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farmhousesaleinnoida · 9 months ago

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Scrap Buyers in Hyderabad@+91 82978 65751

A S Traders is a leading scrap buying and dealing business based in Hyderabad. We have been in the industry for 15 years and have established ourselves as one of the most reliable and trusted scrap buyers in Hyderabad. We buy all types of scrap Iron scrap, Battery Scrap, Brass Scrap, Computer Scrap, Conveyor Belt, Copper Scrap, Demolishing Work, DG Set, Electrical Scrap, Eva Rubber, Ferrous and Nonferrous, GI Scrap, Glass Scrap, Iron Pipes Scrap, Steel Pipes Scrap, Iron Scrap, Lead Scrap, Motor Parts Scrap, Nickel Scrap, Office Furnitures, Old Air Condition, Old Machinery, Old Vehicles, Plastic Scrap, PVB Rubber, Solar Scrap, Stainless Steel, TMT Steel Scrap, Wooden Scrap and many more. At A S Traders Scrap Buyers in Hyderabad, we offer competitive prices and quick payment to ensure our customers get the best deal possible. We are committed to providing excellent customer service and strive to make the scrap-selling process as easy and hassle-free as possible. Whether you’re a homeowner looking to get rid of some old scrap or a business owner looking to dispose of your industrial scrap, contact us.

Scrap Related FAQs for Hyderabad

What are the way Sell scrap online in Hyderabad ?

There are many ways to sell scrap materials online in Hyderabad as they will come to you on time and pick them up. You can get 24 hours turnaround time, which is not much to get rid of this rubbish collection. There is a freedom to sell metals and non-metals in return for cash in Hyderabad.

What kind of Scrap Metals do scrap Dealer accept in Hyderabad ?

The scrap dealers deal in ferrous and non-ferrous metals that may include heavy types of machinery, electronic appliances, and all other old instruments except woods. You dont have to worry about the weight, size, and material as they accept all the bins from your home in Hyderabad.

How do you pay Steel Scrap Metals in Hyderabad ?

They are offering different ways of paying options as cash, cheque, and bank transfers as per your preference. Get assure cost value in case of any metals as the price of steel scrap cost may also vary as per the metal condition in Hyderabad.

What Price Expect from my batteries Scrap in Hyderabad?

the price may differ in the case of battery scrap as its weight, wear and tears, and the years of usage. In the case of a less used battery, you can expect more price than the battery is totally damaged and out of odor in Hyderabad.

Scrap Dealer Near Me

You can call us at +91 82978 65751 if you are looking for scrap buyers or scrap dealers near you. You can check the Scrap Price or Rate List by calling our customer care team. We are dealing in the following scrap categories –

Copper Scrap

Aluminium Scrap

Iron Scrap

Plastic Scrap

Steel Scrap

Metal Scrap

Car Scrap

Battery Scrap

Brass Scrap

Computer Scrap

Copper Scrap

Electronics Scrap

Home Appliances Scrap

Furniture Scrap

Paper Scrap

Air Condition Scrap

Machinery Scrap

Solar Scrap

Polythene Scrap

Electrical Steel Scrap

X Ray Film Scrap

Automobile Scrap

Computer scrap

Wooden scrap

Carbide Scrap

Zinc Scrap

Truck Scrap

Carbide Scrap

Nylon Scrap

Chemical Scrap

Camera Scrap

Non Ferrous Metal Scrap

Mild Steel Scrap

Bottle Scrap

Battery Scrap

Wire Scrap

Inverter Scrap

Silver Scrap

Photocopier Part Scrap

Building Construction Scrap

Garment Scrap

Tungsten Scrap

Glass Epoxy Scrap

Cotton Scrap

Disposable Scrap

Bakelite Scrap

Aluminum Scrap

Scrap Price/Rate

A New Tangled Notion to Sell Scrap Online in Hyderabad

The scrap dealers are always organized to help their clientele of Hyderabad by buying the scrap rate per kg and by converting that scrap waste product into an advanced well-furnished one, they also have predictable work of ferrous and nonferrous scrap commodities in Hyderabad, the scrap experts of Hyderabad are regimented in producing anything superior from the given scrap material of Hyderabad. The scrap dealers have all pursue one policy of reprocessing the old waste of Hyderabad customers, iron stuff and contain something astonishing which is pollution-free entirely, they try to make an advanced impression in which there can endure the only pollution restricted stuff of Hyderabad, and they all will be constructed through from top to bottom technology apparatus in Hyderabad.

The online scrap dealers of Hyderabad are skilled person with merely one approach of recycling all the longstanding waste scrap products of Hyderabad and produce something astonishing which can be pollution-free entirely in Hyderabad, they try their level best to paradigm an usual cognizance in which there can be all the things which are well-known by the scrap goods but are entirely real and virtuous for health for the person of Hyderabad. The scrap vendors of Hyderabad manage the pieces at a restored level, and due to their agile familiarity of Hyderabad’s scrap, they can effort on all sorts of scrap products of Hyderabad and they are manageable for all 7 days of the weak including all the leading holidays in Hyderabad as well.

If you don’t know about the worth of the scrap in Hyderabad, then you need not worry about it, as this matter of worry has already taken care of by the online scrap price list mend for Hyderabad is already obtainable by the vendors working for scraps in any of the locations of Hyderabad nearby your area. The prices of scraps keep fluctuating as per the market plea and utilization, online scrap service is authentic and the prices can be universally checked from any of the competitors or local vendors in Hyderabad, and hence they provide the best price to the person who are looking to buy their scraps to the vendors which are true and genuinetowards their work in Hyderabad.

Have you ever believed to sell scrap online in the location of Hyderabad? Shocked? Yes, it is right, this is a brand new idea in Hyderabad, actually, in various of the areas in Hyderabad there are society flats with plenty of security and hence, the normal street-vendors are not allowed to enter, in that condition this online service is really helpful in Hyderabad. Being an authorized marketplace of Hyderabad, we are here to connect you with steady online services of scrap selling, as it new idea which is getting more standard in Hyderabad nowadays and we make sure that the vendors who approach your home are registered vendors, that means they are consistent and trustworthy to agreement with despite any location in Hyderabad.

There are various scrap buyers in Hyderabad which may surround you but the most imperative thing is that you do not have time to meet, interact, negotiate with them to sell your old unessential belongings as you are so hectic with your own schedule, but these Online Scrap buyers are obtainable throughout the day in the nearby location of Hyderabad so that you can call them anytime as per your accessibility in Hyderabad. The person who are working-class don’t have time to sell their scraps on usual basis, the online scrap selling service in Hyderabad is really beneficial for them and that is the main purpose for getting this idea more & more standard day by day in Hyderabad.

How to Search The Kabadi Wala at Hyderabad Location

The energy requirements of recycled copper in Hyderabad is as much as 80 to 89% less than the dispensation of new copper from virgin ore for the location of Hyderabad, it is a very supportive step of copper conservation, as copper is a non-renewable source, while only 10-12% of known reserves have been expended. As we all know that, Copper metal is an significant component that is essential for flora and fauna health, reasonable excess disclosure to copper is not allied with health risks in Hyderabad, as with former metal scrap, there are vital conservational advantages to the recycling of the copper scrap of Hyderabad, these cover solid waste departure, abridged energy requirements for dispensation, and natural source protection.

It is always recommended to look for a vendor from the authorized website of Hyderabad as the vendors registered on an authorized website are found more dependable, they always provide notable service to make their brand value and the customer rating or reviews do matter to them despite their location in any of the area of Hyderabad. To locate the kabadi wala near me in any of the locations of Hyderabad, you should know the precise words to put on the search for Hyderabad location, that means along with writing in English as scrap vendors, scrap dealer, scrap purchasing, etc. you must also know how to put it in Hindi as Kabari wala, Kabar ki dukaan, for the areas of Hyderabad.

Are you aware that different to old plastic or paper, metal has cent present perceivable properties, as they can be made impeccable with a single method of recycling, that is the motive the scrap dealers are more interested in buying out your old metal scrap in Hyderabad so that they can earn profit out of this dealing. Now we will talk about metal scrap, metal is a faultless substantial that can be reprocessed and can offer an general variety of profits and rewards in Hyderabad but countless of us don’t know how numerous types of metals are existing in the world, the metal scrap business is one of the primary industries in the Hyderabad location and is still mounting at an recognized stride.

Sometimes the scrap vendors located in Hyderabad do not have contacts and options to recycle the heavy metal scrap, therefore they only accept plastic scrap in Hyderabad, and also the most normal. scrap paper like old books, notebooks, and newspaper in Hyderabad If you also have a lot of steel scrap at your home or office in Hyderabad, you must get in touch contact an experienced scrap vendor and deliberate having it recycled in Hyderabad, you also initially need to ask about the types of scrap they accept and their costs, before calling them at your place, make sure you re-inquire the types of scrap they accept as this shield a lot of your time and energy.

The Different Type of Scraps Sold in Hyderabad

If we talk about the aluminum scrap and the steel scrap of Hyderabad which is very commonly obtained from foils, cans, and other household material, it is mostly used in the infrastructure such as the aluminum windows can be constructed from the old recycled aluminum in Hyderabad, there are several more uses of recycled aluminum in the construction material used for the sites of Hyderabad. Scrap Buyers are there in adequate in Hyderabad, they can assemble the scrap from you, take it to the scrapping ability and ensure the scrap metal is recycled, this not only aids the atmosphere, but it is also used in the home and manufacturing industry, this abolishes the constraint for additional mining to obtain new metals for manufacturing processes.

The battery scrap of Hyderabad is further a productive material as the lead present in the battery is used again, as the lead is again a non-renewable source of energy and have a worthy value of re-sale in Hyderabad, therefore the scrap dealers earn worthy profits after buying the battery scrap from any of the locations of Hyderabad. The scrap dealers also take rejected pet bottle scrap of Hyderabad, they assemble them, sort them, clean them, then they are shredded and modified into washed flakes, which are then used to yield an range of produces, initiating from polyester fibre, which is recycled for a range of applications like filling material for pillows, cushions, and converted to materials for utilization in clothing.

Scrap furniture, a few fitting materials, lights, roofing, computer scrap, and countless more domestic products in Hyderabad can convey recycled scrap metal into depletion, giving objects that have stretched the end of their decided period a new tangled, tempting persistence in Hyderabad.

