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wiypt-writes · 3 years

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Murder, He Wrote

Part 1

Co-written with @southerngracela

Summary: You’re sent by your asshole boss to do a review of a Celebrity Host Haunted Mansion, hosted by none-other than the arrogant, wild-eye browed actor Lucas Lee, but you’re worried you’ve missed the boat…that is, until at the last minute, an email arrives to say they can let you in on the last admission that night, which just happens to be Halloween… When you arrive, you’re actually kind of excited and intrigued…but it isn’t long until that excitement and intrigue give way to fear when you find yourself in a helpless situation.

Warnings: A creepy house, bad language words. MATURE (NSFW 18+) NON-CON situation, kidnap, violence. DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THOSE TRIGGER… READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!

Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N: So this is a collaboration between myself and the wonderful @southerngracela for @jtargaryen18 ‘s Haunted House 2020 challenge…and will be a mini-series, with an as of yet undefined number of chapters.

Once again READ THE WARNINGS!!!! This is a DARK Series… don’t @ us if you can’t follow simple instructions and end up with butt-hurt. And if you’re under 18…get off my blog.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and by writing it does NOT mean I agree with or condone the acts contained within. This fiction is classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar reader and any other OCs that may or may not be mentioned. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Murder, He Wrote Masterlist // Main Masterlist.

"Y/L/N," your dick editor poked his head into your office rather gruffly. "I'm gonna need that celebrity haunted mansion review on my desk by tomorrow morning. I want to run it ASAP.”

"I can't even get in, not even with a press pass, I've been trying for two weeks, Mick!” you looked at him, your mouth slightly open. You’d told him this countless times at morning briefings. You hadn't even heard back from the organizers about sneaking around the press pass issue and offering an exclusive on the joint, a small fact you kept Mick in the dark about.

"Make it happen." He said simply, before he turned and left.

You glared at his retreating form. What the fuck did he not understand about the situation? Mind you, what did he understand about anything? There was a reason everyone working for him called him Mick The Prick.

There was also a reason he was being extra prickish to you. Earlier in the spring time of the year you’d run an article on Ransom Drysdale- the stuck up, trust fund asshole who had literally gotten away with murder. He’d confessed to murdering his grandfather’s house keeper, attempting to murder his grandfather and then, in a violent showdown with 2 police officers and a private detective present, he’d attempted to murder his grandfather’s nurse, Marta. And he would have succeeded, except the knife he’d used had been a stage prop. It was like some fucked up Murder, She Wrote plot, and when you’d interviewed the real life Jessica Fletcher (in this case the rather charming PI named Benoit Blanc who’d been a character to say the least) it got even more confusing. Ransom had hired Blanc in some elaborate scheme to frame Marta for Harlan’s death to do her out of the inheritance via the Slayer Rule. That had back fired spectacularly when she had unwittingly switched back the vials of medication Drysdale had tampered with, meaning Harlan had truly committed suicide.

The article was supposed to be done showing his side of the story, a way for him to set the record straight, but the more you’d dug and spoken to people surrounding the case, the more you were absolutely convinced of his guilt, not least because he’d been acquitted on the murder and attempted murder charges on technical grounds due to his confession being, allegedly, obtained under duress and without a brief being present. The only thing they’d managed to pin on him was the arson which had burnt the Chief Medical Examiner’s office to the ground, and when his brief had successfully argued mitigating circumstances- he wasn’t of sound mind given the shock surrounding him being cut from his grandfather’s will- he’d basically ended up being released on license.

It was a joke, and that was basically what your article had said. You’d written a scathing attack on how money could basically render you untouchable by the law, highlighting the failures of the Criminal Justice System. At the time, Mick the Prick had been delighted with it, publishing it under your suggested head line “Murder, He Wrote”- ha, go figure, and copies had flown off the shelves, the article online going viral.

And then money had talked once more, and the Drysdale’s had threatened to sue for defamation. That in itself was a joke, as you knew full well his mother, Linda, was only doing it to salvage her own reputation, the same reason she’d worked so hard to find a lawyer to get him off the charges despite the fact she knew full well he was guilty as sin. Mick The Prick had attempted to throw you under the bus spectacularly when the board had come looking for blood, but as editor the buck stopped with him, and he was given a formal warning whilst you were forced to publish a retraction and offer a written apology much to your utter chagrin.

Which was why he was now making your life as hard as possible, and your Investigative Journalism skills, that you’d honed over the last decade; from high school paper, college tribune and now your current employer, over the last 10 years or so since graduation were now being focussed on covering stories about housewives who found Jesus’ face in a slice of toast, or in this case a fucking Celebrity Host Halloween Haunted House review. Whereas you had dominated the first 2 pages once upon a time, you were now lucky if you made it further up than page 11.

With a groan you banged your head on your desk. Why had you not listened to your dad and become a damned teacher instead of a journalist. Dealing with snotty nosed brats would be easier than this.

By the end of your day, you were burning what felt like the midnight oil however it wasn't very late at all. Dark had settled in but it wasn't late by time. Just before you were to log off and leave for the night, a TV dinner and pint of mint chip waiting for you in your freezer (and probably a job search too seeing as you would no doubt be fired tomorrow morning for failing on your deadline) your email pinged on your desktop. You frowned at it, wondering who could possibly be emailing you this late but then you recognized the sender.

It was the reply you'd been waiting on from the organizers from the Celebrity Host Haunted House. Clicking the email open, your eyes scanned the message. The organizer was setting you up with a private tour, TONIGHT. "9 pm," you finished reading aloud, relief flooding your entire body. It meant a long assed, sleepless night whilst you wrote your article, but it was better than the looming threat of unemployment. Plus, on the upside, as it was a charity gig the organizer had pulled out the big guns and the blurb on the email told you that it was to feature none other than Lucas Lee, a once-upon-a-time famous A-List Movie star, who was possibly just as arrogant as Hugh Ransom Drysdale, but you had to give it to him, in the films you’d seen he was actually damned good, and also pretty hot so…every cloud.

Glancing at your clock, you had just enough time to clock out and grab a quick bite at a drive thru on your way. The location was nearly an hour outside the city so you needed to get gone and fast. A quick reply telling the organizer you were on your way was sent out and you grabbed your coat, pulling it on over your sweater dress and were gone.

It took a good hour like you'd estimated and that was with stopping for a quick meal, to reach the address your GPS brought you to. It was creepy even at its first glance so you could only hope this payed off. With a quick swig of your watered down and flat fountain drink, you grabbed your bag and phone, exiting your vehicle and locking it shut. The cool night air bit at your exposed cheeks and you were glad you'd worn your coat and tights.

As you stood, gazing at the dilapidated house you shivered, as though, ice had replaced you spine. The walkway leading up to house was cracked, blood red roses grew wildly in thick batches by the gate and the moonlight cast a ghoulish glow on the house. Vines formed a twisted maze upon the side of the of the house's walls which showed the black decay of neglect, in between which splotches of original paint hinted at the house’s former prosperity. Cobwebs covered the corners of the doors, tiny black spiders threading towards their prey and you gave another shudder, as far as first impressions went, yeah, it was fitting for a Halloween Haunted House tour.

Pulling out your phone, noticing you had no reception (of course you wouldn’t, wasn’t that the cliché?) you took a few photos to use in the article and then gave a little squeak as the door creaked open on its own. Arching your eyebrow slightly, in a manner very much like the man you were here to meet, you strode forward and into the house. Immediately a musty, dank odour crept into your nose. The house was deadly silent except for the intermittent creaks and moans typically associated with a property that age. Black and brown mold dotted the ceiling of the tall hallway you stood in and the windows that framed the door on either side were covered with grime and dirt meaning the calm moonlight struggled to penetrate the darkness in thin thread rays, the main source of light being the open doorway. Sharp shadows roamed around the room and as your eyes adjusted to the dim light you noticed that there was a bright white envelope almost perched on the wooden table to the side of the hall. It was the newest thing in the room, so was obviously there for you.

You crossed over, the heels of your suede boots clicking loudly out in the silence of the hallway, and gently reached out for the envelope. A single word- Start- was written on the front in cursive, looping scrawl, very fitting for a spooky note. Another detail you committed to memory for your write up. You slid your finger into the crook of the envelope and slid it open. Inside was a small, white card, containing a message written in the same writing.

To ensure that you don’t become tomorrow’s big news, In this envelope you’ll find the first of 6 clues Of your super sleuth skills you should be proud, So make sure that you read your answers out loud. As one by one they lead to your ultimate demise. Which may or may not be a scary surprise…

Okay, now you were interested. This wasn’t just a walk through some scary assed, supposedly haunted house where Lucas Lee was no doubt set to jump out at you in some ridiculous disguise. This was a scavenger hunt, and your natural inquisitiveness was piqued. 'This could be fun', you thought as you reached for the next card that was in the envelope, reading the first clue.

I’m tall when I’m young, and I’m short when I’m old. I also give heat but, not enough to prevent cold

You pondered for a second, heat was leading you to think of a fire, and they certainly grew shorter with time, well eventually when they burnt out…but then again, the longer they went the hotter they got, and they certainly prevented the cold. Scanning the hallway for anything that might fit the description, your eyes flicked up to the ceiling which held an elaborate, but tarnished candelabra style chandelier. And then it hit you. Tall when young, short when old.

“Candle…” you spoke “The answer is Candle…”

At that the door leading to the outside slammed shut behind you, and you gave an involuntary scream as the dominant source of light was sealed off. You spun round to look at it, and then your scream turned in to a laugh as you shook your head, for an Investigative Reporter you prided yourselves on steely nerves but so far that was twice this adventure had caught you off guard.

A closer look revealed the discoloration of the water, a brownish concoction as it swirled down the plug. There was an envelope on the side of the counter by the lantern and as you crossed towards it, a movement in your peripheral made you spin round only to see a lone mouse scuttling away across the dirty wooden floor. You placed your phone down, flash-light up causing it to light up an area of the Artex plaster ceiling, and picked up the envelope, tearing it open to find your next clue

Mr Jack-o-Lantern lights the night His eerie face is shining bright The ????? that shaped him lies around And holds your next clue safe and sound

“Oh come on…” you muttered, “That’ ones obvious. Knife, the answer is knife…” You picked up your phone and shone it around the various surfaces of the kitchen and your eyes honed in on a wooden knife block containing a solitary knife. You crossed the room towards it and as you closed in on it, you noticed that the handle of the knife was an ornate silver filigree. It was no ordinary kitchen knife and as you pulled it form the block you realised it was in fact a dagger, antique by the looks of things. The blade was curved slightly, reaching a sharp point, the silver tarnished. But the more you looked at it, the more you suddenly became horribly aware that it wasn’t merely a dullness of colour at all. It was blood.

“Dramatic…” you mumbled, and with a sigh you then realised there was no clue attached to it. Was this a distraction? A decoy? You were just about to stat ransacking drawers to find the actual knife you needed, when you glanced back at the block the dagger had been held in and noticed a flash of white peeking from underneath. Picking it up and moving it aside you smiled as you saw the same cursive writing, spelling out the word three. Seeing as you might as well play along, you used the dagger to slit the envelope open, tossing it back down on the counter as you read the next clue.

Many a Child on me they may play Any time be it night or day. My surface is hard, on it you can knock I have many keys, but can’t open a single lock…

“What has keys but doesn't open a lock?" You pondered aloud. Adjusting your cross-body strap, you sigh. Then the answer came to you, "a piano."

