve planned on excluding any and all controversial content, the answer is simple as well.

Where it gets challenging is for those who tread the middle ground. We’re fine being on news sites, but only if it’s not controversial. This is much more difficult in modern times of crisis, as quite literally every news outlet will, in some way or another, refer to the crisis.

The other challenge to watch is what you say in your ads. Shipping times shift. The ability to make in person appointments, not so much. 24/7 call center? No way. With the advent of responsive search ads, odds are you have some value proposition laying around in there that may be invalid in crisis.

Worse yet, this could extrapolate with panic buying. If a customer sees same day delivery, they will buy from you. If automated tools see your eCTR and conversion rate spike, they’ll prioritize the ad unit. If you can’t fulfill the promise you set, that customer isn’t coming back. It’s a dangerous cycle. The best way to get ahead is to ensure your ads communicate reality with your customers, even if it’s cloudy news.

Take a look at every part of your ads (yes, even those lil ol’ structured snippets) to see what’s still valid.

Watch queries closely, especially Dynamic Search Ads

This is similar to the inventory issue noted above. If there’s something on site that people are searching for, DSA’s and close variants will find it. There’s nothing like a pandemic to be a casual reminder that yes, your promotional swag company DOES sell custom hand sanitizer.

Many companies are placing alerts on their site to address how they’re reacting to a crisis. This can throw a wrench into search queries generated by DSA’s or broader match types.

Pay close attention to queries as they arise. If you’ve actively decided you don’t want to show around any crisis-related queries, add those negatives right away! Exclude any crisis-related pages from your DSA campaigns as a failsafe, and your campaigns should still run smoothly.

Last but DEFINITELY not least – craft volatility alerts

I’ve not been shy about recommending “pops and drops” alerts. They’re crucial at all times for all accounts to ensure we address performance swings with haste without staring at the computer all day and night. In an era of crisis, things move FAST. Waiting until tomorrow isn’t an option anymore.

Instead, think of the metrics you care about where you need an alert. Make the swings something you truly care about (e.g. spend quadruples hour over hour) and consider running your scripts on a more frequent basis.

We’re in the midst of a crisis today. To us humans, these are unprecedented times. To machines, these are periods of extreme volatility. They’re unprecedented times, just like the last unprecedented time. Review what happened during your last rollercoaster ride. Evaluate how your automation performed and adjust for the current period and beyond.

Remember, the time of crisis is a time to cement your brand voice, a time to speak 1:1 to your customers. It’s a challenging time to be a marketer, but that doesn’t mean you should stop being one.

Opinions expressed in this article are those of the guest author and not necessarily Search Engine Land. Staff authors are listed here.

About The Author

Aaron has been in the industry for the better part of a decade, leading paid media campaigns with clients ranging from Fortune 50 companies to startups and local businesses. He’s the Group Director of SEM at Tinuiti, a full-service digital agency with offices across the US. Aaron’s role is to support a growing SEM team across the US, looking years ahead so his team can look days ahead. In addition to his day to day, Aaron’s a frequent industry speaker and instructor at Drexel and University of Vermont, working to grow the next generation of great marketers. He moonlights as a brewer, hockey player, slow cyclist and claims to be the industry’s top chef.

Website Design & SEO Delray Beach by DBL07.co

Delray Beach SEO

source http://www.scpie.org/can-we-trust-automation-in-a-time-of-crisis/ source https://scpie1.blogspot.com/2020/04/can-we-trust-automation-in-time-of.html

0 notes

riichardwilson · 4 years

Text

Can we trust automation in a time of crisis?

Bid modifiers must adjust along with behavior

Normal demand curves don’t look normal anymore. I took a look through one of our “normal” clients to see how search volume changed pre and post crisis.

Odds are your curves have changed – you should check to see if your assumptions hold true.

Inventory and news cycle will likely influence each other

Smart bidding

Expect slower creative approval and adjust your automation

Brand safety and messaging need to be front of mind

Take a look at every part of your ads (yes, even those lil ol’ structured snippets) to see what’s still valid.