The old heavy fans installed in your homes are having copper binding in old days and therefore, they are very exclusive and valuable when goes in scrap sale in Hyderabad. If you plan to sell the old fan from your home, then the scrap vendors of Hyderabad are interested to buy it for the copper wire scrap, it is again a vastly valuable contract for them and we can also earn worthy profits by buying the copper cable scrap in Hyderabad.

SCRAP BUYERS IN HYDERABAD

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officefurnitureshowroom · 2 years ago

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What Are The Benefits Of Buying Used Office Furniture?

The chore of furnishing an office might take a lot of work. The furniture used does more than fill the area with necessary items, whether you're remodeling an existing workplace or launching a new one. Your entire brand recognition, as well as the productivity of your team, depends on the environment and aesthetic appeal. Used office furniture may be ideal if you have a strict budget and want the best value for your money. Let's look at some additional advantages of used office furniture that go well beyond the apparent price ones. Or you can consider contacting Houston furniture stores to know what is best for you.

Affordability

The most frequent justification for choosing used office furniture is cost. Since used office furniture is frequently more affordable than new, you can often purchase more expensive brands without sacrificing quality. It has been demonstrated that start-up businesses, for instance, may frequently save as much as 80% over the price of brand-new furniture, with many customers unable to tell the difference between used and new furniture. In actuality, used office furniture in pristine shape is frequently available at exclusive furniture Houston.

Friendly to the environment

The environment should use used office furniture. By purchasing gently used office furniture, you help the environment by avoiding the use of additional fossil fuels, raw materials, and waste in general that would result from manufacturing new furniture. In actuality, purchasing and installing old office equipment reduces the environmental effect of new office equipment by nearly 80%. Office Furniture 2 Go is committed to recycling and "re-purposing" useable office furniture; thus, we make it a point to offer used office furniture to our customers in addition to the fact that it makes excellent financial sense. Purchasing old furniture for your company enables you to benefit both the environment and yourself. So, you should contact the best furniture stores in Houston.

Reliability

With secondhand office furniture, you frequently obtain durable pieces that will last for many years. At the risk of sounding cliche, "they don't build things like that anymore" holds for sure (but not all) pieces.

Investing in used office furniture made of solid materials like wood and metal means that your money will remain sound today, next year, and even ten years from now.

Rapid delivery

Buyers frequently discover that the new office furniture they ordered will arrive in a few weeks or months. However, a lot of the used office furniture that is offered can be delivered right away. Used office furniture requires no assembly upon arrival, unlike new furniture. Because it sometimes comes from various sources, your options are frequently far more extensive.

Both new and old furniture have their benefits and limitations. It's all about picking what is suitable for your company, budget, and the environment you want both customers and employees to live in daily, which is why you can buy both from Office Furniture Stores Near Me.

Conclusion

If you are on a tight budget and want to buy furniture, consider contacting an Used Office Furniture Store Near Me to know what is best.

Article source : https://www.articleaffiliate.com/what-are-the-benefits-of-buying-used-office-furniture/

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grlwtskulltattoo · 4 years ago

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Fall For You - Chapter 4

Characters - Jax Teller x OFC (Katrina)

Summary - Katrina leaves an abuse relationship and heads home after finding out about her father’s passing. Old feelings come back to the surface for a person from her past. Story will follow the events of the show as much as possible. How might have Jax’s story changed with a different woman in his life.

Word Count - 8152

Warnings - NSFW, Hardcore Smut, Violence, Angst, Adult Language, Dark Themes, Fluff, Miscarriage, Pregnancy, Accident, Mentions of Physical and Emotional Abuse, Self-Harm. Drinking.

Will add to the warnings as the story progresses. Warnings cover the whole series. Some parts will be more mild than others.

A/N - Feedback is welcomed and encouraged, and may help motivate me to continue. All mistakes are my own. If you would like to be tagged in future parts, please send me an ask to be added to the list.

I know this chapter has been a long time coming. Just took me awhile to get the pieces to fit into the right place. I can only hope that I did it justice. This chapter ended up being twice as long as I expected. I hope that helps make up for the long ass wait…. Oh and there is an added bonus at the end of the chapter…..Smut….If you’re into that kind of thing. I apologize in advance if it sucks…. Been a long time since I’ve written steamy sex scenes. Thanks for following along on this crazy ride.

Katrina spent the week following her father’s funeral preparing the house to put up for sale. She had no desire to continue living in the house that harbored so many bad memories. Her only regret is that bad memories out weigh the good ones involving her mom. She went through all of her father’s belongings. She saved the important stuff, family mementos that mainly involved her mom, some things from her father’s past that she’s curious about, and some items from her childhood. She was surprised to find a shoebox in her closet filled with notes that her, Jax and Opie passed to each other in school. She knew that she should throw them away, but couldn’t bring herself to do it. The stuff she didn’t want to keep was piled up in the driveway under the carport beside the garage for the local thrift store to pick up.

She is leaving the furniture in the house at the recommendation of the Realtor. He told Katrina that having furniture in the house gives potential buyers a better idea of the size of the rooms. Katrina doesn’t really care either way, the furniture will be donated as soon as the house sells. The old Dodge Challenger in the garage Katrina plans to keep. Even if she has to rent a storage unit to store it in until she finds a new place to call home. She is only keeping the bare necessities in the house for her to use until she leaves.

She has to admit that she’s a little relieved that she hasn’t had any unexpected guests. Everything has been pretty quiet since the funeral, other than the explosion that occurred the night before last, on the outskirts of town. She can’t help but wonder if Samcro was somehow involved with it. Maybe that was why Jax hasn’t tried to stop by.

Katrina spent some time pouring over the old photos in her father’s stuff. On the back of the photo of him dressed in Native American regalia was written “Pine Ridge Res”. She wondered if maybe his family lived on the reservation. Maybe she had an aunt or uncle still living there. She was seriously considering taking a drive up there to investigate. Hopefully learn more about his past, so maybe she can understand why he became such a bitter asshole of a father. South Dakota might also be a good place to get a fresh start, away from Charming and far away from Vince.

Katrina puts the photos in an envelope and places it with her duffle in her bedroom. She fixes herself something to eat once she realizes that it’s already evening time. While she is eating, she thinks about the meal Gemma prepared for the dinner after her father’s funeral. She still feels a little guilty for leaving the way that she did. Gemma has a good heart, and has always treated Katrina like family, even if she has a tendency to meddle. Katrina knows in her heart it wouldn't feel right to just leave town without expressing her gratitude to Gemma for all of her help. Once Katrina finishes eating, she cleans up then grabs her jacket. She’s getting a little stir crazy at the house and decides to head over to TM to see if Gemma is still there working in the office. It’s getting a little late, but she remembers Gemma used to work all hours of the day and evening depending on how busy they were.

As Katrina rode her Harley to the shop she knew she was taking a chance on running into Jax. Hopefully he’ll be out doing club stuff, and won’t notice her there. When she pulled into the parking lot at Teller Morrow it was mostly empty save a couple cars and bikes. She parks her bike near the office, relieved to see Gemma’s car parked near the door. When Katrina turns off her bike, she’s surprised that there’s no loud rowdy music coming from the clubhouse. It’s actually pretty quiet. There is light filtering from the office window, so she’s fairly confident that Gemma’s inside. Katrina quietly walks inside the open door, catching Gemma off guard.

“Hey baby, what brings you by?” Gemma asks with concern in her voice. Katrina notices that Gemma looks tired, like the weight of the world is resting on her shoulders.

“I wanted to apologize for leaving the dinner the way I did last week. I feel really bad about it, especially after everything you did to help. I think all the emotions were getting to me, and it was hard listening to all the stories about my father.” Katrina sincerely expresses to Gemma.

Gemma gestures to the chair next to desk, and Katrina takes a seat. “That’s ok baby, I know how hard it is to lose someone. It can take a minute to process everything going on. How are you doing now?” Gemma asks while lightly rubbing Katrina’s arm that is resting on the corner of her desk.

“Better. I cleaned out the rest of the house, got it listed with a real estate agent.” Katrina replies.

Gemma looks a little surprised. “So I guess that means you’re not planning on sticking around.”

Katrina can hear the disappointment in Gemma’s voice. “I don’t belong in Charming anymore. Never really did. I’ll probably stick around for a little bit to make sure everything goes ok with the showings of the house. Then I’m probably gonna take off.”

Gemma shakes her head at Katrina’s first comment. “You’ve always belonged here, Kat. I know Jax and Opie have missed you. I’ve missed you. You were like the daughter I never had. Don’t ever feel like you don’t belong here. You’re family.” Gemma looks Katrina straight in the eyes as she grips her arm.

Katrina sighs as she looks away. If only Gemma knew the truth about her father, maybe she’d understand why this town carried so many bad memories for her. Not to mention the whole Jax and Tara thing. “How are things going here? The clubhouse is pretty quiet.” Katrina asks trying to change the subject.

Gemma loosens her grip on Katrina’s arm. “Been a busy last few days. The club’s dealing with a Mayan problem. Jax’s junkie whore of an ex-wife, Wendy, just gave birth to his son. We don’t know yet if the baby is going to make it. He was born 10 weeks premature with a tear in his abdomen and the family flaw. I just got back to the office after spending a few hours trying to straighten up Jax’s house from the mess his ex left.” Gemma grabs a cigarette from her pack on the desk and lights it.

Katrina is in shock. She didn’t know Jax had an ex-wife and a newborn baby. “Wow. I had no idea.” She’s a little surprised that he was involved with a different women. She had alway imagined that he’d be married to Tara.

“Yeah, it’s been a little crazy around here.” Gemma sighs. “Jax won’t see his son in the hospital. Something about not wanting to get attached incase he doesn’t make it. Which is bullshit, he just doesn’t want to get his heart broken.” Gemma looks at Katrina with a pleading look in her eyes. “Do you think you could talk to him?” Gemma asks hopeful.

Katrina feels uncomfortable with the request. “I don’t know about that.” She tries to decline gently, shaking her head.

“Please, Kat. He won’t listen to me. You and him were so close. Maybe he’ll listen to you.” Gemma pleads.

Ugg. It was the last thing Katrina wanted to do. Get in the middle of family drama. She really doesn't feel it’s her place to get involved, especially since she’s been gone for so long. She’s not as close to Jax as she used to be. She has been trying to avoid that. But seeing Gemma upset breaks her heart. “Ok. I’ll try to talk to him. I can’t make any guarantees that he’ll listen though.” Katrina reluctantly agrees.