You fell silent, your mind racing to how the hell you were going to find a piano in this decrepit and yet enormous house. Then, your ears heard it. The subtle note from deep inside the house. It was a single key. But now that wasn't your concern, no, it wasn't the mice or the bugs or even the brown water. Your heart raced at the notion that someone was in fact in the house with you.

"Alright, Lee, you were always one for a flare of the dramatics, let's see what you've got."

Finally, to your left you heard the key loud and clear. It was in that room. Steeling yourself for a possible encounter, you carefully pushed the sliding door away from its hinge. Your booted feet traipsed across the brittle carpet, dust swirling in the air in front of your face. Cobwebs adorned many of the surfaces and there were dirty white sheets covering the various pieces of furniture in the room. Apart from, that is, the large ornate grand piano that sat in the middle of the room.

The stool in front of it suddenly jolted back and tilted toward you, making you scream at the gracious invitation by an as of yet invisible host.

With slow, deliberate steps you moved towards the piano, your eyes sweeping over the mahogany surface, searching for an envelope with the next clue, but there was none to be found. The surface of the piano was thick with dust and grime, but as you scanned over it you suddenly stopped. On one of the white keys the dust was disturbed, as if it had been wiped away and you instantly realised that had to be the key that your so far elusive host must have been playing. You paused, biting at the nail on your thumb of you right hand, before you reached out with your left and tapped the key. The melodic note rang around the room, clearly, echoing in the silence and for some reason you were taken back to a part of the article you had been thinking about earlier that day, and how Detective Blanc had told you that he had ‘played a key’ during the various family interviews ‘to make my point without interruption’. It didn’t pass you by how fitting that actually was at that moment but you didn’t have much time to reflect on it, as you heard a creak and a grinding noise and you spun to your left to see a panel in the wall sliding open. It made you jump slightly, but this time you didn’t scream.

“Well, in for a penny…” you muttered, crossing towards the small hatch. It was just wide enough for you to get your hand into, but you really didn’t want to. You grabbed your torch and shone it into the hole, finding nothing but the envelope so deciding it was safe you reached in and pulled it out.

Sometimes coloured, sometimes plain sometimes frosted, sometimes stain Be you short or thin, or fat or tall, this simple invention, lets you look right through a wall

You pondered for a moment, before the answer came to you. Fairly quickly you might add. Feeling a little smug you smiled and cleared your throat.

“Window. It’s a window.”

Usually, at that point, something happened to point your attention to the place you should be looking but this time, there was nothing. Instinctively you looked out of the one on the wall by the piano, but as you stared at nothing but the darkness outside you realised that was too obvious. Just then your ears picked up a sound you couldn’t quite figure out, but it was familiar all the same. And then it came to you, it was the familiar click and clack of a skateboard, the wheels gliding over the brittle old floor and you span round in the direction it was coming from to see a window you hadn’t noticed before, this one was an ornate, stained glass window which bore some kind of flower design that faced directly out into the hall.

He passed by slower than a flash but just enough to allow you to catch only a glimpse. You audibly gasped, your breath coming in a sharp intake of fright, because until then you had been alone on this chase. But it appeared you dramatic host had finally come out to play. He was merely a shadow, bulky in frame, tall and dressed all in black as he moved past but it was enough to puzzle you. You didn’t remember Lucas being that broad, or tall. With a frown you ran into the hall to catch him but saw nothing, and heard nothing, the only thing to indicate he had been there was a faint smell of the cedar and amber of what you assumed to be cologne.

You paced quickly down the hall in the direction the figure had gone but as you passed the stairwell the light flickered on, instantly attracting your attention. You’d only briefly noticed the ornate staircase before, but with the lack of light you certainly hadn’t noticed the writing on the wall, dripping in fresh paint. Swallowing, as you mouth suddenly felt dry with fear you stepped onto the first stair, and as soon as you did you were plunged into almost complete black. Letting out a shriek as, once again, he’d managed to get the drop on you, you shook your head and reached for your phone, taking another few steps up so you were level with the next clue which you read aloud.

“Tonight is not all fright and fear, a trick or treat is waiting near, the bedroom holds a sweet surprise, there solve the clue to claim your prize.” You bit your lip and looked up at the top of the stairs, wondering when someone was going to jump out at you. Taking a deep breath, you made your way up, cringing at each creak your feet caused on the old warped wood, but it didn’t sway your determination to make it to your destination.

Halfway up, a shadow flickered at the corner of your vision at the top on the landing and you froze, your mouth going dry once more. As you stood there, shining your light into the dark you caught the same scent from moments ago lingering in the air only this time it was stronger, far more powerful and you were able to denote even more of the notes within. Alongside the amber and cedar your heightened senses picked up deep, earthy, sandalwood notes with a hint of citrus in the background. And it was familiar for reasons beyond the fact you’d smelt it down stairs. But, as you’d surmised earlier, it was a cologne. Probably one worn by a few people you knew.

Yes that was it.

“Jesus Christ Y/N what has gotten into you?” You rolled your eyes and continued up the stairs, clearly your ‘Celebrity Host’ was once more nearby.

You cautiously got to the top of the stairs and glanced around. Nothing. So turning to your left you entered the first room you found on the hall. It was empty bar a creepy looking doll that had been separated from its head which lay about a foot to the right. As you looked around the room, the wind intensified outside, the rustling of the leaves and branches became louder, as did the creaking of the house…and then you gulped, as you realised it wasn’t just the house that was creaking. In the corner of the room, the little chair had begun to rock, slowly. Blowing out a breath and shaking your head, you looked around at the thin strips of wallpaper which showed little trucks. Crayon markings scrambled upon the wall where wallpaper used to stick but other than that there was nothing in there bar some pretty good theatrics. You had to hand it to Lee, the creepy feel was fantastic and you were going to give him one hell of a write up for this. You took a while longer to take in the detail, smiling to yourself before you closed the door and headed to the one over the hallway.

This room was a little lighter thanks to a lamp which stood on a nightstand. It wasn’t bright, by any means, but it was enough so that you could clearly see the bed in the middle of the room. And there, placed by the pillows was a thin box. On unsteady legs, you shuffled slowly towards the bed, the box before you making you quiver, your insides churning. A shaky hand tilted the lid open slowly, afraid something would pounce in a sneak attack. You shut your eyes ready to protect them in case a bat or bugs flew at you and when nothing happened, you opened them slowly and inspected the boxes contents. There was no envelope this time, just copy of a newspaper. Your newspaper. And you felt your blood run cold as you recognise the bold headline across the top. Murder, He Wrote: A twisted tale of Inheritance, Crime and Exoneration "Drysdale," you whispered in realization. But now, while you were well aware of what the article meant and who it was referring to, your brain shut down processing how on earth Lucas Lee and Ransom could possibly be connected. Your breathing deepened and you moved to pick up the article, but then the lid to the box caught your eye and you froze, for on the inside of the lid was another clue, only this one was a straight forward question which was spelled out using cut-out letters from the newspaper in question.

I’m light as a feather, yet the strongest person can’t hold me for five minutes. What am I?

You froze, for the answer was simple. Breath. And that was it, you needed to get out. You started to back away from the bed, but before you had so much as made it 3 steps you collided with something hard. A forceful arm across your front pinned you to a firm and broad chest that engulfed your frame while a cloth with a distinct smell and cool moisture covered your airways.

"Surprise" The voice in your ear, calm, deep and known, was all you heard before nothing consumed you.

*****

When Y/N went limp in his arms, Ransom laid her across the bed only leaving the room to hurriedly cover his tracks, blowing out candles and removing any trace of her that had been in the house. His time as his grandfather's research assistant gave him far more experience than it should have. When he returned to the bedroom she was still out cold but light as a feather as he carried her downstairs and out the back door to the awaiting SUV, smug that his plan had gone so well.

But then, didn’t everything for him? He was Ransom Drysdale, and he was fucking untouchable.

He drove away from the scene of his new crime towards the city, driving through the dead of night, on the beltway, and continued twenty minutes outside downtown Boston before pulling into the garage of a large red cedar and quartzite home. He killed the engine and closed the garage door, pulling Y/N from the seat she was slumped in when it was clear to do so.

He couldn't be seen, he wouldn't be seen. He carried her inside the spacious home, his boots tapping heavily against the dark marble floor of the kitchen and finally the lush carpeted staircase that wound down into the basement.

This is where he laid her, in the basement, on a bed, but not just any bed, the one that would now become hers. He adjusted the lighting in the space, low enough not to disturb her, but bright enough to give the room a glow so he could finish what he'd set out to do. In the shock of the struggle in the bedroom, she’d dropped her phone and he’d made sure to smash it long before he left the haunted house, making sure there'd be no device to track her. He'd already disposed of her car while she was playing his little game, every loose end as far as he could see was tied up.

And now she was all his.

He brushed the hair away from Y/N’s face where it had fallen over her eyes. With gloved hands he manoeuvred her undone, black woollen coat off her body, leaving her in the bottle green turtle neck sweater dress and thick tights she was wearing before he tossed it over the chair in the corner of the room and then undid the zips on her brown suede knee high boots. He dropped them to the floor, kicking them towards the same corner with the equal carelessness he’d shown her coat. With a final meticulous movement he rearranged her on the bed, so he’d appear more comfortable and just before he left the room, he wrapped the cool, metallic cuff around the ankle. It locked in place with a clink and with a final glance at her still unconscious form, he turned and exited the room, the door latching shut and with the snap of the deadbolt he locked her in.

*****

Your head pounded, your nose burned and your mouth felt dry with the faintest taste of something foul lingering as you swallowed. The light was low but still your eyes ached. You tried to decipher exactly what the hell had happened to you while you got your bearings. You tried to sit up but your body felt heavy, the soft bed you now realized you were lying on was not your own. Your breathing rapidly increased as you started to move in fear but a clink caused a screech to escape your throat. You felt the weight of the cuff around your ankle and a full panic set it.

Your night flashed quickly through your glutamate and adrenaline flooded brain

You remembered getting the email from the Haunted Mansion supposedly hosted by Lucas Lee. You had arrived and were sent on what you thought was a fun and exhilarating maze littered with clues and riddles and then you remembered the last piece of the puzzle. You gasped as you remembered how his breath felt hot on your skin and how his voice registered in your mind.

"Drysdale," you repeated the last word you had spoken in a shaky, frightful voice. "No."

Rage and fear collided in your chest as you screamed out the only thing you could think of, "HELP!" A strangled sound left your chest followed by another cry out for help, "Please, someone, HELP!"

The door to your room, now coming into focus around you, flew open and there he stood, smug smirk, raging ocean blue eyes, hair neatly in place, dismantling frame clothed in a black sweater and dark denim, heavy footfalls sounding against the thick carpet under his feet.

"Nice to see someone's awake," Ransom deadpanned.

You stared for a brief moment and screamed for help again, louder, and louder, and louder until you felt your voice crack and strain, your cords burning as the sound shattered away.

"Are you done?" He cocked his head to the side and folded his arms across his chest as he stood firm and tall in front of the bed.

"What the hell are you doing? Why am I here?" It hurt to speak but you had to ask.

“Because I want you here, Sweetheart.”

"I...I'm not, don't call me that," you spat defiantly as he moved closer, taking you in, his predatory eyes moving over your body. This was it, you were going to die all because some trust fund prick was a hurt baby about an article (that you forcibly apologized for) revealing the sick and sadistic truth about him, his family, money and the justice system.