Watch queries closely, especially Dynamic Search Ads

Many companies are placing alerts on their site to address how they’re reacting to a crisis. This can throw a wrench into search queries generated by DSA’s or broader match types.

Last but DEFINITELY not least – craft volatility alerts

Opinions expressed in this article are those of the guest author and not necessarily Search Engine Land. Staff authors are listed here.

About The Author

Website Design & SEO Delray Beach by DBL07.co

Delray Beach SEO

source http://www.scpie.org/can-we-trust-automation-in-a-time-of-crisis/ source https://scpie.tumblr.com/post/614407520592822272

0 notes

douglassmiith · 4 years

Text

Can we trust automation in a time of crisis?

Bid modifiers must adjust along with behavior

Normal demand curves don’t look normal anymore. I took a look through one of our “normal” clients to see how search volume changed pre and post crisis.

Odds are your curves have changed – you should check to see if your assumptions hold true.

Inventory and news cycle will likely influence each other

Smart bidding

Expect slower creative approval and adjust your automation

Brand safety and messaging need to be front of mind

Take a look at every part of your ads (yes, even those lil ol’ structured snippets) to see what’s still valid.

Watch queries closely, especially Dynamic Search Ads

Many companies are placing alerts on their site to address how they’re reacting to a crisis. This can throw a wrench into search queries generated by DSA’s or broader match types.

Last but DEFINITELY not least – craft volatility alerts

Opinions expressed in this article are those of the guest author and not necessarily Search Engine Land. Staff authors are listed here.

About The Author

Website Design & SEO Delray Beach by DBL07.co

Delray Beach SEO

Via http://www.scpie.org/can-we-trust-automation-in-a-time-of-crisis/

source https://scpie.weebly.com/blog/can-we-trust-automation-in-a-time-of-crisis

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scpie · 4 years

Text

Can we trust automation in a time of crisis?

Bid modifiers must adjust along with behavior

Normal demand curves don’t look normal anymore. I took a look through one of our “normal” clients to see how search volume changed pre and post crisis.

Odds are your curves have changed – you should check to see if your assumptions hold true.

Inventory and news cycle will likely influence each other

Smart bidding

Expect slower creative approval and adjust your automation

Brand safety and messaging need to be front of mind

Take a look at every part of your ads (yes, even those lil ol’ structured snippets) to see what’s still valid.

Watch queries closely, especially Dynamic Search Ads

Many companies are placing alerts on their site to address how they’re reacting to a crisis. This can throw a wrench into search queries generated by DSA’s or broader match types.

Last but DEFINITELY not least – craft volatility alerts

Opinions expressed in this article are those of the guest author and not necessarily Search Engine Land. Staff authors are listed here.

About The Author

Website Design & SEO Delray Beach by DBL07.co

Delray Beach SEO

source http://www.scpie.org/can-we-trust-automation-in-a-time-of-crisis/

0 notes

gavinkblog · 7 years

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A very mundane goose chase (MIT Part 91)

Once they had got all the information they could from the drink spikers the Trader’s stuffed both of them into barrels. Drogarth, Ulfgar and Mongo left before immediately. Ulfgar and Drogarth rolling the barrels over to the police barracks while Mongo fixed the fence after them. Aranys remained on the roof while Rincewind bedded down in the corner behind some barrels to await Locktar.

The three found the guard on duty initially reluctant to lock up their barrel bound captives but when he recognised Ulfgar then it took just an autograph to sway him. He told them that Reale would be back in the morning.

It was still dark at the storehouse and from atop her perch on the roof Aranys saw figures approaching, she quickly shimmied down and warned Rincewind who was inside.

Aranys back on the roof heard voices from the individuals and saw them pointing at the storehouse. It seemed to be the guards from earlier and possibly the Dragonborn known as Locktar.

They entered the storehouse where Rincewind hid. They used everlasting light sticks to check the scene. Some were guards with cudgels but also some held blades.