“Thank you, Kat. He’s in the clubhouse.” Gemma looks relieved.

Oh shit, right now? Katrina wasn’t expecting to have to do it so soon. She was hoping to have the night to think about how to approach Jax. Katrina reluctantly gets out of her seat followed by Gemma. Gemma takes Katrina in her arms and gives her a little squeeze. “Thank you baby.” Gemma whispers in her ear.

Katrina gives Gemma a light pat on the back before walking out of the office. As she walks to towards the clubhouse she takes deep breaths of the cool evening air trying to steel her nerves. Mentally preparing herself for all the questions she’s sure to get bombarded with. When she enters the clubhouse, all the memories of her, Jax and Opie running around came flooding back to her. It was where she had her first shot of whiskey on a dare, learned to play poker, rocked out to loud music, and almost had her first kiss. It felt like home.

It was pretty quiet inside the clubhouse, with the exception of music playing at a low volume. She was surprised that there was no one there besides Jax. She spotted him at one of the tables, lost in thought and milking a bottle of whiskey. “So I hear congratulations are in order.” Katrina startles Jax from his drink.

Jax looks up in surprise at the intrusion. “You must have been talking to mom.” He sourly replies.

“Jackson Teller, a father.” Katrina teases him as she nears the table.

“Yeah, for how long.” Jax grumbles.

“Your mom said that you haven’t seen your son yet. Why not?” She asks as she takes a seat at the table across from Jax. She notices the sadness in his eyes at the question.

“Don’t really want my heart broken.” Jax replies, staring at the amber liquid in his glass.

“Yeah, she mentioned the heart defect and stomach issues. Something about a junkie whore. Regardless of that, if it was my son, I would be spending every second I could with him.” Katrina tries to encourage him. “Besides that, he’s got a tough as nails father, so he’s gonna be a little fighter. He’ll pull through.”

Jax smiles a little at that last comment. “So what brings you by? Besides doing mom’s dirty work.”

Katrina knows Jax is trying to change the subject. At least she can tell Gemma she tried. “I came by to apologize to your mom about leaving the dinner early after the funeral.”

Jax nods his head softly. “Yeah, everyone was disappointed you left.” Especially me.

“I thought I could handle hearing the stories about my father, but it got to be a little too much to handle at that moment. Brought up a lot of memories.” Bad memories.

“So where have you been for the last 11 years.” Jax asks pointedly.

And so it begins. Katrina can’t help but wonder if it’s too late to walk out the door. She knew Jax was going to have questions, and she had really hoped to avoid them. She gets up from the table to grab herself a shot glass and a coke from the bar, before returning to her seat. This conversation is going to require an excessive amount of alcohol. She grabs the bottle of whiskey sitting in front of Jax and pours herself a shot. Katrina quickly downs the shot, welcoming the burn of the amber liquid as it travels down her throat. She then takes a sip of the coke to calm the burn. Jax patiently waits for her response, taking a drag from the cigarette in his hand.

“When I left Charming, I bought a bus ticket to Vegas. I got a job working at a casino restaurant as a server, and then I found myself an apartment. I became really good friends with a tattoo artist at a parlor in the casino. He let me apprentice under him and has been teaching my how to tattoo and the ins and outs of the business. One day, I hope to have my own shop.” Katrina decides to leave out the part about Vince.

Jax is surprised. The club has a charter in Vegas that he’s visited numerous times over the years. If only he had known Kat was there too. He might have been able to convince her to come home sooner. At the very least, been able to visit her. He’s missed his best friend. When Katrina left, it hurt more than when Tara left for school. It wasn’t until she left that he realized how wrong he was for not pursuing a relationship with her, despite his fears.

“I have to say, I’m a bit surprised that you and Tara aren’t married with a few little ones running around. And what’s this about a ‘junkie whore’?” Katrina asks. Turn about is fair play.

Jax lets out a soft sigh. “Tara left shortly after you did. She went to the university to become a doctor. Then she went out to Chicago to intern at a hospital. She begged me to go with her. To get out of this ‘cess pool of a town’, but Charming is my home. She was pissed that I prospected into the club with Opie, even though it’s what I always wanted. To follow in my father’s footsteps, and be a part of the club that he helped build. We fought about our futures, more than we got along. We started to grow distant from each other. I wasn’t to heartbroken when she left, like I thought I would be. I was more upset about you leaving than her, even though mom blames her for breaking my heart.” Jax confesses. “Tara just recently returned home and is working at St. Thomas hospital.”

Katrina shakes her head, not surprised about Tara trying to change Jax. She had tried to warn him when they were teenagers, but she had alway felt her comments fell on deaf ears. Some people have to learn the hard way. Katrina pours herself another shot and quickly downs it.

“The junkie whore is my ex-wife, Wendy. She was a club hang-around. Her and I started spending a lot of time together. For me, it was about fighting the loneliness I felt after you left. I never really loved her. We got married a few years ago. She started using drugs, so we grew apart. Separated for awhile. Then she got clean, and did a stint in rehab. We tried to make things work again and got back together. That’s when she got pregnant with my son. Things just didn’t line up for us. I wasn’t happy, so we started growing distant again. I filed for divorce a few months ago. Told her I’d help pay the doctor bills for the pregnancy. Haven’t heard from her in a while. Apparently she started using again even though she was pregnant. Mom went over to our house yesterday and found her passed out on the kitchen floor, bleeding between her legs, with a needle stuck in between her fingers. Mom rushed her to the hospital where they preformed an emergency c-section. My son was born 10 weeks premature with a tear in his abdomen and the family flaw. He only has a 20% chance of survival. I should have kept a closer eye on them, maybe this wouldn't have happened” Jax replies with regret heavy in his voice.

“You can’t blame yourself. If she wanted the drugs bad enough, there’s nothing you could have done to stop her. She would have found a way.” Katrina tries to alleviate some of his guilt.

“That may be so, but it doesn’t make me feel any better. I did beat the shit out of the dealer that has been supplying her with the poison. Wendy apologized for what she did and promised that she’s going to get clean, but it’s going to take some time to rebuild that trust. I think she’s more worried about being charged with fetal abuse, then she is about our son. If Gemma has her way, Wendy won’t be a part of our son’s life. I can’t say I disagree with mom on that.” Jax has a defeated look on his face as he pours himself another shot.

Katrina matches Jax’s shot with one of her own. She’s starting to feel a buzz from the alcohol, but she’s not sure if it’s enough to get through the questions that she knows are coming. She isn’t slurring her speech yet, but it is getting a little easier to talk. It almost feels like old times, chatting with her best friend… almost.

“So… Why did you leave town, without so much as a goodbye?” Jax asks while looking directly into Katrina’s eyes. He sees a momentary flash of pain cross Kat’s face.

There it is. The million dollar question. The one she was hoping to avoid. All the pain and bad memories came flashing back to the forefront of her mind. She knew deep down Jax has a right to know, but it didn’t make it any easier. She can’t help but fear that once he knows the truth about her father, he’ll look at her differently. With pity, or guilt for not realizing what was going on and stopping it. She doesn’t want him to feel sorry for her, she fought her own way out and it made her stronger.

Kat pours herself another shot and takes a sip of it before answering him. “One of the reasons I left was to get away from my abusive asshole of a father. Shortly after my mom died, my father started to become distant to me. It was like the sight of me reminded him of what he lost. Almost like he blamed me for her death, even though she died from cancer. He would loose his temper over the smallest things. That lead to him breaking things around the house. If there were dirty dishes left in the sink, he would throw them across the room shattering them against the wall. If I left my backpack on the floor after school, he’d toss it. He started punching holes in the walls, kicking down doors. After while the only thing that seemed to calm him was liquor. As soon as he arrived home from work he’d grab a beer from the fridge, sometimes a couple of them. When the beer started losing its effectiveness he started drinking more hard liquor and getting into drug use. That’s when I started to become his punching bag. If I got in his way he’d hit or kick me. If he felt I was talking back to him he’d slap me across my face. He told me I was worthless, that I was no better than garbage, and that he couldn’t wait until I was no longer his problem.”

Katrina lightly rubbed the small row of scars near wrist with her thumb, slightly hidden by the skeleton torso tattoo on her forearm. She remembers the pain she felt inside from her father’s words and the relief she felt cutting herself with the small knife she kept in her pocket. She never cut herself deep enough for there to be very much blood, just enough for the physical pain of the blade sliding across her skin to distract her from the pain in her heart.

She glances at Jax’s face and sees the shock and anger in his eyes. Before she continues, she grabs a cigarette from the pack on the table, lights it, then takes a deep drag off it to calm her nerves.”That’s why I used to wear long sleeve shirts and jeans in the middle of summer. To hide all the bruises and scratches on my arms and legs. I stayed out as late as possible with you and Opie, hoping that my father would be passed out before I got home. Some times I’d get lucky and he’d be asleep on the couch, other times I was greeted with him calling me a slut or a whore for staying out so late with the guys. I tried to avoid him as much as possible. When it got closer to graduation I started planning my escape. I saved as much money as I could from my after school job, and used it to buy a bus ticket. I just always seemed to be in the way. So when I got old enough, I got out of the way”

"Why didn't you say something? Tell us that was going on.” Jax is heartbroken and angry to find out that his best friend had been suffering and he did nothing to stop it. He remembered the nights when he, Katrina and Opie hung out. Remembered her reluctance to go home when Gemma said it was time to get ready for bed. Or the nights Katrina begged him to hang out for just one more hour, even though it was already getting pretty late.

"What? So that you could 'save me'. I didn't want your pity or for you to feel sorry for me. I didn't need you to fight my battles.” Katrina defends her silence on the matter, a hint of scorn in her voice.

"So you run away instead? Leave behind every one you've ever known. The people that love and care about you." Jax accuses her, the hurt evident in his eyes.

"Seems to me like you were busy loving someone else." Katrina mumbles under her breath.

Jax gives Katrina a confused look. He wasn’t sure he heard her right, but he had a feeling she was referring to his relationship with Tara. “Now that your father is gone, are you planning on sticking around Charming?” Jax asks, hopeful that there may be an opportunity for them to spend more time together. To reconnect.