"Are you gonna kill me?” You watched him carefully as he crossed the room towards you, trying to keep your voice calm so as not to betray the utter fear that was coursing through your veins at the fact you were trapped, fuck knows where, shackled to a bed with a murderer being your captor. “That's what this is about, right? My apology wasn't enough?"

"Your apology was forced bullshit.” He responded, his voice carried a hint of amusement, because of course, this was all a game to him. “You smeared my name, dragged my reputation though the mud and you expected an apology like that, half assed and full of more crap than your original hatchet piece, to be enough?" He was standing damn near over you now, a hand moving up your leg that was held by the cuff, your body frozen in a confused silent argument of fight or flight.

"You... Killed... Him." You grit out through clenched teeth, and his hand was on your throat before you finished your breath, squeezing just enough to make a point.

"No. I. Didn't." He lied and you had to hand it to him, a lesser person might have bought the garbage he was talking, because he was good at it. Lying must have been enough of a second nature for him that he actually believed everything he said himself. But then again, it wasn't actually a lie was it? Sure, he'd planned on indirectly killing Harlan and that plan had backfired and Harlan had actually slit his own throat. So at most he was indirectly responsible for his death, but none of that had stuck with the prosecution and so now here he was, a free man.

A struggled chuckle came from your tightened throat, "Jesus Christ, you actually believe your own bull shit don't you?"

"You've got a fucking mouth on you," he breathed as his body loomed ominously over the bed and your frame, tiny in comparison to his.

You swallowed, feeling the hard lump strain to pass his grip, "Not really, you just don't like hearing the truth."

His eyes bored into yours and you struggled for breath as his hand constricted around your neck whilst he squeezed a little harder "Oh shut up Y/N."

"Or what, Hugh?" You croaked.

A little flash of anger tore through his ocean blue eyes like lightning in a storm. His eyes bored into yours as you fought to swallow.

"Or I'll shut you up myself."

"Try me, you son of a...." You didn't expect his lips to cover yours but they did. Unexpectedly warm and soft, despite the painfully harsh kiss. You managed to pull away but his hand still gripped at your throat and you felt the fear constricting your chest. But you were damned if you were going to show him a shred of weakness.

“You’re an asshole, Hugh…” It was all you had, the only thing you could use in your arsenal given your situation. You still had your voice. And you’d noticed that for whatever reason he appeared to hate that name.

“Don’t... fucking call me that!” his voice rose to a loud, angry instruction, apoplectic rage seeping from him to you, and it was almost stifling.

“Or what? You'll kill me?” your voice rose in both volume and pitch as your desperation began to show. “We both know you're gonna do that once you've fulfilled whatever sick, twisted little fantasy this is. What are you waiting for, Hugh? Huh?”

Ransom scoffed, "Kill you, no, see I'm gonna teach you a lesson. One about how money and status get you anything you want.”

You frowned, as you looked into his icy blue eyes, utterly confused “Anything you want? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You'll see Princess” was the sole explanation you got as he knelt between your legs.

You stayed stock still as large and surprisingly gentle hands trailed your curves up the outside of your thighs to your hips. As he reached the hem of your sweater dress he paused as you wrapped your hands around his wrists.

"Don't" you squeezed, attempting to stop his wrists and close your legs.

“This will be much easier if you just play-along, sweetheart” he muttered as he pressed his lips to your neck. You let go of his wrists and raised your hands, laying them over the wool of his cable knit, palms flat against the plain of muscle as you attempted to push him off.

“I said no.” you tried to keep your voice stern, despite the fact you were fighting back the fear and sadness at the realization of his task was now at hand. His large hands smoothed over your dress, cupping your breasts and he let out a moan as you bit back the bile in your throat that was threatening to spill from your mouth. You pushed harder trying to force him off of you but it was of no use, his broad frame caged you in, engulfing you under him.

“I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to.” He ground out, his lips inches from your ear as he nipped at your skin. He was impressively strong and balanced, his weight even through his body as he kept his knees between your legs, a hand against your breast and the other stroking your sides and up your thigh. All the while, his lips sucked at your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point as you turned your head away, tears filling your eyes

"Please, stop," you managed. "Hugh, stop!"

“I told you not to call me that.” He growled against your skin and pulled back, his eyes blazing as they locked on to yours. In sheer desperation, you managed to wrench a free hand from between you and gave him a slap, nails biting at his skin. Instantly you knew you’d pissed him off. His nostrils flared, his jaw set and as his eyes filled with fire and rage.

And you knew then, you were in for it.

“Bitch…” he snarled as he raised his left hand to his face where you had struck him, and then both his hands grabbed yours, yanking your arms up, pinning them above your head. You bucked upwards, violently in an attempt to shake him off, but it was futile. He was far too strong. His grip on your wrists grew tighter and despite yourself you let out a small whimper of fear.

In one hand he had the ability to cuff both of your wrists and he did so while his other grabbed at your dress, shoving it further up your body, fingers curling over the waist of your tights and panties, a handful of the material fisted in his palm. They wouldn't slide down quick enough and you felt your body lift away from the mattress slightly as he ripped away the material, the snap burning your skin. You fought, boy did you fight. You had no control of your hands or arms as he had them easily pinned, but your legs and the rest of your body gave as good as they could. You thrashed from side to side all the time screaming your objections. You drew your knees up to your chest in an attempt to buck him off. You screamed protests, threw every insult you had at him, but it was no use. He was simply too strong.

He didn't even bother with his belt or button, he just unzipped the flies on his jeans, pulled his solid cock free and slid in. You were wetter than you expected to be, but it still burned with friction and ached from the thick stretch against your tight walls. It hurt, definitely hurt.

"You know you want this. I know you want this." He rasped as he pulled out before thrusting back in, his face twisted in a look that was halfway between being smug and satisfied. Just looking at him made you feel sick but for some reason you were unable to look away as he continued his slow assault, before he picked up the pace slightly, his groans of satisfaction filling the room as he bottomed out, balls deep and it was at that point you closed your eyes and tried to block out what he was doing to you. But try as you might to remain mentally detached from the situation, your body was anything but. And the more he moved in and out of you, the more you could feel your physical reactions. You were powerless to stop them and the heat between your legs and in between your belly was spiking with each thrust into you.

It felt good. And you knew it shouldn’t. So you fought it, but eventually, you couldn't fight it anymore, not with the way his thick cock filled you, velvety smooth skin sliding in and out of your defiant core. You didn't want to cum, but your body told your brain it was going to and Ransom nearly puffed his chest as he fucked you into your body's submission.

"You're gonna fucking cum, aren't you, Sweetheart? I can feel it," he ground out, chasing his own release. You remained silent, breathing heavily as your insides coiled and tightened. "Fucking tight ass pussy," he gritted. You refused to cry out, not wanting to give him anything you were able not to, and it took everything you had to remain silent. In desperation, to quell the cry that was rising from your throat, you bit your tongue, tasting the coppery taste of blood in your mouth as you came hard around his cock.

“Fuck, yeah…see…” Ransom’s hips began to move faster, and then with a sudden movement he pulled out of you, making you wince involuntarily at the sting. He shot his load all over your thighs, a growl bubbling from his throat, the warmth of his release trickling down your leg made you feel even more dirty than you already did.

“Not so fucking smart are we now, huh, miss Investigative Reporter…” his snap was snide, and childish, but you knew he couldn’t help himself. Your head remained defiantly in its position on the pillow, turned to the right, eyes focussed on a spot on the wall. “Look at me, bitch.”

When you didn’t do as he asked, he grabbed your chin bruisingly, making you wince as he pulled your face round so he could see you. You knew he would be able to see the tears on your face, and you hated that. Hated that he would see how much he’d hurt you, scared you even,

His hand let go of your face and you stared at him, swallowing, trying to gather your voice in your painfully dry throat.

"That's all you got? You're a fucking child, Drysdale. It's why you’re doing this." You said, your voice trembling and croaking from the fear and exertion of what he had just put you through and you shook your head. “You’re a fucking man child with mommy and daddy issues. A spoilt, little whiney brat who can’t bear to be told no.”

That struck a nerve, you could tell, as his jaw clenched tight and his fists clenched around the sheets by your side to the point they were shaking. He grabbed your chin once more with his right hand and pinned your face still, forcing your eyes to look back at his

“You'll be begging me to accept your apology.” He snarled, his face contorted in rage “You'll see who the whiney child is soon enough. I promise Princess, it's not me”

As you looked at him, you felt your anger starting to simmer. This fucking ass hole had just raped you, and he had the gall to be saying you were going to tell him that you were sorry. No chance in hell. You knew you were screwed, literally and figuratively. Whilst he had you captive behind a bolted door, shackled to a bed you had nowhere to go, he knew that you knew that too and you could see it in his face as a smug smirk flickered on his lips. Well fuck this, if you were going down it was with a fight. With a sudden movement, that caught him off guard you moved your head slightly as much as you could in his painful grip, and spat right in his face.

Ransom blinked, his anger morphing to shock, then back to fury once more as he released your face and with a flash of his hand he back handed you straight across the face. The blow to your right cheek snapped your head to the left, sucking the breath from your lungs and leaving you a little dazed.

“Fuck you.” He sneered as he rose to his feet, wiping his face. Silently he rearranged his pants, tucking his now soft cock back inside them, and swept from the room, locking the door behind him.

***** Ransom stormed up the steps to the kitchen of the house, slamming the top door behind him and bolting that one shut too. He was furious that little bitch had scratched him and no doubt marked his face. He strode over the marble tiles of the room and walked into the large hallway and across into the den. He made his way straight to the bar, poured himself a healthy measure of good scotch, slopping a little on the dark wooden counter, before he glanced up at the large mirrored surface of the bar behind the shelves.

He could make out three vivid red lines down his left cheek where she’d dug her nails into his flesh and his jaw clenched. His hair was out of place, his cheeks flushed and his normally cold eyes were blazing with anger. But as he stood there staring at his dishevelled reflection, he knew it wasn’t the fact she’d scratched or spat at him that was pissing him off so much. It was the fact she had persistently voiced a name he despised, one that was used to control those lower than him in his every-day life. One reserved for The Help, for outsiders. It reminded him of his family, of his mother and father, the two people in his life who should have loved him unconditionally but instead had him out of ‘duty’ and had taken every opportunity to pass him off into the care of others they could. It reminded him of Walt persistently telling him he was a no-one, that he would amount to nothing over than a trust-fund baby.

It reminded him of Harlan. The one person in that entire fucked up patriarchy that had shown him an ounce of care. But who had screwed him over in the end.

The anger that had been simmering inside him boiled over, the blood pumped into his ear and with an angry yell and an almost involuntary action Ransom hurled the glass tumbler straight at the wall where it smashed against the tasteful silver and white wallpaper, the 25 year old single malt trickling down the wall…just like the tears and trickled down Y/N’s cheeks as he’d forced her to look at him whilst he took what was his.

As she’d glared up at him he’d noticed a fierceness in her eyes that he was surprised to find had unnerved him a little, because she clearly wasn’t going to be as easy to break as he thought.

“Fuck it.” He mumbled to himself, grabbing the bottle from the bar before he turned and left the room, taking a large swig as he went, the burn in his throat going someway to settling his nerves.

This would work out, because he was Ransom fucking Drysdale, a man who always got what he wanted in the end, and she was going to be no exception.