Rincewind could hear them whispering as they told Locktar about the gigantic Dwarf and how he wasn't likely to hide here. He could remember that one had a brightly glowing weapons

The Dragonborn orded the three guards outside as he remained inside with the blade armed thugs.

They searched the storehouse and came close to discovering Rincewind but eventually they decided to deal with it in the morning. Locktar told them they’d need to report it to their superior Kungo.

The guards were ordered to barricade the door and guard the storehouse and Locktar left with his companions.

When they’d left Aranys slid onto the ground and peered into the unbarred back to inform Rincewind. They quickly agreed that she would go after Locktar and try and find this Kungo. She slipped quickly back into the dark past the guards who were still working on barricading the front door.

With Aranys gone Rincewind stepped out the back door as sounds of hammering came from the front, he casually walked around to the corner of the building to see three guards, one kneeling at the door hammering in nails as two more stood behind him supervising.

One turned and looked straight at Rincewind, a shocked expression forming on his face. He shouted to his mate and with only slight hesitation two of them charged the Wizard.

Rincewind raised his wand as they closed the distance. They were on him quickly and he dodged to avoid their cudgels, catching only a glancing blow to the shoulder before he hit both of them with Sleep. They started to slow immediately as the third who’d been kneeling at the door now charged, Rincewind’s wand pointed at him, there was a flash and a magic missile impacted his chest smashing him backwards into the the air, he landed on his back in a cloud of dust, unconscious. One of the slowed guard’s eyes closed as he slipped to the floor asleep but the other somehow shook it off, he swung again at Rincewind catching him on the arm before before another point blank Magic Missile rendered him also unconscious. As the dust settled he sat amongst the fallen guards and rummaged in his robes for his pipe.

Aranys’ prey had stopped at an intersection where they appeared to be talking. She dashed into the shadows and listened in.

They were talking about the mill that had been hit the previous night. Locktar said Kungo had been shaken up by that. He felt there was something he was not telling him but he hadn’t pushed it. He knew what the Maw was like.

With that their conversation ended and they split up. Aranys stayed with Locktar as he headed to a medium sized townhouse, he entered and locked the door. she waited and watched as a light came on and went out before she returned to the docks.

Aranys retured to find Rincewind smoking his pipe sat by three prone guards, she explained she'd likely found Locktar's house. Shortly the other three returned having left their charges at the police barracks.

They set off towards Locktar's house. Once there they moved quickly. Rincewind used the Knock ritual to unlock the door. Mongo and Aranys headed round the back to cut off avenues of escape while Ulfgar pushed the front door followed by Drogarth and Rincewind. Doorways led to the left and right, another lead out the back and stairs wound back on themselves upstairs.

They followed Ulfgar up the stairs, they came to a couple of doors on the landing. He listened and heard loud snoring from one of them. He gestured to Rincewind, knock? he shook his head and gestured a kicking motion.

The Dwarf swiftly booted the door in as a thunk sounded and a crossbow bolt embedded itself in his chest. His head swam as he felt poisons slow his reaction. In the room a figure rose quickly from his bed.

Ulfgar despite the poison coursing through his bloodstream acted first and stormed forward making a grab for him and missing. Locktar grabbed a knife from his table and stabbed at Ulfgar, the blade glancing off the plate. Rincewind opened fire, Magic missiles blasting holes in the walls and shattering pictures, Locktar dived for cover and as he did Drogarth caught him with the edge of his axe, knocking him cold.

They tied him to a chair in the room and then let Mongo and Aranys in. They woke him with some cold water, Ulfgar stood over him.

“Errrgh, you must have been the ones that hit the yard. What do you want”

“Your boss”

He thought for a moment.

“I'd like to tell you, but you're less scary than they are.”

“How much are being paid.”

“Enough.”

“Look you can die here by our hand, or you can live a bit longer”

“If I die you don't get what you want.”

“We already have a name”

"What name is that then?”

“Kungo”

“Alright yes, I meet Kungo once a week at a tavern called the Random Chance. I met him yesterday.”

“You better tell him the storehouse has been hit.”