Katrina sighs before downing the rest of her shot. “I put the house on the market. The stuff I plan on keeping I’m going to get a storage unit for until I find a new place. I’m not planning on going back to Vegas, but I am thinking of heading north. Maybe towards the Dakotas.” She sees the disappointment on Jax’s face.

“I was kind of hoping that you were going to stick around for a bit.” So maybe I could change your mind about leaving. Jax feels crestfallen, his heart is pounding in fear that she’ll leave and he’ll never get a chance to find out if they would be good together. Ever since Katrina returned to Charming, the what if’s and should’ve beens have been plaguing Jax’s mind. He knows now that it was a mistake hooking up with Tara back in high school. It should have been Kat. She always understood him, never made him feel that he had to choose between her or the club. Things might have been so different for both of them.

“I was going to stick around for maybe another week or two, just to make sure there are no problems with showing the house. Incase something major needs to be fixed.” Katrina reassures Jax, although, by the look of his face he’s not.

“So are you seeing anyone?” Jax isn’t sure he really wants to know the answer, but he can’t help himself. He has to know if she’s involved with another man. If there is even the slightest chance he can convince her to stay.

“I was, but it’s over now.” She really doesn’t want to elaborate on her relationship with Vince, and she hopes that answer is enough to appease Jax.

Jax feels a flicker of hope. “You said your dad was one of the reasons why you left, were there any other reasons?” Despite what Kat was going through with her dad treating her like shit, Jax still couldn’t wrap his head around the idea that she would just leave. Without any warning or even a goodbye. They were best friends. He has never felt as close to another person as he did her, and for her to disappear the way she did, crushed him. He has a feeling there is more to the story.

Katrina groans inwardly at the question, but at this point, with the alcohol coursing through her veins she feels there is no point in holding back. She has already confessed one of her darkest secrets by revealing her past with her father, what’s one more secret. It’s not like it can change the past.

“The other reason I left was because it killed me seeing you and Tara together. I’ve had feelings for you since we were kids. I thought as we grew up and got older those feelings would change, but they never did. I was in love with you and it broke my heart seeing you with her.” Katrina confesses feeling extremely exposed. She just laid her heart and soul on the table.

Jax is blown away by her answer. He feels a sense of relief that she shares his feelings. He knew she cared about him when they were younger, but he always felt that she probably cared about him in a sort of brother sister way. To find out that she was in love with him made his heart soar, and gave him even more hope that there is a chance they could be together. If he can convince her to stay and give them a chance. “Why didn’t you ever tell me how you felt?” Jax asks, even though he can guess her answer.

“I was afraid you didn't feel the same way towards me, and it would just come across as jealously towards Tara. That it would change the way you felt around me, the way you acted around me. I was afraid of losing my best friend.” Katrina admits.

Jax feels like a dumbass now. All this time wasted that they could have been together. If they wouldn’t have been so afraid to tell each other. “I also have something to confess. I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember. Since we were kids.”

Katrina looks at Jax with surprise on her face. She never expected to hear those words come out of his mouth. Maybe he didn’t mean it. Maybe it was the whiskey talking. "So why didn't you ever tell me how you felt?" Katrina asks, genuinely intrigued.

"Because I was terrified that if or when I fucked things up between us, I would not only lose the woman I loved, but I'd also lose my best friend. It wasn’t until after you left that I realized the mistake I made. And I lost you anyways." Jax admits, his voice filled with sadness and regret.

“If you had feelings for me, then why did you hook up with Tara?” Katrina asks in confusion.

“I had some feelings for Tara, but I don’t think I was ever truly in love with her. She was more of a distraction from my feelings for you. Same with Wendy. Every time I was with them, it was your face I saw.” Jax feels a little weird for revealing that part, but it was the truth. Every woman he’s been with he pictured Kat’s face. Wished it was her, he was with.

“When you were dating Tara, I always felt invisible to you. I felt like you saw me as just one of the guys. You started to become distant to me, so I started spending more time with Opie. It seemed like every time you paid even a little bit of attention to me, Tara would snatch it away. It got to the point, where I started avoiding you, to keep myself from getting hurt.” Katrina confesses.

Jax winces at her words. He hates himself for how he hurt her, even though that was never his intention. In his mind, he was trying to protect her and their friendship, by avoiding what his heart yearned for. “I am so sorry, Kat. I never meant to hurt you. I was just trying to bury my feelings for you because I was afraid. I was afraid you didn’t feel the same way towards me and I’d ruin our friendship. I didn’t want to lose you. You have no idea how much I regret those decisions.” Jax sincerely apologizes. He takes Katrina’s hand into his and looks into her eyes. The years of pain and hurt shine in her eyes and he feels heartbroken that he caused some of that pain.

“Yeah, well, that’s all in the past.” Katrina tries to brush it off. She still feels the sting of all those memories, even if it feels like a lifetime ago.

“What if we gave us a shot?” Jax asks, hopefulness in voice. He has vowed to himself that if the opportunity ever came up to be with Kat, that he wouldn’t hesitate.

Katrina looks at Jax in surprise at his question. She feels butterflies in her stomach at the prospect of finally getting what she had always wanted. To finally be with the man that she has been in love with most of her life, but another part of her feels cautious. “I don’t know, Jax. A lot has changed since we were kids. We’re not the same people we were back then. We’ve both changed. Hell, you’re a father now, and VP of SAMCRO.” Katrina is trying to rationalize in her head why this is a bad idea, even though her heart is pounding with excitement. The alcohol running through her veins isn't helping the situation.

“Come on Kat. We both have feelings for each other. I know the first time I laid eyes on you, when you got back into town, I felt butterflies in my stomach. All of those old feelings I had for you came rushing back. I can’t stop thinking about you, and how much I want you in my life.” Jax pleads with her. He has never wanted something as bad as this. To make a life with Kat by his side.

Katrina hesitates to give Jax an answer. This isn’t something to just rush into, especially with her alcohol hazed brain. She needs some time to think this through. She is supposed to be getting out of Charming, not tying herself down. She can’t help but be concerned about Vince. What if he tries to track her down. As much as she hopes that he’ll take the hint, that she’s not coming back, she can’t help but fear that he won’t be so willing to let her go. Even though she has no doubt that Jax will do everything in his power to protect her, she doesn’t feel it should have to be his problem.

“Jax, it’s not that easy. We both have other things going on in our lives. There’s no guarantee that us being together will even work.” Katrina tries to dissuade him. She doesn’t want to get his hopes up for something that may just be a pipe dream.

“At least we could try. If it doesn’t work then so be it, but I can’t live with the what ifs and could have beens without at least giving it a chance.” Jax tries his best to convince her. If he has to get down on his knees and beg he’s not afraid to do it.

“Maybe we should think this though. Preferably when we’re both not drunk.” A part of Kat wants to say yes….god yes… but she also doesn’t want to agree to something she might regret.

Jax is a little disappointed in Kat’s hesitation, but at least she hasn't said no yet. There may be hope.

Katrina gets up from her chair, her legs feel a bit wobbly. “I should probably head home, it’s getting late.”

“Like hell, you are” Jax replies a little too sharply, while grabbing the keys to her bike off the table. He rises from his seat to face her.

Katrina stares daggers at Jax, a little miffed at his tone. If he thinks he can control her and what she does, he’s got another think coming.

Jax quickly realizes how that came across. “Sorry, I didn’t mean for that to come out that way. It’s just, we’ve both been drinking…a lot. You’ve pretty much matched me shot for shot. I wouldn’t feel safe getting on my bike right now, and I don’t think it’d be a good idea for you to either. I’d hate to wake up in the morning, and find out that you wrapped your bike around a tree or something. You should probably crash here tonight.” Jax tries to explain.

Katrina is a little relieved at Jax explanation. It makes sense, although she’s not sure its a great idea to spend the night at the club house.

Jax approaches Kat, the draw of being near her to great to deny. He gently places his hand on her check, the memory of the bruise around her eye flashes across his mind. His thumb lightly caresses her check bone, but when there is no flinch from her, he is relieved that the wound has healed. He still feels that flash of anger that anyone would dare to raise a hand to her. He slowly lowers his lips to hers, aching to feel their softness against his. He has longed to kiss her for as long as he can remember.

Katrina is a little nervous at Jax’s closeness, but her body is quick to respond despite the warnings in her mind. When she feels Jax’s lips against hers an excitement courses through her veins. The feel of his velvety lips against hers was almost as intoxicating as the whiskey they have been drinking. Jax’s hands start slowly sliding down Katrina’s neck then around to her back, where he gently coaxes her into an embrace. Her body melds to his like it was made for it.

As the kiss deepens, warning bells go off in Katrina’s head. Her rational mind warns her that she should stop this from going any further, but years of pent up longing urge her to keep going. Katrina is swept up in the smells of leather, smoke and light cologne, with a hint of vanilla that seemed uniquely Jax. Before she realizes what is happening, she feels Jax’s hands lightly caress the sides of her breasts before traveling down her waist to rest on her hips. He draws her hips in closer to his and she can feel the evidence of his arousal. His breathing gets heavier, and Katrina feels the butterflies in her stomach.

Even though in her mind she knew this was a bad idea, Jax was like a drug, and she was jonesing for a hit. There was a passion between her and Jax that she had never felt with Vince. Maybe it was because it had been building since their youth. The feelings they had been holding back finally able to be explored. Katrina gives as much as she takes, returning Jax’s kiss with a fever of her own. She lightly rubs the tip of her tongue on Jax’s lips until he grants her access to his mouth. She hears his groan as he starts grinding his erection into her stomach. Jax starts guiding her to his dorm room without breaking the kiss. By the time they enter the room, they are both breathing heavily. Jax kicks the door shut with his foot, not wanting to break contact with Kat.

Katrina reaches for Jax’s belt intent on releasing it as she starts to kneel down in front of him. Jax grabs her arms and lifts her back up. “As much as I’d love to see your beautiful face going down on me, I want tonight to be all about you. I want to show you how strong my feelings are for you.” Jax expresses to her.

This is a new experience for Katrina, and she can’t help but feel a little excited about it. When she was with Vince, it was all about what he wanted and how he wanted it. Often times it seemed their lovemaking was very one sided, with her left feeling unsatisfied. Like she was just a toy for his pleasure.