**** Part 2

#murder he wrote #j's haunted house 2020 #dark ransom #dark ransom drysdale x reader #dark ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale #reader insert #chris evans #chris evans characters

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what-is-your-plan-today · 4 years

Text

Murder, He Wrote

Co-written with @southerngracela

Part 1

Warnings: A creepy house, bad language words. MATURE (NSFW 18+) NON-CON situation, kidnap, violence. DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THOSE TRIGGER… READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!

Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader

Once again READ THE WARNINGS!!!! This is a DARK Series… don’t @ us if you can’t follow simple instructions and end up with butt-hurt. And if you’re under 18…get off my blog.

Series Masterlist.

"Y/L/N," your dick editor poked his head into your office rather gruffly. "I'm gonna need that celebrity haunted mansion review on my desk by tomorrow morning. I want to run it ASAP.”

"Make it happen." He said simply, before he turned and left.

With a groan you banged your head on your desk. Why had you not listened to your dad and become a damned teacher instead of a journalist. Dealing with snotty nosed brats would be easier than this.

I’m tall when I’m young, and I’m short when I’m old. I also give heat but not enough to prevent cold

“Candle…” you spoke “The answer is Candle…”

Turning back round, you then spotted that the door at the end of the hall was open, and you could clearly make out a Jack-o-Lantern looking at you, the candle inside flickering. Its face was creepy, really creepy. The nose and eyes were harsh triangles and the grotesque, twisted smile it sported was constructed of sharp, jagged teeth. You reached into your pocket and pulled out your phone. You may have had no service, but the flashlight was working. Keeping the light held in front of you so you could watch your step on the cracked tiles of the hall, you made your way towards the lantern and found yourself in a large, run down kitchen. The lantern and your flash-light provided the only light in the room as the windows were all overshadowed by gnarly trees, their branches every so often scratching the glass as they swayed slightly in the wind outside. The only other sound to be heard was the drip, drip of the faucet in the porcelain Belfast sink. A closer look revealed the discoloration of the water, a brownish concoction as it swirled down the plug. There was an envelope on the side of the counter by the lantern and as you crossed towards it, a movement in your peripheral made you spin round only to see a lone mouse scuttling away across the dirty wooden floor. You placed your phone down, flash-light up causing it to light up an area of the Artex plaster ceiling, and picked up the envelope, tearing it open to find your next clue

Mr Jack-o-Lantern lights the night His eerie face is shining bright The ????? that shaped him lies around And holds your next clue safe and sound

Many a Child on me they may play Any time be it night or day. My surface is hard, on it you can knock I have many keys, but can’t open a single lock…

“What has keys but doesn't open a lock?" You pondered aloud. Adjusting your cross-body strap, you sigh. Then the answer came to you, "a piano."

"Alright, Lee, you were always one for a flare of the dramatics, let's see what you've got."

Step by step you followed the note that chimed every few steps and you found yourself beginning to wonder if it was a recording or if someone were really playing it, timing their play with the sound of your boots over the rotting floor. You wound your way through the narrow hall, ancient wall paper peeling from its tack, mastick and plaster falling away to reveal studs in places. Finally, to your left you heard the key loud and clear. It was in that room. Steeling yourself for a possible encounter, you carefully pushed the sliding door away from its hinge. Your booted feet traipsed across the brittle carpet, dust swirling in the air in front of your face. Cobwebs adorned many of the surfaces and there were dirty white sheets covering the various pieces of furniture in the room. Apart from, that is, the large ornate grand piano that sat in the middle of the room. The stool in front of it suddenly jolted back and tilted toward you, making you scream at the gracious invitation by an as of yet invisible host.

“Get a grip Y/N” you mumbled to yourself. You were surprised to find just how much this place was starting to set your nerves on edge. You took a deep breath, the pounding of blood in your ears began to quiet and you took a look around the room. There was no one in there with you, you were alone. With slow, deliberate steps you moved towards the piano, your eyes sweeping over the mahogany surface, searching for an envelope with the next clue, but there was none to be found. The surface of the piano was thick with dust and grime, but as you scanned over it you suddenly stopped. On one of the white keys the dust was disturbed, as if it had been wiped away and you instantly realised that had to be the key that your so far elusive host must have been playing. You paused, biting at the nail on your thumb of you right hand, before you reached out with your left and tapped the key. The melodic note rang around the room, clearly, echoing in the silence and for some reason you were taken back to a part of the article you had been thinking about earlier that day, and how Detective Blanc had told you that he had ‘played a key’ during the various family interviews ‘to make my point without interruption’. It didn’t pass you by how fitting that actually was at that moment but you didn’t have much time to reflect on it, as you heard a creak and a grinding noise and you spun to your left to see a panel in the wall sliding open. It made you jump slightly, but this time you didn’t scream.

Not for the first time, you had to admire the effort Lucas was going to here. It was clear he had a flare for the dramatic, anyone could see that from his films and interviews but this was pretty damned good. It was making you wonder how he was doing it. Was he somewhere watching, pressing buttons to enact the various parts of his show? Instinctively you glanced up, looking for a camera or something you were being monitored by but you found no evidence of anything. “Well, in for a penny…” you muttered, crossing towards the small hatch. It was just wide enough for you to get your hand into, but you really didn’t want to. You grabbed your torch and shone it into the hole, finding nothing but the envelope so deciding it was safe you reached in and pulled it out.

Sometimes coloured, sometimes plain sometimes frosted, sometimes stain Be you short or thin, or fat or tall, this simple invention, lets you look right through a wall

You pondered for a moment, before the answer came to you. Fairly quickly you might add. Feeling a little smug you smiled and cleared your throat “Window. It’s a window.”

“Tonight is not all fright and fear, a trick or treat is waiting near, the bedroom holds a sweet surprise, there solve the clue to claim your prize” you bit your lip and looked up at the top of the stairs, wondering when someone was going to jump out at you. Taking a deep breath, you made your way up, cringing at each creak your feet caused on the old warped wood, but it didn’t sway your determination to make it to your destination. Halfway up, a shadow flickered at the corner of your vision at the top on the landing and you froze, your mouth going dry once more. As you stood there, shining your light into the dark you caught the same scent from moments ago lingering in the air only this time it was stronger, far more powerful and you were able to denote even more of the notes within. Aalongside the amber and cedar your heightened senses picked up deep, earthy, sandalwood notes with a hint of citrus in the background. And it was familiar for reasons beyond the fact you’d smelt it down stairs. But, as you’d surmised earlier, it was a cologne. Probably one worn by a few people you knew.

Yes that was it.

“Jesus Christ Y/N what has gotten into you?” You rolled your eyes and continued up the stairs, clearly your ‘Celebrity Host’ was once more nearby. You cautiously got to the top of the stairs and glanced around. Nothing. So turning to your left you entered the first room you found on the hall. It was empty bar a creepy looking doll that had been separated from its head which lay about a foot to the right. As you looked around the room, the wind intensified outside, the rustling of the leaves and branches became louder, as did the creaking of the house…and then you gulped, as you realised it wasn’t just the house that was creaking. In the corner of the room, the little chair had begun to rock, slowly. Blowing out a breath and shaking your head, you looked around at the thin strips of wallpaper which showed little trucks. Crayon markings scrambled upon the wall where wallpaper used to stick but other than that there was nothing in there bar some pretty good theatrics. You had to hand it to Lee, the creepy feel was fantastic and you were going to give him one hell of a write up for this. You took a while longer to take in the detail, smiling to yourself before you closed the door and headed to the one over the hallway.

I’m light as a feather, yet the strongest person can’t hold me for five minutes. What am I?

You froze, for the answer was simple. Breath.

And that was it, you needed to get out. You started to back away from the bed, but before you had so much as made it 3 steps you collided with something hard. A forceful arm across your front pinned you to a firm and broad chest that engulfed your frame while a cloth with a distinct smell and cool moisture covered your airways.

"Surprise" The voice in your ear, calm, deep and known, was all you heard before nothing consumed you.

*****

But then, didn’t everything for him? He was Ransom Drysdale, and he was fucking untouchable.

And now she was all his.

*****

Your night flashed quickly through your glutamate and adrenaline flooded brain

"Drysdale," you repeated the last word you had spoken in a shaky, frightful voice. "No."

Rage and fear collided in your chest as you screamed out the only thing you could think of, "HELP!" A strangled sound left your chest followed by another cry out for help, "Please, someone, HELP!"

"Nice to see someone's awake," Ransom deadpanned.

You stared for a brief moment and screamed for help again, louder, and louder, and louder until you felt your voice crack and strain, your cords burning as the sound shattered away.

"Are you done?" He cocked his head to the side and folded his arms across his chest as he stood firm and tall in front of the bed.

"What the hell are you doing? Why am I here?" It hurt to speak but you had to ask.

“Because I want you here, Sweetheart.”

"You... Killed... Him." You grit out through clenched teeth, and his hand was on your throat before you finished your breath, squeezing just enough to make a point.

A struggled chuckle came from your tightened throat, "Jesus Christ, you actually believe your own bull shit don't you?"

"You've got a fucking mouth on you," he breathed as his body loomed ominously over the bed and your frame, tiny in comparison to his.

You swallowed, feeling the hard lump strain to pass his grip, "Not really, you just don't like hearing the truth."

His eyes bored into yours and you struggled for breath as his hand constricted around your neck whilst he squeezed a little harder "Oh shut up Y/N."

"Or what, Hugh?" You croaked.

A little flash of anger tore through his ocean blue eyes like lightning in a storm. His eyes bored into yours as you fought to swallow.

"Or I'll shut you up myself."

“Don’t... fucking call me that!” his voice rose to a loud, angry instruction, apoplectic rage seeping from him to you, and it was almost stifling.

Ransom scoffed, "Kill you, no, see I'm gonna teach you a lesson. One about how money and status get you anything you want.”

You frowned, as you looked into his icy blue eyes, utterly confused “Anything you want? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You'll see Princess” was the sole explanation you got as he knelt between your legs.

"Don't" you squeezed, attempting to stop his wrists and close your legs.

“I said no.” you tried to keep your voice stern, despite the fact you were fighting back the fear and sadness at the realization of his task was now at hand.

His large hands smoothed over your dress, cupping your breasts and he let out a moan as you bit back the bile in your throat that was threatening to spill from your mouth. You pushed harder trying to force him off of you but it was of no use, his broad frame caged you in, engulfing you under him.

"Please, stop," you managed. "Hugh, stop!"

And you knew then, you were in for it.

"You're gonna fucking cum, aren't you Princess? I can feel it," he ground out, chasing his own release. You remained silent, breathing heavily as your insides coiled and tightened. "Fucking tight ass pussy," he gritted. You refused to cry out, not wanting to give him anything you were able not to, and it took everything you had to remain silent. In desperation, to quell the cry that was rising from your throat, you bit your tongue, tasting the coppery taste of blood in your mouth as you came hard around his cock.

His hand let go of your face and you stared at him, swallowing, trying to gather your voice in your painfully dry throat.

“You'll be begging me to accept your apology.” He snarled, his face contorted in rage “You'll see who the whiney child is soon enough. I promise Princess, it's not me”

“Fuck you.” He sneered as he rose to his feet, wiping his face. Silently he rearranged his pants, tucking his now soft cock back inside them, and swept from the room, locking the door behind him.