“I've informed him already.”

“Why were you spiking the beer?”

“I don't know I just do what I'm told. If I tell you where Kungo is I'll need to leave the city.”

They negotiated and agreed to pay Locktar 1000g to allow him to leave the city and setup elsewhere. He told them he’d arrange to meet Kungo the next day and they could then meet him in his place. He said he would ask for an immediate meeting at midday in the Random Chance.

He described Kungo Hooknose. He was a Halfing with a large nose, with a wart on it and a short beard. The description sounded to the Trader's like one of the business men from the other night who'd sent them into the clutches of Keeda.

As Kungo would expect to see Locktar first, Rincewind made preparations to disguise himself. While he did this Ulfgar, Mongo and Drogarth returned to the barracks to meet with Reale.

She wanted to know why she had two people in her cells that her guards didn't bring in. They explained they believed the men were agents of the Maw and poisoning the Ale in the town. She agreed to have the town Alchemist look at the samples they provided and asked they return at four.

Locktar had told them the table he usually met Kungo at. Rincewind sat disguised as Locktar and Kungo entered with two guards, they went to the bar while he joined Rincewind at the table.

“You asked to meet urgently”

“I needed to let you know two of my people were arrested last night after the raid.”

“Ok but you didn't tell them anything to lead back to us did you.”

“No they don't know anything”

“You said this was urgent”

“Is there anything more on what happened at the mill?”

“No, just everyone there is dead.”

Rincewind believed him but Kungo seemed nervous when he said it. He ran through descriptions of those that hit the storehouse and saw in Kungo a flash of recognition.

“Do you know them?”

“Yes they match the descriptions of those that hit the mill.”

“What can we do about them?”

“Nothing at the moment they're cutting through us.”

So I should continue as normal?

“Yes replace the ones you've lost, clean up and carry on.”

“Ok then, see you next week”

Aranys watched Kungo and his men leave the tavern and began to follow them through the streets. They eventually led her to a fairly large detached house, a cart stood outside. She waited a while, after nothing happened to she returned to the Random Chance and got the rest of the Traders.

She led them back to the house that Kungo had entered, the cart was no longer there. Drogarth knocked on the door as Aranys went around the back. Mongo, Ulfgar and Rincewind watched from across the street.

Aranys found the back door ajar, she approached and peered through into a kitchen and entered. Drogarth having had no answer, pushed the door open and they found the house empty, having been abandoned in a hurry. Clothes and food had been taken, an empty lock-box lay on the floor.

Drogarth asked around a few people before a beggar spoke up. He told them that he’d seen Kungo headed towards the market in his cart with a couple of men in it maybe thirty minutes past. They headed off in that direction as fast as they could, Rincewind sent his Falcon familiar up into the air to see if it could spot him.

The market was about five minutes away they arrived amongst the various vendors selling everything from fish to jewellry. Rincewind's bird returned to tell him that it thought it saw someone who could be Kungo on a road south of the market. Aranys asked a vendor who also saw him in that direction so they sprinted in that direction.

They asked more beggars every couple of minutes and ran as fast as they could. Even with Drogarth and Rincewind lagging behind they made good pace and and saw a cart ahead, but when they finally caught it, although there were three people in it, none were a Halfling.

They returned to the beggar outside the empty house who insisted he was right about who was in the cart, they retraced their steps to south of the market. They tried a different direction at the crossroads and ended up at the southgate.

Drogarth asked the guards at the gate if they'd seen their wagon about an hour ago. One of them said they thought so and they'd left about three quarters of an hour ago.

Rincewind conjured Phantom Steeds while Drogarth left a message with an urchin boy for Reale. They rode hard for two hours without finding anyone and finally they admitted defeat, they'd lost him. They rode back into Southgate and returned to the barracks.

Reale was still working there. Their alchemist had confirmed Mongo's findings. They explained Ramaca Holdings seemed link to the poisoning. Adress Vale the owner had become a recluse after his wife died in childbirth.

They said goodnight to Reale and headed to Adress's house.

#D&D

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