Jax cups Katrina’s face and gives her another soul searing kiss. She can’t get enough of the taste and feel of his lips on hers. His hands wander down to the hem of her shirt and he gently lifts it up. They break the kiss long enough to get the shirt over her head. Jax then goes after Katrina’s belt, pulling it loose from its buckle, then he quickly releases the button on her dark jeans. He slowly slides her jeans down her legs then ghosts his fingers over her panty clad pussy. He smiles when he hears her sharp intake of breath. Katrina toes off her boots then slides the jeans off the rest of the way.

Jax takes a step back to take in Kat’s beauty while he kicks off his own shoes. Her black bra and panties compliment her tanned skin. He takes off his kutte and drapes it over the back of a nearby chair. The question of whether Katrina has more ink finally being answered. He has seen the tattoos on her arms, but now he’s seeing a large dreamcatcher on one of her sides and a colorful feather on the other. There is a black crow with a purple background on her collarbone and an angry wolf surrounded by roses on her thigh. He can’t help but admire the art adorning her body and is surprised that he finds himself getting even more aroused seeing it.

Jax guides Katrina to the bed where she sits on the edge and watches as he removes his pants and white t-shirt. He tosses them onto the growing pile of clothes on the floor. Jax approaches her in just his boxers not bothering to hide the fact that his cock is straining against the material. He tilts her face up for a quick kiss before his lips and tongue start wandering down her neck. He can’t help himself as he leaves a small hickey just above her collarbone. Jax caresses her breasts over the fabric of her bra, before reaching around to unclasp it and watching in awe as her perfect breasts are exposed. He takes one nipple into his mouth sucking and using his tongue to tease it into a peak, while he lightly caresses the other bud. His gently pinches and rolls her exposed nipple with his calloused fingers until it hardens and becomes sensitive. He then laves the other nipple with his tongue, sucking until he feels Kat squirm. Kat feels a tingling sensation travel from her stomach to her core. She can feel wetness gathering in her panties.

Jax lightly pushes on Katrina’s shoulders, encouraging her to lay back on the bed. Settling between her thighs he continues to lavish her body with attention, kissing and licking his way down to her panties. He starts rubbing her clit lightly through her underwear, just enough to cause her to squirm towards his hand. Her breathing becomes erratic, hitching every time his fingers touches the right spot. He can sense a bit of frustration from her at his teasing, causing his lips to curl into a smirk. Finally Jax runs his fingers along the top edge of her panties, slowly pulling them down her thighs, and leaving a trail of kisses and licks in their wake.

That first flick of Jax’s tongue on Katrina’s clit causes an explosion of sensations coursing through her body. She can’t remember the last time someone went down on her, making this time feel like the first time. Jax’s warm breath, and the feel of his whiskers rubbing on her most sensitive area threatening to send her over the edge. Jax can sense her body tensing up, like a coil ready to snap, so he starts kissing the inside of her thighs to give her a chance calm. Once her breathing returns to some semblance of normal he focuses his attention back on her core. The light ghosting of his tongue in her folds and around that little bundle of nerves feels like heaven to Kat. It doesn’t last long though. Jax quickly starts licking and sucking her bud like a man starved for water.

“God baby, you taste like honey to me, and I can’t get enough.” Jax praises her between breaths, as he laps up her juices.

It takes everything inside of Kat not to lose control. She runs her fingers through Jax’s hair as he continues his assault on her clit. His tongue then prodding her slit, going directly to the source of her sweetness. Katrina’s moans increase, and Jax’s name becomes a silent prayer. She then feels his finger teasing at her entrance. Lightly caressing through her folds, gathering moisture before sliding the slender digit inside her. He pumps his finger in and out, surprised at how tight she is. The feeling of her walls clenching on his finger sending a fresh surge of arousal straight to his already straining cock. He could tell the tip of it was already leaking pre-cum. Jax adds another finger inside her to help prepare her for what’s to come. He twists his fingers around and starts doing a come hither motion. Jax quickly finds that little bundle of nerves inside her that will probably be her undoing. He can feel her clench around his fingers and her thighs start to squeeze. Kat starts pulling his hair as he continues licking her clit and rubbing that hidden gem inside her. He can tell Kat is getting close to her release by her ragged breathing and the tightening of her muscles.

“Fuck, Jax, don’t stop.” Katrina manages between shuddering breaths. She can feel the knots in her stomach unraveling. Her impending orgasm right on the cusp of sending her over the edge. Her moans get louder the closer she gets.

“It’s ok baby, you can let go.” Jax encourages her. “Cum for me. Give me some more of that sweet nectar.”

That is her undoing. Jax’s husky voice beckoning her to release the flood gates. Wave after wave of intense pleasure washes over her. Her vision starts to fade and she is seeing stars. Her body shudders and her juices dribble straight into Jax’s waiting mouth. Jax laps every bit of it up as he slows the movement of his fingers. He tries to ease her down from her climax before removing his fingers.

When Kat’s breathing returns to normal she looks down at Jax’s smiling face. The evidence of her release glistening on he mustache and beard. Jax gently withdraws his fingers from inside her pussy, and she instantly feels a void. “I need you inside me.” There is a hunger in her eyes as Kat pleads to Jax. She wants…no needs, more.

Jax stands up and removes his boxers, finally unleashing the beast. Katrina is a little taken back by the size of his cock. She had no idea he was packing that much heat. Explains the loose fitting jeans. She feels a rush of excitement, and maybe a little bit of fear that it’s going to hurt. Jax sees her concern and reminds himself to take it slow, give her some time to adjust. She is nothing like the crow-eaters he’s fucked, girls that have taken so many dicks it a wonder they can feel anything.

“Do you have a condom?” Katrina timidly asks, suddenly nervous. Jax has already produced one son, she doesn’t want to take any chances that tonights actions result in another.

“Yeah, I do.” Jax can’t help but feel a little bummed about not being able to experience her pussy bareback, but he understands. He reaches into the nightstand drawer and pulls out a little foil package. Katrina watches in fascination as he tears it open with his teeth and pulls out the rubber. Jax strokes his straining cock a couple times then rolls the condom down from the tip to the base.

Katrina scoots up the bed giving Jax room to join her. He settles between her legs and pulls her face in for another passionate kiss. He then guides his cock to her core rubbing the head along her folds, gathering her wetness to help ease his passage. He lines himself up and slowly pushes his cock into her wet slit, going an inch at a time. He slowly rocks his hips back and forth, gaining an inch each time he pushes forward. When he finally bottoms out, he pauses for a moment, giving Kat time to adjust to his girth. When Jax stops, Katrina releases the breath she didn’t realize she was holding. She has never felt this full before. There is a slight burning from the stretch in her pussy, as well as an intense pleasure at the fullness.

“Relax your muscles, baby. It’ll help.” Jax whispers in her ear, concern in his tone.

After a few calming breaths, Kat feels ready for him to start moving again. She tilts her pelvis towards him, and then gives him a slight nod. Jax sets a slow pace at the beginning. The feeling of her tight, constricting walls threatening to send him over the edge. He feels like a damn teenager, ready to blow his load after only a few quick pumps. It takes every ounce of his control to prevent that from happening.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so tight.” Jax whispers almost reverently. He’s trying to stay in control, but he feels it slipping fast as he picks up the pace. Thrusting in and out, fast and faster. His balls crashing against her ass, as her walls clench around him. The tip of his cock brushing against her cervix each time he bottoms out.

Katrina feels the knot in her stomach growing. Every time Jax trusts into her pussy a tingle travels down her spine and straight into her core. She can feel her climax quickly approaching. She wraps her arms around his chest, her nails digging into his back. The moans coming from her mouth getting louder and louder each time his cock brushes against her sweet spot.

Jax can feel her tightening around him, and he knows he’s not going to be able to last much longer. “It’s ok, baby. Cum for me. Cum on my cock.” Jax reaches down to her clit, rubbing circles over it with his thumb.

Katrina is plunging over the edge as another intense orgasm rips through her body. Every nerve ending in her body is tingling as her juices coat Jax’s dick and balls. She clings to Jax’s body as she rides out the high. Jax follows her after a few more thrusts, a wave of euphoria washing over his body as his cock releases rope after rope of warm cum. Jax collapses next to her on the bed, then he draws her into his embrace. His twitching cock still nestled in her depths. They both lay there for a moment trying to catch their breath.

“That was amazing.” Jax says in awe, his breathing still labored. His fantasies of her never even coming close to the bliss he just experienced.

Katrina nods her agreement, exhaustion claiming her body. She nestles into Jax’s warmth as he squeezes her against him. Jax kisses the top of her head, as a feeling of contentment washes over him. He doesn’t want this night to end.

After a few minutes the twitching of Jax’s cock subsides and it begins to soften. He wraps his hand around the base of it to hold the condom in place as he withdraws it from Kat’s warm depths. Even as sleep starts to claim Kat, she can’t help the groan that escapes her mouth at the loss of the fullness in her pussy. Jax chuckles a little at the pout now gracing her face. He disposes of the condom in the trash, before heading into the bathroom to clean up. Once he is done cleaning himself, he returns to the bed with a warm washcloth to gently clean Kat. She flinches a little when he wipes around her sensitive bud. He has no doubt that she’s going to be a little sore tomorrow. When he finishes with the washcloth, he tosses it into a nearby laundry basket, before turning off the light. He climbs back into the bed, pulling the covers over them. Katrina seeks out his warmth again, resting her head on his chest as his arm wraps around her back drawing her close. Sleep quickly claims both of them.

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Tagging: @momc95 @jerseynurse82

#redwood original #reaper crew #SAMCRO #soa #soa fanfiction #sons of anarchy imagine #sons of anarchy #jax teller fanfic #jax teller imagine #jax teller smut #jax teller

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honeycombme · 5 years ago

Text

Ivory and Lace

You had been assigned and trained your entire life for the moment you were bought, for the ceremony, the Tryst. Expert on sex, love, scents, food, drink, companionship...you never imagined in your wildest dreams you'd be escorted away from all you knew by two gruff Storm Troopers. Maybe there was hope, maybe it had all been for nothing. All you knew is that you needed gin, and you needed it right now.

(AO3 link)

The light snap of your garter belt attaching to your lacy, thigh high stockings brought you back; Back to the reality that today, you were to be sold. Your hand rested gently on your thigh, admiring the dusty-rose colored lingerie surrendering to your curves. The fabric was both luxurious and irritating, but you looked absolutely arresting.

You had seen the other women prepare for the day they would meet their owners, all of them sauntering out of the stone walls as if to a hungry lover...but you couldn't shake a feeling of unease, a lump in your throat that no amount of red wine could tame.