He could make out 3 vivid red lines down his left cheek where she’d dug her nails into his flesh and his jaw clenched. His hair was out of place, his cheeks flushed and his normally cold eyes were blazing with anger. But as he stood there staring at his dishevelled reflection, he knew it wasn’t the fact she’d scratched or spat at him that was pissing him off so much. It was the fact she had persistently voiced a name he despised, one that was used to control those lower than him in his every-day life. One reserved for The Help, for outsiders. It reminded him of his family, of his mother and father, the two people in his life who should have loved him unconditionally but instead had him out of ‘duty’ and had taken every opportunity to pass him off into the care of others they could. It reminded him of Walt persistently telling him he was a no-one, that he would amount to nothing over than a trust-fund baby.

It reminded him of Harlan. The one person in that entire fucked up patriarchy that had shown him an ounce of care. But who had screwed him over in the end. The anger that had been simmering inside him boiled over, the blood pumped into his ear and with an angry yell and an almost involuntary action Ransom hurled the glass tumbler straight at the wall where it smashed against the tasteful silver and white wallpaper, the 25 year old single malt trickling down the wall…just like the tears and trickled down Y/N’s cheeks as he’d forced her to look at him whilst he took what was his.

As she’d glared up at him he’d noticed a fierceness in her eyes that he was surprised to find had unnerved him a little, because she clearly wasn’t going to be as easy to break as he thought.

“Fuck it.” He mumbled to himself, grabbing the bottle from the bar before he turned and left the room, taking a large swig as he went, the burn in his throat going someway to settling his nerves.

This would work out, because he was Ransom fucking Drysdale, a man who always got what he wanted in the end, and she was going to be no exception.

**** WIYPT Tag List:

Everything

@momobaby227 @marvelfansworld @cobalt-gear @djeniiscorner @ayamenimthiriel @coldmuffinbanditshoe @nerdofthefandoms @sweater-daddiesdumbdork @southerngracela @goldenfightergir @kellymat @what-just-happened-bro @jennmurawski13 @joannaliceevans-fanficblog @jtargaryen18 @redhairedfeistynerd @charmed-asylum @saiyanprincessswanie @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @jhayes6984 @anika-ann @icanfeelastormbrewing @gigglegirl77 @princess-evans-addict @mes-2016 @theladybiers @void-hoechlin

Ransom Drysdale

@patzammit @icandothisallday @capsiclewinter @this-is-serenaa @alexakeyloveloki @perplexed3001 @twittytelly @kelbabyblue @maan24

If your name appears above but the tag isn’t live please let me know.

#halloween challenge #j's haunted house 2020 #jshauntedhouse2020 #dark ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x reader #murder he wrote #ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale smut #ransom drysdale fanfiction #knives out #knives out fanfic

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cherryeoo · 5 years

Text

Morning Star (Ateez Fantasy!AU) Ch 3

Summary: Two unlikely companions join together to ride the rollercoaster known as: Life. With a yin and yang balance, they soon discover that there’s not only beauty in the beast, but beast in the beauty.

Flipping on her desktop lamp, Saetbyeol sinks into her chair, locking her purse in the desk’s only drawer. Tapping her finger on the smooth surface of her desk, she impatiently waits for her computer to come to life. Today was going to be an exhausting day.

Saetbyeol was usually always the first to arrive in the morning. She wasn’t a morning person per-say, but she liked to get a head start on her work so she wasn’t having to get off late or be the last to leave. The glow of her computer monitor illuminated her face, exposing the exhaustion in her eyes. Taking a swig of her coffee from her travel mug, she opened her web browser and document software. The cave incident left her so baffled that she began thinking of any and all possible explanations - no matter how bizarre it seemed. Before she could document and publish the article, however, she had to find solid evidence on what could’ve caused this. The scenes from that day constantly flashed in her mind; the whole situation was unsettling.

Shaking the images from her mind, she cracked her fingers and let out an audible sigh before typing ‘behaviors of hunters’ into the search bar. Time slowly passed by as she read article after article on hunters and their occasional strange behaviors, but none of it matched with what she saw in the cave. The carcasses - piled perfectly on top of one another with only their livers missing. It just didn’t add up.

Her next option was to research murders and bizzare patterns as well as various killings, but regardless of how deep she ventured into the rabbit hole, Saetbyeol couldn’t find similar cases. She didn’t want to rule out murder, or a deranged hunter, but she couldn’t find any solid reasons as to who would do such a thing, or why. Hunters never stacked carcasses neatly and perfectly, so maybe it was a warning? Maybe a serial killer lurked in the shadows and utilized animal carcusses to send out a subliminal threat?

Breaking her concentration, she heard the bells on the office’s front door chime. Looking up, she saw San walk in and towards his desk. Removing his thick black jacket, he draped it perfectly over the back of his chair. Placing his belongings neatly in their proper places, he pressed the power button on his computer as he waited for the machine to come to life.

Saetbyeol never once paid attention to his strange organizational behavior, but after the cave incident, she had become more aware of her surroundings. However, considering San was her co-worker, she didn’t dwell upon his actions. Sensing someone watching him, San spun around in her direction only to catch her watching his every move closely. Smiling sweetly at her, he waved to his mysterious co-worker. Her eyes quickly darted back to her screen, fully prepared to go back to ignoring him at all costs. Cheeks flushing just the slightest tinge of pink, she hoped he couldn’t see her discoloration from across the room. San frowned, he was always curious about her and why she never spoke to anyone other than the girl he saw her with the other night. Shaking his head, San makes his way to the coffee bar to make himself some tea.

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Saetbyeol groaned in frustration - she was getting nowhere. She was just about to give up and try a different route when she noticed a comment from an anonymous user with a link to another article. Furrowing her brows, she gnawed on her lip - she might as well check it out. Clicking on it, she stared at the words in big bold letters, Mythical Creatures: A History, the color of a dark red wine, maybe even a blood hue.

As she scanned the article, Saetbyeol quickly perceived that it was written by an amateur author. The more she read, the more skeptical she grew - what even was this? Fiction perhaps? The author talked about the reality of mythical creatures walking amongst human beings which which, in return, earned an audible chuckle from Saetbyeol.

The author probably wrote it to get a rise out of people and to fuel others’ superstitions. There’s no such thing as mythical creatures and even if there were, how would people know? Did they see one? Doubtful. The more she read, the more absurd the article grew - such creatures apparently took the form of human beings to fit in which caused Saetbyeol to, once again, question whether or not the author had seen such a sight, to which she, yet again, declared that it was doubtful.

It took everything in Saetbyeol’s power to not roll her eyes at the mention and definition of each creature. There’s no way people actually believed these things, right? She had to give the writer some credit, though - a lot of the information was very detailed, but there’s no way they weren’t making this up. Sighing, Saetbyeol moved her cursor to close the tab when suddenly, a familiar word caught her eye: Kumiho. Gnawing on her lower lip, she hesitantly clicked on word to read more. Just as the page finished loading, her boss called to her; Saetbyeol jumping in her chair as her head whips in the direction of her boss’ voice. “Yes boss?”

“Can I speak to you in my office real fast?” Ms. Kim stood at the bottom of the stairs that lead up to her office.

Jumping up, she made her way to her boss and up the stairs to her office. Returning to his desk, tea in hand, San noticed Saetbyeol was nowhere to be found. He wondered if she had gone to the restroom or to get something to eat. Why was he suddenly so concerned about her?

Shaking his head, he made his way back to his desk, setting his teacup down on top of the coaster next to his keyboard. The room had started to fill up with more of his coworkers, their voices becoming louder as they started to bid good morning to their friends while working on bringing their computers to life. Sitting down, San’s eyes scanned the crowd of people, eyes darting left and right in hopes to catch a glimpse of Saetbyeol, but to no avail.

“What do you mean I have to work with him?!” Saebyeol replied to her boss. The two of them were good friends from college, but at the end of the day, Ms. Kim was still her boss, so she had the final say in decision-making.

“I know this isn’t easy for you Saetbyeol and I’m not doing this to punish you by any means, but I am teaming you up with San for your cave investigation. An outsider's view might be a good thing, not to mention the attention he’ll bring to the story.” Ms. Kim replied giving Saetbyeol a sympathetic grin.

“So you are using him for publicity! This isn’t even his department anyway!” She groans as she folds her arms across her chest.

“Well, yes, but I’m doing this for you. You know I’ve always wanted you to go far in your career, so I’m using this opportunity to help you out as well.”

“Fine, whatever. But don’t expect me to be nice to him.” Saetbyeol snaps back, glaring at her boss and old friend.

“I’m not expecting you to, but do try to at least work with him.” At that Ms. Kim dismissed Saetbyeol.

She stormed out of the office, back down the stairs and to her desk. Flopping in her chair, she snaps her head in San’s direction, shooting daggers from her eyes into his back, hoping he could feel it. As if abiding by her wishes, San tensed up and turned his head to lock eyes with her, suddenly taken aback by her gaze. The look of pure hatred twisted the features of her face, her eyes cold as a storm brewed within them. Confusion overtook his body - what had he done to her that made her behave this way towards him? Had he taken her mug by mistake? Did he say something about one of her articles without realizing it? Eyes growing wide, Saetbyeol whipped her head around - focusing on her computer screen in front of her.

Frustration coursing through her, Saetbyeol tries once more to read the article she had found in the comments, but her attention was pulled elsewhere once more. Saetbyeol watches out of the corner of her eye as her boss makes her way towards San’s desk. Great she’s going to tell him the news. Pretending not to be paying attention, Saetbyeol fixated her eyes upon the monitor, but didn’t read the words virtually plastered to it. Stopping in front of him, Ms. Kim places a file of all the copies Saetbyeol made of her report from the cave and her findings so far beside his hand. Watching San flip through them, his eyes grew wide as they dart straight to Saetbyeol - he must’ve just been told the news.

Feeling her cheeks flush, she bends down, pretending to pick up something off the floor so her hair could fall freely from behind her ear to hide her face from his view. Straightening up slightly, she could see his shoulders tense up through the curtain of her black locks as he sighs; nodding in agreement with Ms. Kim, knowing he, too, cannot refuse. His reluctance was obvious, but being the good poster-child he was, he confirmed his agreement without too much hesitation.

As Saetbyeol continued to watch, a warm feeling of anger began pooling in the pit of her stomach. Sighing, she fully straightened up, unlocking the desks drawer, as she grabbed her purse and stormed out of the building. She needed fresh air before she snapped. How could Ms. Kim team her up with him? Of all people, why did it have to be Choi San?

An audible sigh escaped her lips - she was going to get so many glares from this, as if she already didn’t get enough. San was the most desired person at their workplace, but he was also the most unavailable person in the office. Clenching her jaw, Saetbyeol ran a hand through her hair once she realized how her female co-workers would react. San was fairly popular amongst women - especially those in their office. Countless times they had tried to make their move on him and each time, he politely turned them down. That, alone, was going to cause trouble for her, but she had to at least give him some credit - he was always a professional gentleman, even to her.

But she was cold, closed off from everyone; never made friends or spoke to anyone, and when she did it was laced with intense sarcasm. No one approached her for anything, and she liked it that way. Honestly, her only true friend was Mirae. Her boss knew of Saetbyeol’s past, so how could she do this to her? Ms. Kim said it was for Saetbyeol’s benefit, but there’s no way anything good is going to come out of this.