You weren't allowed to know the name of your buyer, nor their gender, occupation, age...nothing. You only knew one thing: they were unashamedly, filthy rich. Your heart fluttered at the thought of what may await you. Perhaps this human who purchased you would be kind? Perhaps they would show you the world, take you far away from these dimly lit corridors and vapid trainings.

You pinched your cheeks ever so slightly, praying the pink hue would be subtle enough. You looked in the mirror, placing your hands on your chest, tracing your soft fingertips down the strong lines of your sheer bodysuit. The intricate straps attached to your lingerie led your eyes up and down, side to side. You were almost in awe of yourself.

You caressed one lock of hair, perfectly curled. You looked perfect.

On the floor were pillows, sheets, and throws of every fine fabric and fur. There was a small fire crackling in the background, keeping you company while you waited for The Tryst.

The ceremony was unable to be rehearsed, you were meant to be equipped with the knowledge to satisfy another from the start. Without knowing anything about anyone, you had to be able to work quick on your feet to pacify, pleasure, and satiate anyone's desires. You'd been training for this as long as you could remember, and though your hands were steady, your mind was a maelstrom.

The first order had made your practices illegal, but the majority of buyers were Commanders, Generals, and other First Order officers. Their money made your perfection a reality, and your mind a seductive weapon. However, most of the women you'd trained with who were bought by First Order were never heard from again. You were nervous that if you were to end up in their hands, you would share the other women's fate.

You decided to slip on your Navy blue wrap dress, careful to tie the fabric at your waist properly. The material was substantial yet draped over you like flowing water. The pin cushioned chaise near the fire beckoned you and you submitted. All this preparing had drained your energy, and you deserved to prop your feet up for a moment…

The heat of the crackling fire lulled you into the twilight zone when you heard the whoosh of the powered doors. Your heart jolted your body forward and you ruffled your hair, hoping you still looked as you had before. The footsteps coming from the hallway sounded heavy, masking the faint click of the Countess's high heels. You took a sweet breath and fluttered your eyes, sitting at your mirror with a lipstick in hand. Crossing your legs, you purposefully exposed the lace of your stockings and pretended to be touching up your makeup. The wooden door to your room swung open, you weren't expecting this moment to seem so rash.

The countess sauntered in; your heart imagined what your master must look like, hoping he was of nobility or wealth, maybe even handsome. When you turned to look at the buyer, you were in disbelief.

Two Storm troopers stood at your door, not daring to take a step further from the frame. No amount of makeup in the world could hide the disappointment, confusion, and cosmic betrayal painted onto your skin.

"Come now...y/n…" breathed the countess.

Your eyes darted from her to the Storm troopers, in search of a flaw in the reality. Were you really just purchased to become a gaggle of Storm troopers play thing?

"I beg your pardon," you uttered meekly, "are you to be my keepers?"

The storm troopers looked at each other, then back to you as if you'd said something preposterous.

"We are here to collect you, girl" asserted the deep, female voice of the storm trooper.

"For yourselves?"

They looked to the countess, who appeared rather solemn. From her pocket she pulled a small letter, sealed with a wax pressed A. It appeared she had already opened it by the loose flap of the letter, but her hand outstretched to you, letter in tow. You took the letter reluctantly, swallowing dry saliva that seemed to make your throat more scratchy.

You closed the letter after reading it, sat at your vanity and began packing your things. You were not going to be passed around a gang of Storm troopers, you were now the property of one First Order General, Armitage Hux. It seemed a bit karmic that you had been feeling sorrow for the women who were sold to the first order, only to be blindly led there yourself.

Walking with the storm troopers to their aircraft, you couldn't help but see every day of your life all at once. All the trainings, emotionless hours of sexual banter, lying awake at night wondering if there was any other existence. You felt regret. Something you hadn't faced for as long as you could remember.

You attempted to ask the storm troopers about this general, hopeful that they would spare you some information on the ride, but they didn't say a word to you the entire trip. You were tempted to seduce them both, but the unknown stole your own spontaneity.

You arrived at a ship, large and bewildering. It felt like all eyes were on you, but of course they were. The area you were escorted through was all storm troopers and black uniforms, a nameless sea of bodies walking this way and that. You'd never been off your planet, and the large bay door opened to the cosmos stole your breath. Your bicep was grabbed firmly by the female storm trooper as you had lagged behind, jaw agape with the beauty of the stars and nothingness.

"Keep up, girl," she demanded.

Your deep blue wrap dress fluttered from the winds of passersby. So many people heading to and from ships, you felt like you were trapped in a beehive.

After climbing through hall after mind numbing hall, you arrived at a rather sleek wing of the ship, adorned with modern furniture and ambient light. The storm trooper released your arm and your hand rose to caress the tender area.

You looked around the foyer at the vaulted bookcases, filled to exhaustion with the spines of innumerable texts. So, he's a reader, you thought. The troopers accessed the entry way to the quarters with a code, the door whirred open and they pushed you in.

You turned around to refuse but the door shut quickly without hesitation. You heard their footsteps begin to fade as you held yourself with one arm. As you looked around, you saw an immaculately clean, slightly austere living quarters. This was nothing like your flat in the old house; no fireplace, no vanity, no personality. Your heels clicked against the sleek floors as you journeyed further in. You walked into an open room and were surprised to see some life.

Not life-life; the kind of room that feels like it's been lived in. Similar to outside the room, there were twin bookshelves in the far corner next to a window overlooking the vast expanse of stars and nothingness. Next to them was what appeared to be a relic of an armchair with a noticeable dent in the cushion.

The larger than king size bed was draped with gray and white throw blankets, comforters, and pillows. On the bed laid a perfectly wrapped gift box with a letter attached to the tight black ribbon detail. You felt nosy and took the liberty to investigate. Your fingers gently opened the small card attached and revealed your name delicately addressed.

"Y/n, I certainly wish I were there to properly welcome you. Unfortunately, I've been suddenly called away on necessary First Order business. I hope you can forgive me, kitten. I've left a small surprise for you in the package, along with a card so you can purchase anything you may need on the ship. I simply can not wait to lay eyes on you. Armitage."

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linneawritesstories · 4 years ago

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This is a repost of a story I posted previously in a different format.

You are a poltergeist in a haunted house, and you are in love with a possessed artifact. However, she was taken by the last owners when they moved out. After years of gathering your power, you’re finally strong enough to leave the house and search for her.

- @writing-prompt-s

She was beauty. She was light and love. The only good thing in my dark existence.

Before her there was only anger. Rage, to be more accurate. I wanted peace. I wanted quiet. This is my house. I lived here and I died here, and that makes it mine. And yet, there is a steady stream of intruders. First it was the police to cart away my body. That was fine. I no longer needed it. Then it was a cleaning crew to scrub away the blood with their acrid chemicals and box up my things. No! Those were mine. My favourite doll from my childhood, my father’s old pocket knife, the quilt my grandmother made for me, my mother’s earrings, my beloved plants. They took everything. My home was left cold and hollow.

I was not strong enough to stop them. Not then. But the anger simmered.

Perhaps that’s why I changed.

Keep reading below or on my official website.

With the anger I grew stronger. More solid. I couldn’t tell you the exact moment I made the shift from innocent spirit or benign ghost to a poltergeist. But with the shift came power. I could pick up plates from the kitchen and hurl them to shatter against the wall while the new family ate dinner, relishing in their horrified silence as the shards fell to the floor.

This was my house. I would make sure they knew.

The family did not last long here. Perhaps because of the children. The youngest boy seemed to sense me. He cried whenever I came near. The father scolded him and told him not to make up stories. I turned the lights on and off, and his face went pale and he carried the boy out of the room. The family moved out soon after.

A ‘For Sale’ sign was put up in the yard. I could see it from the front window, though I couldn’t leave the house no matter how hard I tried. After that there was a revolving door of realtors and prospective buyers, as if they had the right to sell and buy my home out from under me. I soon learned that my nails could leave deep grooves in the walls, and that was unnerving to the people who came through. It didn’t discourage everyone. I seethed the day the ‘Sold’ sign was put up.

That family didn’t last long either.

They all blurred together after that. Should I have bothered to keep track? Stupid loud people with their stompy feet and their high pitched screams and their crying babies. Ugh. Get out. Get out!

And then she came.

Another moving day. Loads of boxes left higgledy-piggledy in my home, which had been blissfully quiet for too short a time. The boxes made me curious, they always do, and the couple blamed each other if something wasn’t where they left it, so I could go through them as I pleased. They had nice things.

Nothing as nice as what had been mine, but nothing was mine anymore. Nothing except this house.

It took a long time for them to unpack all the boxes and put everything away. This was normal. It was odd, though, that other than the essentials they needed to get through the day-to-day, the first thing they put out was a doll. A beautiful ceramic doll that must have been a family heirloom. She was set in a sunny spot in the window. Her bright blue eyes seemed to stare at me when I went over to inspect her. It shames me now, but I thought about throwing her across the room as my first warning to the couple that they weren’t welcome here. I didn’t, though. She was too pretty.

The couple went to bed. I was drifting through the house, wondering what hell I could raise to rouse them, when I noticed the doll was missing from the front window. How strange. The couple had seemed pleased with her placement, so I had not thought they would move her so soon. My curiousity got the better of me, and I searched the house for her.

I found her in the bathroom, on the back of the toilet. A strange place for such a pretty creature.

By the next afternoon, she was sat in the centre of the living room. A single beam of sunlight from the window illuminated her among the shadows of sheet-covered furniture, not yet set where the couple wanted them for the duration of their stay.

I started to suspect that there was something up with her. My suspicions were all but confirmed when the young man, upon entering the living room, paused at the sight of her and laughed. “Meg! I found Auntie Hannah! She’s in the living room.” And he picked her up and set her on the mantle. “There you go, Hannah. You’ll get dirty if you wander before we’ve got everything cleaned up.”

Wander? A doll? Dolls don’t move by themselves.

Yet over the following days, Hannah appeared in various locations around the house. The kitchen. The basement. The little room that Trevor, the man, was turning into a home office. And once, the back garden, which alarmed Meg as she scooped Hannah up and made sure she wasn’t dirty. “Hannah,” she sighed as she carried the doll back into the house. “Please stay inside.”