Paying for her lunch, Saetbyeol slipped into a secluded picnic table nestled under a tree. She always came to this park near the office for lunch, or whenever she needed some alone time to cool off or to think. Glancing down, Saetbyeol took a quick glance at her bandaged ankle. The bleeding had stopped, but considering the wound’s vulnerability and placement, it was easy to re-open the tear. Noticing no signs of blood seeping through the bandage, however, she went back to focusing on her lunch - doing her best not to think of the fact that she is going to have to work with the Choi San.

San was still so confused as to why Saetbyeol acted with such anger and rage towards him. She obviously knew that they would be working together from here on out. San knew how she kept to herself, how she never spoke to anyone and what others thought about her. If someone started to talk about her around him, he would instantly change the subject in hopes to get the negative attention off of her; he hated how people spoke about her. They didn’t know her, nor did they ever try to, but it’s not like he attempted to, either. He had tried to approach her once in the past, but it blew up in his face, so instead, he secretly admired her from afar; his interest growing everyday. Now that he was getting his chance, though, he had to admit that while he was thrilled to get to know her, he was reluctant as well - he knew what their interactions would do to her. More people would start to stare and talk badly about her - pondering and speculating as to why the two of them had grown so close. They wouldn’t care about the fact of their pairing being for an assignment; human beings only ever cared about drama and how to twist stories for their own benefit.

San glanced once more at her now empty workstation, her frustration apparent. Sighing, he stood up, mug in hand, as he made his way back to the coffee bar for another cup of tea. Passing by her desk, he stopped in his tracks as he noticed the article she was reading. What did this have to do with the cave’s case they would be working on together? Noticing the new, unread article in a tab next to the currently open one, he frowned. Leaning in a bit to get a better look, he rolled his eyes as he moved the mouse's cursor to the small ‘x’ button in the top right-hand corner of the tab, closing both tabs pertaining to mythical creatures.

“How stupid,” San’s voice was soft, irritation seeping into his body. He never thought Saetbyeol, of all people, believed in such wild stories. He would have to ensure she didn’t look up such things if he was to work with her. Their pairing was already going to cause trouble - he wasn’t going to allow her to make a fool of the company, let alone themselves, as well. Deleting that day’s browser’s web history, he continued on his way to the coffee bar.

Satisfied with his beverage, San moves gracefully between the scattered crowds of employees discussing various projects they were working on. It wasn’t uncommon for people from different departments getting teamed up, but why choose someone from the news and another from the entertainment section? Contrary to popular assumptions, those two categories were in no way connected - not for this story, at least.

Looking out the window, San noticed Saetbyeol walking back towards the building. Should he approach her? Just as she was about to enter, Saetbyeol was stopped by one of their fellow coworkers. He watched as the man got closer and closer to her as she tried to put a comfortable distance between them, but the man was not letting up. The look in his eyes made San’s stomach twist, anger boiling up inside him.

The man was taunting her. He watched as Saetbyeol tensed her shoulders, curling into herself as she lowered her head to avoid his intimidating gaze. The more he pushed, the more uncomfortable she grew. She wanted to just disappear. Tears started to sting her eyes as he continued to tease her as to why she was taken to the bosses office - repeating how he thought she was finally getting fired. San noticed her small frame begin to shake. He normally didn’t get involved in people’s affairs, but he could tell how truly frightened she was. He knew what consequences this would bring, but he wasn’t going to allow this to continue to happen, not to his new partner. He would protect her of what people had to say from now on.

Standing up, San quickly made his way out the front door. Looming behind the man taunting Saetbyeol, he cleared his throat, lowering his voice to sound more menacing. “Is there a reason why you are tormenting my partner?”

Snapping her head up Saetbyeol stares at San. His demeanor was suddenly menacing and quite frightful; completely contrasting his usual cheery and warm self. She had to admit she was scared of the San she was currently seeing. She had never once seen him show any sign of anger or aggression, so this was new. Glancing up at him, she saw his jaw clenched tight as a nearly visible fire danced in his eyes. Their co-worker turned around to face San, he stood just a few inches taller than him, but that didn’t stop San from confronting the man. She couldn’t hear any of the words the two of them exchanged as she froze in pure fear and anxiety. It had been a long time since she had a severe panic attack like this, but it wasn’t much of a surprise - it was triggered upon receiving the news about working with San and now, with her co-worker cornering her and San acting out of character, it only intensified.

Tears flowed freely down her cheeks as she noticed their co-worker backing down and heading back inside. Thankfully, only a small crowd of spectators had formed, and those who did gather around,all had their attention on San. Quickly wiping away her tears before anyone saw, she tried to calm her breathing when suddenly, a firm, but gentle hand grasped her shoulder. She already knew whose hand it was, but the feeling of him touching her, made her shy away from his touch.

“Are you okay?” His voice was laced with genuine concern, yet she could still hear the anger in his deep tone. He could tell she was still trembling, her breathing still somewhat uneven. Faint whimpers left her mouth as she started to speak.

“I-I didn’t ask for you help. I would’ve been fine on my own.” Her voice trembled uncontrollably as she tried to calm herself before she went back inside. She didn’t have any strength left to yell like she wanted to. She knew that her words were a lie, she wouldn’t have been fine on her own. Actually, if San hadn’t come to her aid, she would’ve been a lot worse. She couldn’t say it out loud, of course, but she was thankful that he showed up.

Flinching at her words, a deep sadness welled in his eyes, but only momentarily has he quickly replaced it with his usual gaze. Her words stung, and he didn’t understand why. He just helped her, why was she still behaving like this towards him? Deciding not to think too much of it he took a couple steps away from her, allowing her to have the space she needed to calm herself. This wasn’t his first time seeing someone have a panic attack, so he knew what to do in situations like these. To be honest, this was a whole new Saetbyeol; one had never seen before today. The girl before him was a fragile being - not the cold, hard-headed person he had always seen.

She truly was a mystery to him, but it intrigued him more. Maybe now he could finally crack her mystery.

Everyone else has quickly cleared the area, leaving her and San alone as they stood in the cool afternoon air. Small snowflakes had started to fall from the sky. Watching them, Saetbyeol began to finally feel her body relax, exhaustion consuming her, but she willed her body to remain upright. She couldn’t let San, or anyone who might still be watching, see her in this vulnerable state. This was the first time he had ever heard her voice, aside from when she was being short and sarcastic with people and when he overheard her talking to her best friend the other night after she got off work. The sound of it made him feel warm and soothed, it was soft and higher pitched than he imagined. This was her real voice.

“My name is Choi San. It’s nice to finally meet you after all this time --- partner.” He smiled sweetly at her, reassuring her that she had no reason to fear him. Making both of his hands visible, he extended his left hand out to her in a friendly gesture, hoping she would return his handshake.

Fear crept up within her once more, looking from his face to his hand she gnawed on her lip. She wasn’t used to physical contact with men, but she had already felt San’s hand. The feeling of his hand on her shoulder - faint, but still there. His touch was different, it was soothing and even though she shied away from his previous touch, she never felt fear from it. This was her first time ever being this close to him, or anyone besides Mirae, for that matter.

She was guarded but she didn’t feel afraid like she had with their coworker who, moments ago, stood uncomfortably close to her. She could feel her walls slightly crumbling in his presence despite how hard she tried to keep them standing. She still didn’t trust him, but if she was going to have to work with him for the case, she decided she would at least try to get along with San.

Slowly and hesitantly, she extended her right hand, placing it in his larger one. Watching his fingers curl around the back of her hand, swallowing her’s whole, she mirrored the movement and curled her fingers over his. Unable to take her eyes off his hand she spoke softly, yet hesitantly, “My name is Yoo Saetbyeol. It’s nice to meet you as well.”

#atzwriters #atinynet #ateez #san #ateez fanfic #ateez san #choi san #atiny #fanfic #writings #fanfiction #my works #cherryeo #cherryeo; Morning Star #q; Morning Star

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claracussonseo · 5 years

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Writing Ain’t for Everyone, But Article Writing Is!

Writing Ain’t for Everyone, But Article Writing Is! is courtesy of: Chicago Website Design SEO Co.

Writing Ain’t for Everyone, But Article Writing Is!

Ready…Set…Go! If you are not submitting articles to article directory web sites, which pertain to your site’s content and theme, you are missing the proverbial boat on gaining additional popularity for your web site and valuable, one-way links back to your site which are critical for good placement within the search engines. Many formerly well-ranked, front-page sites have found themselves re indexed and tucked away on page 15 of google. Sound familiar? Who’s going to find you on page 15? Answer: No one. You may want to check some of your top 5 keywords on Google, Yahoo, and MSN to see where you are located. Different that what you expected? Is your site traffic down? Then, you’d better do something and do it quickly. Sites which refuse to write and publish content are “on their way out,” as one web designer and SEO expert has said. Let’s take a look at this issue a bit further.

In recent months, it has become absolutely critical for web site owners to submit content-rich articles for publication on major article directory sites, ezines and newsgroups. Gone are the days where it was relatively easy to get front page placement for your site for a few, or even several, key search words (“keywords”). Why the difference? Because the search engines are continually changing their search algorithms to provide more relevant search data to their consumers/customers. The “Big 2,” Google and Yahoo, compete fiercely to supply relevant and cutting-edge results for these searches in order to get people to come back for future searches. In review, the game goes a little like this: Let’s say Sally is taking her lunch break at work and wants to look up some information on shopping in Madrid. Sally fires up her browser, surfs to google and enters “shopping in Madrid” in the search box. On the date of this article, there were 19,600,000 results for this search phrase and only the top 10 are listed on page one. Even though less than thirty percent of people will click to page two, Sally decides she would like to copy-n-paste the first 20 results into an email to her home computer, so she can check the search results in detail when she gets off work. She creates the email and sends it off and does, in fact, research the top 20 results when she gets home.

Sounds like “shopping in Madrid” had 0.0001% of all available results indexed actually looked at by a google customer in this instance. Question: What if your web site has a major section devoted to downtown shopping in Madrid? Do you think, with your current level of web presence, that you have a chance of being on the first two pages of google? Would someone like Sally even know you existed? Chances are, she wouldn’t know your web site from a bale of hay! How would you like to *know* that the major portion of your site, which you have spent thousands of dollars developing, pertaining to “shopping in Madrid,” has a very good chance of getting high placement, maybe even front page, on google? While there is no way to “guarantee” this, it is important that you begin writing articles about “shopping in Madrid” and submitting them to the major article directories. Not a writer? Not a problem! Read On!

You’d be surprised that once you simply open up your notepad.exe file and begin typing, the ideas just seem to come forth. Type each of these ideas about what you would like to say on a separate line, pressing the enter key twice after each thought. Think of as many things as you can, regardless of how good or sorrowful they might be, and type them out, each on a single line. Tip: Think of what is already on your site and try to dovetail some of this content. Then (we’re almost there…), after you have more than a handful of ideas, go back and put an asterisk by the ideas you think would have the making of some decent content. Save this file as “Topics.txt” on your computer’s desktop and place the icon right smack-dab in the middle of your screen. Now, go get a diet coke or a cup of coffee and think about what you just did. Come back to you computer, open up the file that you just saved, choose one of the topics that you placed an asterisk beside, go to the next line and begin typing whatever comes to mind about that idea. Congratulations! You have just gotten over the hump of writing your first article! I have found that 90% of the “battle” is just selecting the topic. Obviously, you already know at least something about the topic you selected or you would not have written it down in the first place. Now, do a google or yahoo search on your selected topic and see what comes up in the search engines. I bet you see where I’m going with this…

Webmasters and site developers, you don’t have to be Truman Capote to write a 600 word article. Most people speak 600 words before they get out the door to go to work in the morning with a cup of coffee in-hand. Do you think you can put together 15 or 20 organized sentences on a topic that you are “supposed” to know a little bit about? I bet you can. Simply begin writing additional ideas below the topic you have selected and form them into a few paragraphs of organized thought that you think someone would be interested in reading. In the above example, “shopping in Madrid” I might see what the new happening place is to get good deals on Spanish antiques. Look up a few sites, select a shop, do a little research and then start writing.

The process of writing articles is really not that difficult once you get the hang of it. The above method is a very basic one that should work for many people. Also, please be sure to list the article on your own web site for additional new content which the search engines seem to really like. Once you have this information on your site, you may be surprised what could happen. Let’s say, the Spanish antique dealer which you wrote your article about might just contact you requesting a link or a banner ad be placed on your article page. How did they find your page? They did a search on google for “shopping in Madrid” and found your article listed and contacted you! Ah…success! While this probably won’t happen, you have the assurance that you are going through the right process to promote your web site and gain exposure in the search engines. There are many article directories to submit articles to. If set up properly, with one click of your mouse, you have the ability to create over 400 one-way back links to your web site. How long would this take you if you were doing the old reciprocal link campaign?

Go! You have invested countless hours and extraordinary effort to have a successful online business. It’s now up to you to keep it! By the way, the above article took less than one hour to write, revise, proof-read, and submit to over 400 article directories…and this writer ain’t no Truman Capote. Good luck!

Writing Ain’t for Everyone, But Article Writing Is! click: https://yelp.com/biz/chicago-website-design-seo-company-chicago-2/

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constructionaccounting · 6 years

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0266: Seven Deadly Construction Accounting Mistakes

This Podcast Is Episode Number 0266, And It Will Be About Seven Deadly Construction Accounting Mistakes

"Early To Bed, Early To Rise, Know Your Numbers And Advertise"

Unfortunately, with everything contractors like you need to do every day including weekend and holidays it’s too easy to let crisp, timely Financial Reports go unread and in some cases, you may not fully understand what they are telling you when you do read them.

#1 Not Tracking Direct Construction Costs For Each Job Or Project

If you want to know where you are making and losing money you need to implement a system of Job Costing.

These Reports Can only be found in the Premier Contractors and Accountants editions of QuickBooks. Some of them are also available in the Professional Services edition.

We offer Job Costing Report Service click here to learn more

#2 Not Allocating Overhead To Jobs

In order for your Job Costing and Job Profitability Reports to be useful you need a way to allocate overhead among jobs. Overhead generally refers to costs that benefit all jobs.

For Example:

Office And Shop Rent

Office Supplies

Admin Staff Salary

Officer Owner Salary

Marketing And Advertising

Consulting, Legal, And Accounting

Other Overhead Costs

Successful Construction Companies have a system to allocate a percentage of overhead among jobs based on field labor or field labor hours. The problem here is overhead costs may be over or under allocated which creates a distorted picture of job profitability.

For example, if your projects are material and other costs intensive, rather than labor intensive, you may consider allocating overhead based on one of those costs or perhaps some blend of direct job costs. The key is to develop a method for allocating overhead costs to the jobs that drive them.

#3 Change Orders

Change orders can be a great source of additional cash flow and profits as well as pitfalls and money drain and lost profit opportunities for contractors. Let me share a true story.

Home Improvement Contractor, Virginia USA

He called Sharie, our Client Care Coordinator and his first words after hello were: "I found your how-to video about change orders and really like how you have it set up and appreciate the pointers you had to offer."

He was sick and tired of customers constantly changing stuff on him and creating delays or extra work. He needed to be compensated for his time and his crew time but wanted to make sure he was doing it the right way.

Click Here For Construction Change Order Video

This video shows you step by step the Fast Easy Accounting way to work with your Free Construction Change Order Form. We certainly hope this will help you increase construction sales and bottom line profit by getting paid for all the extra work you are doing.

Contractors Are Our Heros

so we want to help you achieve your definition of success! During a short phone interview with me, he shared his story of how this change order template helped him sell new work and get a check today! He must have read our article on Contractors Are Not Bankers!

Recap:

He found the same thing most contractors have learned about how “Change Orders” become favors! Why, because by the end of the job he had forgotten all of the things he did that were not part of the original Scope of Work. Since he wasn’t clear with the customer about paying for those "Minor Changes" they ended up costing him time, money and profit.

He said after watching the video he downloaded the FREE Change Order Template Click Here for a Free copy of it.

Since it is built on Excel he said it was easy to insert his company letterhead, customize it with a few additional lines for description and save it to his desktop.

He Printed Some Copies And Put Then In The Job Folder

Today his customer asked about some changes that she was thinking about doing in the future. They discussed it and between them, and they decided that it the most economical to do the additional changes.

Remembering the “Brand New Change Order Form” in his Job Folder he filled one out, explained the additional time and material involved to make the change…the customer agreed it was quite a lot to make the changes she wanted; however, she wanted it done so she happily went and got her checkbook and wrote a check for the change order.

This customer is truly one of his Top 20% that he needs to stay in contact with and become her only contractor. Hopefully, she will refer him to service for everything she needs to maintain her home.

Have Your Customers Started A Conversation With:

While you are here anyway...

That Should Be Included...

Since It's Open Anyway...

You Get It Wholesale...

It's A Small Change...

While We're At It...

It's Easy For You...

I Have An Idea...

I Need A Favor...

If you answered yes here is the good news. People love to buy things and all you have to do is be easy to do business with. One of the best ways to keep your attitude positive is knowing and applying the 80-20 Rule For Contractors. This one tip alone can help keep more cash flowing into your company.

The 80 20 Rule For Contractor Success At The Money Game

#4 Job Costs Not Included In Financial Statement

Most Construction Companies track costs using Accrual Basis of accounting and pay tax on Cash Basis. This means recording revenues when earned and expenses when incurred. Some Job Costing errors occur when Direct or Indirect Job Costs are not included in the financial statements.

The reason is simple, bills from suppliers and vendors aren’t received until after the period is closed and financials have been issued. One way around this is implementing a voucher system or some other mechanism to ensure costs are recorded as liabilities or accrued costs in the period in which they’re incurred. This makes sense if your construction company annual sales are over $5,000,000.

#5 Job Estimates Are Not Accurate

Contractors with annual sales under $10,000,000 typically use "Completed Contract" method for financial reports. Contractors with annual sales over $10,000,000 may have to use "Percentage of Completion" method for financial reports.

Errors can be traced back to:

Poor estimating or forecasting

Inaccurate recording of actual costs

Mishandling of change order accounting

Editor Note:

After many decades of working with contractors and Construction Accounting I can say with 100% conviction contractors with annual sales under $1,000,000 are in a sweet spot and can easily generate an annual take-home income of 10% to 20% of annual sales without all of the massive headaches of running a big contracting firm.

#6 Recognizing Loss In The Wrong Period

Construction companies that use the Percentage Of Completion method sometimes misjudge whether or not a job is likely to be completed at a loss. Generally Accepted Accounting Principles require them to fully recognize the loss at the time it’s determined.

Regular review of each project’s job cost schedule. In the event, estimated costs exceed the contract amount, be prepared to accrue a loss.

#7 Joint Ventures

A Partnership Is The Only Ship Designed To Sink"-Randalism

Joint ventures are a bit like change orders. They can be an incredible opportunity to make or lose a lot of money very quickly. Almost as quick as betting money on a roulette wheel in a casino.

Joint Ventures have their own accounting rules. The devil is in the details because how costs and profits are shared among the participants depends on how the joint venture is structured and the terms of the agreement.

Avoid errors, leave nothing to chance. Be sure you and the other party agree on how the income and expenses will be dealt with in your accounting systems before you start work. Implement processes and procedures to ensure the venture’s activities are properly documented.

Editor Note: Contractors with annual sales less than $10,000,000 often get together to work on a specific project. For example, a concrete contractor may have a large project that requires more finishers than they have on staff. They find a friendly competitor to supply labor and equipment for a percentage of the job, hourly fee or a flat number. This could technically be a "Joint Venture"; however, the time and scope are normally short and sweet.

"Early To Bed, Early To Rise, Know Your Numbers And Advertise" - Randalism

Construction is notoriously known as a thin profit margin high-risk business. Proper planning and Strategic Bookkeeping can reduce your risk and substantially increase your chances of success.

Accurate financial reporting is important the profit and growth of your Contracting Company and enjoying favorable relationships with sureties, lenders and other stakeholders.

In Conclusion:

Helping Contractors around the world is one of the reasons we added the FastEasyAccountingStore.com

Follow our blogs, listen to Contractor Success M.A.P. Podcast. We Appreciate Our Visitors, Listeners, and Subscribers. – Thank You!!

Please feel free to download all the Free Forms and Resources that you find useful for your business.

Download The Contractors APP Now!

Access code: FEAHEROS

The QR Code Below Will Go

Apple Or Android Store

Whichever One

You Need

Simply scan the QR code below or search for ‘MyAccountants’ in the App Store and enter the Access code: FEAHEROS to utilize the powerful App features and capabilities, and benefit from having our Construction Accounting App at your fingertips, 24/7.

Access code: FEAHEROS

Or click to download the Contractors APP now from the App or Android store

Click here to download the App on iOS:

Click here to download the App on Android:

About The Author:

Randal DeHart, PMP, QPA is the co-founder of Business Consulting And Accounting in Lynnwood Washington. He is the leading expert in outsourced construction bookkeeping and accounting services for small construction companies across the USA. He is experienced as a Contractor, Project Management Professional, Construction Accountant, Intuit ProAdvisor, QuickBooks For Contractors Expert and Xero Accounting Specialist. This combination of experience and skill sets provides a unique perspective which allows him to see the world through the eyes of a contractor, Project Manager, Accountant, and construction accountant. This quadruple understanding is what sets him apart from other Intuit ProAdvisors and Xero accountants to the benefit of all of the construction contractors he serves across the USA. Visit http://www.fasteasyaccounting.com/randal-dehart/ to learn more.

Our Co-Founder Randal DeHart - Is a Certified PMP (Project Management Professional) with several years of construction project management experience. His expertise is construction accounting systems engineering and process development. His exhaustive study of several leading experts including the work of Dr. W. Edward Deming, Michael Gerber, Walter A. Shewhart, James Lewis and dozens of others was the foundation upon which our Construction Bookkeeping System is based and continues to evolve and improve. Check out our Contractor Success Map Podcast on iTunes and Follow Randal on Google+

We are here to Help “A Little or A Lot” depending on your needs.

I trust this podcast helps you understand that outsourcing your contractor's bookkeeping services to us is about more than just “doing the bookkeeping”; it is about taking a holistic approach to your entire construction company and helping support you as a contractor and as a person.

We Remove Contractor's Unique Paperwork Frustrations

We understand the good, bad and the ugly about owning and operating construction companies because we have had several of them and we sincerely care about you and your construction company!

That is all I have for now, and if you have listened to this far please do me the honor of commenting and rating the Podcast www.FastEasyAccounting.com/podcast Tell me what you liked, did not like, tell it as you see it because your feedback is crucial and I thank you in advance.

You Deserve To Be Wealthy Because You Bring Value To Other People's Lives!