It was peculiar, but do not think I stopped my efforts to frighten the couple into leaving just because of some strange doll. Not at all. I wanted them gone! I smashed an antique teapot and made Meg cry. But no matter what I did, the couple thought Hannah was the culprit.

“Hannah, how could you?”

“Why are you angry?”

“Here’s a different dress. Is that better?”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with her, Trevor. She hasn’t acted like this since my cousin died and she was passed on to me.”

It was after the teapot incident that I finally saw Hannah move. I was in the living room, now a cozy little space with couches and bookshelves and pictures of smiling people on the walls as if they had a right to claim them. I was trying to decide if I wanted to throw the pictures or the spiderplants on the mantle, or both, when footsteps came behind me. They were too light to be human, and when I turned, there she was.

She stood in the doorway with her little perfectly formed fingers on her hips, her new purple dress flared around her. The purple ribbon Meg had lovingly tied into her cloud of brown curls brought out the blue of her eyes beautifully. And yet when she spoke, her face never moved.

“If you hurt Megan or Trevor, I’ll make you pay for it,” she informed me in a rich voice that I never would have expected from a doll. “They are my people, and I will make you leave if I have to.”

“This is my house.” I knocked one of the framed wedding photos to the ground to illustrate my point. “Mine. And I’ll do whatever I want.”

“You’re dead. You can’t own anything.” She stomped into the room on her doll feet and pulled herself onto the couch. “Just like me. Not even this doll body belongs to me. It belonged to Marcia, then Joan, then briefly to poor Tracy, and now it’s Meghan’s. Isn’t this house the same?”

Despite myself, I was fascinated. I couldn’t leave my house, so I only knew how being dead worked for me. I did not know that other ghosts could experience other things. It didn’t occur to me that ghosts could haunt things other than houses.

So I sat with Hannah on the couch and we talked and talked and talked. She told me that Meghan was her distant relative, a great-great-great niece or something, and that she’d been passed through the family after she had died and possessed the doll. It was so nice to have company. And unlike me, Hannah could be moved from place to place. Oh, the stories she told me! Her granddaughter Joan was quite the traveler, and she had brought Hannah to places like England, Scotland, Mexico, Nepal, Thailand, and the list went on and on. I was fascinated by her stories.

Hannah and I talked every night, and I was too busy with her to spend time making trouble. By the time I realized what she was doing, I was attached and didn’t want her to leave. And for her to stay, Meghan and Trevor had to stay.

Well, fine. So be it. I would let them live in my house if it meant my Hannah could stay.

I soon understood why everything strange was blamed on Hannah. She would go out to the garden in the middle of the night and return with bundles of dandelions, which she scattered around the house. My favourite place to skulk during the day was the basement, which the humans used for storage and so didn’t bother me. Hannah made sure to leave a couple dandelions on the basement steps for me.

I got them a little glass of water. My heart was as warm as their bright yellow colour.

The years that passed after my home became Hannah’s home were the happiest I’d spent since my death. We laughed together, and my anger with the world faded. I lost my ability to throw plates even if I wanted to.

I did not want to.

But good things never last for long.

Meghan’s pregnancy test was positive, and she and Trevor set up a nursery in the room next to theirs as Meghan’s belly grew big. Hannah was so excited. All she could talk about was the baby, and she left flowers all over the house. Meghan laughed and tucked them behind her ear. “See?” she’d say. “Hannah’s happy too!”

Then the baby came, and with it sleepless nights for Trevor and Meghan. With them up in the middle of the night, Hannah and I couldn’t talk the way we used to. Although Meghan and Trevor knew she moved, she didn’t like them to see her do it.

“Of course not! What if they make me do chores?” she demanded the one time I asked if she had considered it.

Trevor and Meghan had been among the most quiet of intruders, but the child was not. And little Damien’s volume grew with his body.

He was afraid of me.

If he saw me in his room while I searched for Hannah, he would scream and scream until his parents came running. When he was very small he could not tell them what was wrong, but he soon learned to talk and he told them about the monster. I never hurt him. I had never harmed a child, though I did sometimes frighten them on purpose. But children were more sensitive than adults and were often first to pick up on my presence.

It was no different with Damien.

“I know they said the house is haunted, but I thought it would be like with Auntie Hannah,” Meghan told Trevor one night, her voice troubled.

Trevor put his arm around her. “I know. We took a chance because the house was so cheap. And it’s worked out! Nothing bad’s happened to us.”

“But Trevor, Damien keeps talking about a monster. What if its hurting him when we’re not in the room?” Meghan would have fought a bear for her baby, I thought as I hovered in a corner of the kitchen. A monster was not much different.

I had not hurt Damien. But Meghan became convinced.

They brought home boxes.

I knew what that meant.

“Stay,” I begged Hannah. “Please, Hannah, stay. Don’t leave me.”

It was night. Everyone was asleep. I knew Trevor and Meghan planned to leave. I didn’t want them to take my beloved, beautiful Hannah.

“You could hide until they’re gone. We could stay together.”

Hannah kicked her feet against the couch. “And what if the new owners throw me away? No. Meghan is my family. I don’t want to leave you. But I know where I belong.”

I knew she was right. I knew. The thought of the next tenants finding her ugly and throwing her away filled me with rage. It was unthinkable. Meghan took good care of her. But if Hannah had to go, I wanted to go with her.

In the days that lead up to moving day, I tried to stick just my hand out the front door. I tried and tried and tried. It was like pushing against glass. I could not do it.

I could not leave.

They left without me.

Hannah was gone.

This house was my home. That had been enough, before Hannah. It never seemed so cold and hostile as it did after she was gone. I never wanted to leave before, but now I did.

Grief and rage grew within me. I could throw plates again. I did. The new owners didn’t even last a week before they moved out and put the house up for rent.

This house was mine. I had never hurt it before.

But that didn’t matter anymore.

I ripped cupboard doors off their hinges and flung them across the room. I gouged the walls. I ripped down the curtains and threw books through windows until the carpets sparkled with shattered glass. I screamed Hannah’s name over and over. No one stayed. No one new moved in. And still, I raged.

My power grew. But I lost myself. The house wasn’t mine.

The house wasn’t mine, so I could leave.

For the first time since my death, I stepped out the front door. I didn’t know where to look, but I would. I would search and search until I found my Hannah again.

Hopefully Damien would have outgrown his fear. Maybe he would even see that I could be a friend, if he wanted. If not, he could be dealt with.

Children were fragile.

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ask-de-writer · 5 years ago

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THE HOUSE, (part 2 of 3), a tale of Flocking Bay

Return to the Master Story Index

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THE HOUSE

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

7357 words

Written 1990

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

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Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions. I will allow those who do commission art works to charge for their images.

All sorts of Fan activity, Fiction, Art, Cosplay, Music, or any other thing is actively encouraged!

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Next, I began to check the walls for hidden panels or the like. The walls of the parlor, sitting room, and kitchen were smooth with elaborate flocked paper. The wainscots were all of solid, if elaborate, woodwork. That left the study, dining room, and library. I set eagerly to work. The paneled walls of the study proved depressingly solid.

I was delighted when I finally found the basement stair in the library. A bookcase camouflaged a hidden door with the spring catch concealed as one of the few knots visible anywhere in the wood of the house.

Flashlight in hand, I ventured down the short flight of stairs. The basement proved to be small and bare. It had mortared stone walls and a cement floor. There were no hiding places, even the space under the stairs was empty, no rats, no dust, and no cobwebs … Slowly I went back up the stairs to the library.

I put away my flashlight and went to the study to look at the land records again. The papers revealed that the house’s first buyer was George Oates. His brother and sole heir sold the house seven years later. His name was Harold.

As I am something of a bibliophile, I decided to give the house’s library a detailed look. I was more than pleasantly surprised. Not one book was published later than 1866. Many were far older. Some of the books went back to the 1400’s. Mr. Wickes was apparently somewhat dishonest, intellectually. He had signed and dated the flyleaf of each book, for example, “Hiram Wickes, acquir’d 1565.” Some of the dates went back to 1540 in books published from 1483 to 1497. He would have to have been over 300 years old, if the inscriptions were true.

Hiram was heavily into the occult. There was little that did not pertain to the various occult ‘sciences.’ Even the books in foreign tongues, and there were many, had illustrations that indicated that they belonged to this awesome collection of lore. The impression was that Hiram had read all or most of this collection. His marginal notes were in a wide range of languages, often not the language of the book in question. From scanning the shelves, I deduced that there were over twenty five hundred books in the library.

My near drenching of the day before had taught me that it was wise to take my car into town. Mrs. Alderman greeted me at the slightly shabby old counter that served the library for a check-out desk. “My goodness, young man, how did you get on when the power went out? I have a gas range, ‘cause you never can tell when, hereabouts, the power might go.”

“I’ve got gas where I’m staying, too,” I told her, “I made out okay.”

“Well,” she said knowingly, “the radio says it’ll be another two-three hours before we got power again. Why don’t you go sit by that window? It’ll give you light all morning.”

I thanked her and turned at once to the death certificates. Bingo! George Oates, his wife Wilfreda, daughters - Caroline and Charity, and son Harold (named for George’s brother in Boston), had all been declared legally dead, seven years having passed since their disappearance, and all reasonable attempts at contact having failed. Now, the reason for that malevolent plaque came into focus.

Turning to the letters, I started with the earliest. The Post Office had saved Hiram’s mail in the hope that it would yield some clue to his whereabouts. This practice was followed in the disappearance of all subsequent owners of the house. Hiram’s mail was of considerable interest to any who might know a bit of the occult and something of rare books, as I did. The first letter follows:

My Dear Hiram:

It is with the utmost concern that I read your last communication. You were always my most talented pupil and are a valued associate. I pray you, please, reconsider the rash course that you are now contemplating.

Remember, your copy of Alhazarad is not a good one. The edition of 1784 contains many minor lacunae. Before you attempt anything, consult also the Pnakotic Manuscripts and collate what you learn there with Von Junst.

I know that reading the Pnakotic Manuscripts is a difficult and time-consuming task. Never forget that the source of your present wealth and mine lies in those ancient pages. There is much wisdom there for those with the courage to seek. Everything must be checked against other knowledge.

To call upon Him Whose Name Must NOT be Uttered for so trivial a task is a sure way to serious mishap. Remember, your Alhazarad is incomplete!

In concern for your welfare,

I remain, Richten

At Darkhouse, Arkham, Mass.