I trust this will be of value to you and your feedback is always welcome at www.FastEasyAccounting.com/podcast

This Is One more example of how Fast Easy Accounting is helping construction company owners across the USA including Alaska and Hawaii put more money in the bank to operate and grow your construction company. Construction accounting is not rocket science; it is a lot harder than that, and a lot more valuable to construction contractors like you so stop missing out and call Sharie 206-361-3950 or email [email protected]

Contractor Bookkeeping Done For You!

Thinking About Outsourcing Your Contractors Bookkeeping Services?

Click On The Link Below:

www.FastEasyAccounting.com/hs

This guide will help you learn what to look for in outsourced construction accounting.

Need Help Now?

Call Sharie 206-361-3950

[email protected]

Thank you very much, and I hope you understand we do care about you and all contractors regardless of whether or not you ever hire our services. Bye for now until our next episode here on the Contractors Success MAP Podcast.

About The Author:

Our Workflow Removes Your Paperwork Frustrations

For Contractors Who Prefer

To Do Your Bookkeeping

Fast Easy Accounting Do-It-Yourself Construction Accounting Store Is Open

Most Contractors Setup QuickBooks Desktop Version In One Of Three Ways:

#1 EZ Step Interview inside QuickBooks Setup #2 Asked Their Tax Accountant To Setup QuickBooks #3 They Attended A How To Setup QuickBooks Class Or Seminar

And QuickBooks Does Not Work The Way They Want It Too!

The Answer:

#1 Click Here To Buy An Entire QuickBooks Setup For Your Specific Contracting Company

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There Is A Good Chance We Can Help You!

Call Now: 206-361-3950

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darrellkmartin · 7 years

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A short history of innovation

As much as there is currently a widespread belief that “innovation” is an amorphous concept — supposedly there exist more definitions for it now than the proverbial eskimo has words for snow — its original definition is actually very concise and unambiguous, and a lot of the definition proliferation is simply a blurring of this initial idea. So let me just run through the recent history of innovation as an economic concept.

Pre-history

Innovation re-emerged as a thing-to-be-studied in the 1980s mostly through the rediscovery of the works of Joseph Schumpeter, now considered the godfather of innovation economics. The impetus for this rediscovery was the desire to understand a simple economic puzzle: that of total factor productivity growth. Factor productivity is the ratio of total outputs of an economy divided by its total production factor inputs (labor, capital, and — usually ignored in this calculus — soil). In a static world this multiplier should not change, but it did throughout most of history and especially in the post-War era. The first, somewhat crude explanation for this growth was “technology,” but there are a number of problems with that explanation.

The answer was found in the rediscovery of Schumpeter’s key work “Capitalism, Socialism and Democracy.” Most of the book is fairly obtuse but it contains a few key paragraphs in which he lays out the two qualities of an entrepreneur — the ability to create new combinations of old inputs, and the ability to get things done. Growth is then not the result of accumulation but of the (re)allocation of inputs thanks to the ingenuity and industriousness of a few key people. In the same paragraph Schumpeter also coined the mechanism through which this reallocation happens: the process of Creative Destruction. So factor productivity growth is not just the result of technological inventions but also their correct implementation: Innovation.

Beyond Schumpeter innovation economics also built on a field that emerged in the 1960s: information economics, based on the recognition that information does not spread infinitely fast through the economy as classical economics assumed, but has some tricky properties that affect wealth creation. A first significant contribution was Ken Arrow’s Information Paradox, expressed in terms of effort in R&D in order to create “information” (today we would probably say knowledge — accumulated information): the paradox says that information is costly to produce but easy to replicate. So unless we protect the original inventor, we risk that the production of information and knowledge will stop because everyone prefers to copy what others invent. Thus the rationale for Intellectual Property Rights and the patent system was born.

After Arrow, three more eventual Nobel Laureates made significant contributions to information economics: George Akerlof discovered the perilous effects of asymmetric information in The Market for Lemons, Michael Spence wrote about costly signaling and Joe Stiglitz wrote about adverse selection and moral hazard, two information-based inefficiencies especially relevant to insurance. These works, along with contributions by Tom Schelling, Zvi Griliches and others laid the groundwork for what we now consider the New Economy.

The 1980s and the Dawn of the Internet Age

A new generation of economists created some key insights within a very productive few years around 1985, and it is no surprise that these people worked out of, or gravitated towards Silicon Valley and the San Francisco Bay Area. Technology standards competition (“VHS vs Beta”), network externalities, path dependency, critical mass, and technological lock-in were insights that quickly became key tools in the intellectual toolset of new economy economists, and pushed Stanford and Berkeley to the forefront in the field of Industrial Organization. At this point the framing of the question as “why doesn’t the best technology win out” created a lot of heated discussions, and it took a re-reading of Schumpeter to get the point across that new technology itself is not sufficient, it also requires new ways of implementing it — entrepreneurship.

Although the web browser was not invented in Silicon Valley but in the prairies of Illinois, its co-creators Marc Andreesen and Eric Bina quickly moved out west, collected serious VC money, turned NCSA Mosaic into Netscape Explorer, and kicked off the Internet Age.

The ensuing short but intense boost to the local economy, now remembered as the Dot-Com Bubble, put the work of the Stanford-Berkeley IO hub in intense focus and quickly led to the migration of “innovation” as the new hot thing from economics departments to business schools, just about when management scholars got bored of “change management” and looked for something more exciting to glom onto. This migration ultimately led to the proliferation of definitions for innovation, most of them not particularly well thought out. Two of the main culprits were Carl Shapiro, co-inventor of network effects and Hal Varian, a leading information economist and now Google’s chief economist. Both were professors at Berkeley with joint appointments at the economics department and the Haas School of Business, and they seized the opportunity to write the handbook for the new economy called “Information Rules” (published in 1999 but with a copyright mark from 2000), with the MBA student in mind.

The Browser Wars

Probably the last moment when economists still had a stronghold on innovation kicked off a year earlier when the U.S. Department of Justice sued Microsoft for misusing its monopoly in desktop operation systems to push Netscape out of the browser market. Soon most of the Berkeley and Stanford economist and their armies of underpaid Ph.D. students lined up — not neatly divided by schools — as expert witnesses for the government or for Microsoft. Even though the lawsuit itself ended in a whimper when the new Bush administration pulled the plug on it, it changed economic thinking fundamentally when the idea (building on the Information Paradox) took root that a monopoly is not in itself a bad thing, but can actually be beneficial to public welfare if it spurs innovation — thus the Schumpeterian Monopoly was born. This might also be the occasion when the definition for innovation was at its most precise — when you got $5,000-an-hour lawyers picking your every word apart, you’ll do your damn best to get this exactly right.

It might be hard for outsiders to grasp just how diametrically opposed the worlds of economics and business research are, but I should probably point out here that most of corporate strategy (a popular and notoriously buzzwordy business school topic) is nothing but the economic field of industrial organization turned on its head and dumbed down for easy “airport” consumption. Industrial organization is a highly mathematized field concerned with imperfect competition which tries for the good of all to erase rent-seeking — milking unfair advantages for sustainable, socially harmful profits. It was the genius of Michael Porter to take this field, strip it off all the math, sidestep the point about “socially harmful” and turn it into a guidebook for creating sustainable profits through unfair advantage — Competitive Strategy. Since then many an economics professor by day has moonlighted as a business school professor by night for the Bay view office and the better pay, and has helped carry the innovation torch to the corporate world.

Six Degrees of Open Innovation

One of the first key discoveries of the new millennium came out of the sociology department of Columbia University, when Duncan Watts reawoke the long-dormant field of graph theory and applied it to the popular parlor game called Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon to jumpstart the analysis of social networks — just in time to give a young entrepreneur at Harvard ideas about turning this into a business. At roughly the same time Hank Chesbrough, an entrepreneur-turned-business-school-professor, moved back from Harvard to Berkeley, at that time the epicenter of patent research. The early 2000s were the high time of research into patent thickets, a defensive strategy popular with Valley bigwigs to protect ones market by patenting everything in sight and by suing ones rivals with bundles of 10,000s of mostly meaningless patents. Fed up with this wasteful activity Hank came up with the ingenious idea of putting it all out into the open to undermine patent trolls at no cost. On a dark and stormy night Open Innovation was born — there’s a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in.

It’s no coincidence that Hank came up with this idea just after the Dot-Com Bubble burst and Silicon Valley woke up with a huge hangover to the rude reality of No VC Funding. Suddenly being frugal and lean sounded like a better idea than spending ones annual marketing budget on a Super Bowl halftime ad — anyone remember Pets.com? At very much the same time Steve Blank turned from a successful entrepreneurial career to an academic one at the Lester Center for Entrepreneurship, and started mixing his insights as a founder, his penchant for talking to people, and his interest in the scientific method into the concept of Lean Startup. If you’re set to fail, fail before you burn through someone else’s money.

“Something With Innovation and Startups”

Steve and a few other people — the folks around Y Combinator should be mentioned — managed to make startups hip again at around the same time when corporates started questioning their approach to putting new products on the market through the age-old R&D channels. A core concept to Lean Startup is that rather than doing product development and market development sequentially, you try to do market development as early as possible, by simply talking to people (and listening carefully, and methodically, to what they tell you).

For companies that had spent twenty years on fostering technologies like e-mobility and autonomous driving without bankable results this new thing sounded really exciting, and many of them started relabeling their research departments Innovation Hubs or suchlike, oftentimes just putting an MBA layer on top of the old research structures. For some of them this created at least some sort of ignition but in a lot of cases this setup simply created an innovation bureaucracy on top of an old R&D bureaucracy. I picked the two technology examples quite carefully to make two points: for one, sometimes it takes a twenty-year runway before a world-changing idea takes off, and two, even after twenty years of research, and as a nation of machine builders, we had to watch Silicon Valley take the lead in creating a market for it. The main reason is something that has never truly crossed the Atlantic chasm. It’s called technology transfer. And it’s something I might write about in another non-so-short blog post.

This article originally appeared here.

Photo via ReillyButler via Visualhunt / CC BY-SA

from Startup Tips By Darrel http://theheureka.com/a-short-history-of-innovation-20170105

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cherryeoo · 5 years

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Morning Star (Ateez Fantasy!AU) Chapter 3

Her next option was to research murders and bizarre patterns as well as various killings, but regardless of how deep she ventured into the rabbit hole, Saetbyeol couldn’t find similar cases. She didn’t want to rule out murder, or a deranged hunter, but she couldn’t find any solid reasons as to who would do such a thing, or why. Hunters never stacked carcasses neatly and perfectly, so maybe it was a warning? Maybe a serial killer lurked in the shadows and utilized animal carcasses to send out a subliminal threat?

“Can I speak to you in my office real fast?” Ms. Kim stood at the bottom of the stairs that lead up to her office.

“What do you mean I have to work with him?!” Saetbyeol replied to her boss. The two of them were good friends from college, but at the end of the day, Ms. Kim was still her boss, so she had the final say in decision-making.

“So you are using him for publicity! This isn’t even his department anyway!” She groans as she folds her arms across her chest.

“Well, yes, but I’m doing this for you. You know I’ve always wanted you to go far in your career, so I’m using this opportunity to help you out as well.”

“Fine, whatever. But don’t expect me to be nice to him.” Saetbyeol snaps back, glaring at her boss and old friend.

“I’m not expecting you to, but do try to at least work with him.” At that Ms. Kim dismissed Saetbyeol.

She truly was a mystery to him, but it intrigued him more. Maybe now he could finally crack her mystery.

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