Unfortunately, the authorities were unable to trace the mysterious Richten or his address. Arkham, Mass. is, of course well known to all scholars and bibliophiles as the home of Miskatonic University, with its astounding collection of rare books of occult lore.

I had never heard of the Pnakotic Manuscripts but the other items mentioned in the letter were familiar to me. Alhazarad could be none other than the author of the infamous Necronomicon. The 1784 edition survives only as a fragmentary copy in the vaults of Miskatonic University. Von Junst could only be the almost as infamous Black Book. This book also survives in only a few priceless copies. Two of the best ones lurked in the vaults of the rare book collection at Miskatonic. They were separate editions, published a century apart.

Another letter, about a week later than the first, was a bit more specific. Richten started in much the same vein as before but went on:

Calling so mighty a being for so trivial a task is absolutely insane. I know that you enjoy tidiness. Who does not? Yet He Whose Name Must NOT be Uttered is not a mere servant and can be disastrously literal, even when all else is done perfectly.

Binding Him, as you have, cannot please Him. What you have learned from the Necronomicon and the Pnakotic Manuscripts has enabled you to compel Him to bring you gold. The first time that He did was almost fatal. Remember, being able to compel is not the same as being master.

For your own safety, Do Not Do This!!!

Wishing you the best,

Your friend and former Master,

Richten

At Darkhouse, Arkham, Mass.

There were also, unfortunately, not translated, letters from Korea, China, India, the 0ttoman Empire, Germany, France, Morocco, and several places in South America. Apparently our Mr. Wickes had been something of a polyglot and did in fact read all of the languages of the books in his library.

It appeared that a careful search of the house, attic to basement, was in order. If there were any chance that I might find a copy of either the Necronomicon or the Black Book, I could turn a fine profit. Either book in almost any condition, was worth in far in excess of mere $45,000.00 that I had paid for the house.

Turning to the newspaper clippings, I found mostly stories of the disappearances of people who had bought the Wickes place. The George Oates family was only the first. They were not alone. The clippings gave some flesh to the legal death declarations. There was another detail to add to my list. No trace was ever found of the possessions of any person who vanished.

Electric wiring had been installed. Several times. It too had vanished without a trace. After each disappearance, the house was exactly as it had been when Hiram Wickes vanished. Even if the furniture and books were sold or even burned, everything always came back.

The Reverend Orville Olson piled all of Hiram’s books and furniture on the lawn and burned it all. He then exorcised the whole place of the “evil ghost of Hiram Wickes.” To prove that the evil was gone, he spent the night in the house. The burn scar on the lawn and the Reverend Olson both vanished. The furniture and books returned.

I made careful tracings of the strange gold coin in the file and made longhand copies of such of the letters as I could and included all of the oddments that I knew of Hiram Wickes and the Wickes house, and prepared the lot for mailing. I addressed it to Professor Gordon Wetherbee at Miskatonic University.

He was a sort ‘uncle’ to me. He and my father had been close friends since long before my birth. That friendship had been extended to me as I grew and was largely responsible for my love of books and learning. I did not know all or even a fraction of what ‘uncle’ Gordon knew or did but I trusted him absolutely.

I did know that his research had taken him all over the world. He knew more of the occult than any other man of my acquaintance.

One set of clippings caught my eye. “BOY GOES MAD!!” Curiosity piqued, I read on. In essence, the story was this:

It was a fine day in April, 1896. Willie Asphel, age 10, was in the mood to get into trouble. He sneaked off to the Wickes place to break windows. Apparently he missed the house with the first stone, as there was no crash of glass or thump of stone on board. He took precise aim and watched carefully where the stone went. Ever after, his hair was stark white, his eyes crossed, and even after he stopped raving, his mind was never fully normal. He demonstrated a talent for seeing into closed containers and the like.

He died of a brain hemorrhage at the age of fifteen.

The power which had failed last night, came back at 3:30 p.m. I felt a need to digest the tale of Reverend Olson and young Willie Asphel, so I left the library. I walked up the street in the sunlight. Cobbles could be seen here and there through old cracks and holes in the paving. Stepping around the occasional weed, I followed the sidewalk to the Post Office. There I mailed my letter to uncle Gordon.

Thoughtfully, I retraced my steps. My car awaited me. No sooner had I got into it than a gust of wind slammed the door. The impact caused the glove box door to fall open. Inside were five gold coins exactly like the one in the file

To say that I was stunned by this occurrence would have been an understatement. A breeze plucked at my right hand, almost as if it were guiding me to the gold. The moment that I took the gold in my hand, the breeze died away. Only then did I notice that my car windows were closed.

My first response was to say, “Thank you, whoever or whatever you may be.” I drove home slowly, mulling over the day’s events. The clouds roiled overhead like fighting dogs.

Once home, I got my flashlight and went straight to the attic. At the stairs, my light would not shine. Somehow, I must have left it on when I last put it away. Irritating.

I had lots of candles down in the kitchen. For a prize like the Necronomicon or the Black Book, I could search by candlelight. An obsession to find those books seized my spirit.

I hurried down to the kitchen and set up a candlestick, which I took back to the attic. The soft glow of the candlelight revealed the same boxes and trunks that I had seen before. There were still no dust or spider webs to be seen. I heard what sounded like a hundred rats on the floor below. A glance out an attic window showed that night had fallen. The ‘spectral brigade’ never started before dark.

The boxes and trunks contained the curios, mementos and journals of travels on six of the seven continents (only Antarctica was not represented.) Glancing through the journals revealed that although Hiram was meticulous at recording detail and observations, he was also quite secretive about the object of his searches and research. It was both fascinating and frustrating.

Some of the boxes contained disturbingly carved stones and other artifacts. Many of these were only disquieting to look at but a few were truly mind twisting. A number of the journals contained finely drawn sketches in ink of architecture that Escher would have loved, had it not caused actual nausea when studied too closely. Many of the drawings were of ruins but they still retained their otherworldly power. Their geometry was subtly skewed from any earthly construction. There was little else, aside from literally thousands of the above mentioned journals. Valuable to the right collector perhaps but not the precious books that I was seeking.

I tried the second floor next. Both bedrooms, the bath, and the large room that I had dubbed ‘the work room’ all proved to have no secret hiding places. If there were any hidden doors or concealed panels they defied me.

The ground floor was next. I started with the kitchen. The parlor got a once-over walls and ceiling. (I had done the floor when I searched for the basement.) The same was done with the dining room, sitting room, and study. Then it was the library’s turn.

Looking at the wall to wall, knee to ceiling, cases of books with their sliding ladders, I despaired of finishing my search that night. There were over twenty five hundred volumes on those shelves.

I stared at the sea of brown leather backs, some stamped with gold, and decided to start at the right of the door and work my way around the room. Each book had to be inspected to be sure that it was not concealing another book in innocent appearing binding. Many of them were valuable in their own right but none could compare with the Necronomicon or the Black Book.

I did not get far before I was too tired to continue. The books that I was seeking had waited for century and a third. They could wait until morning.

The next day, my inspection of the library resumed. Here, at least, Hiram had achieved order. The books were shelved by subject and author, regardless of language. There was precious little of outright fiction though many were obvious foolishness in the light of modern knowledge. At ten in the morning, I stopped, arms aching and eyes swimming. I was less than a quarter of the way through the herculean task.

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#THE HOUSE #part 2 of 3 #Flocking Bay #Written by De Writer

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grailacademy · 6 years ago

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Welcome To Grail Academy - Chapter Twenty-one: Something Soon

Calicem was a diverse city, but a heavily segregated one as well. The rich pushed most of the working-class citizens out of their homes and neighborhoods years ago, planning to renovate the abandoned buildings left behind but never actually starting any projects. The communities that still fought against the gentrification were all grouped together in one sector of the city, and it was in one of these neighborhoods that a famous diner stood, like a beacon in the darkness: Peach’s Diner. This is where Yorick sat, huddled in a booth with his hands around a tall glass containing a vanilla milkshake and a curly straw. As he slurped on his drink in silence, Rettah plucked the cherry on top and popped it into her mouth, interrupting the anecdote she was sharing.

“-And he never even called me back! Can you believe that?” She chewed on the tooth-rottingly sweet red bubble.

“No way, he didn’t want to talk to a girl who sawed the legs off all of his furniture? That’s crazy!” Queenie responded with sarcasm, but they both knew it was a joke, and the girls laughed.

“It’s still not as bad as Scarlet’s last boyfriend, ha!” Queenie jostled Scarlet sitting next to her, making the chunk of cake on his fork plop onto his plate with a splatter of icing. He used the back of his sleeve to wipe some frosting off his face, mumbling a quiet, “Yeah, he was a total weirdo.”

Queenie slid a napkin towards the center of the table, showing all the notes and lines scribbled on it in pen. “Okay, our guy is waiting at the club next door. This should be a normal trade, but the buyer is a little….paranoid.” Yorick leaned forward to look at the napkin, eyes scanning over the plan. He asked Queenie, “What exactly do we get in return for these trades?”, and she shrugged her shoulders underneath the poofy letterman jacket decorating her torso.

“Depends,” she started, “Information, coordinates and defenses on our enemies, recipes or ingredients for Boost products, new recruits, whatever Sable values as important. This one is for blueprints of a few buildings she wants to use as outposts.”

Yorick nodded and spooned the last bit of whipped cream out from the bottom of the glass with his fingers, popping it into his mouth. Queenie and Scarlet stood up, the leader of their team slapping a few Lien on the table while their teammates left the diner to scope out their checkpoints for the meeting. “I got this one, you guys go ahead and scout.”

Bernard closed the door to the bathroom behind him. He turned the faucet to the shower on and let the water run until it heated up, meanwhile setting his scroll on the edge of the sink. His teammates had yet to return to the dorm room after their exams, so he took this bit of alone time to clean himself up. He pressed the play button on his scroll’s screen, and jumped into the shower while music played from its speakers. He didn’t consider himself to be a good singer, but that didn’t stop him from crooning out the words to his favorite song as he washed his hair. This was the one time he allowed himself to be vocal and dynamic, when nobody else was around. His out-of-tune rendition of an old rock n’ roll song paused just before the chorus, because the ringing of a call on his scroll stopped the music. The warm water from the shower faucet dripped down his chest, following the trails of various scars and old wounds before they were trapped by a soft towel. He answered the call while he dried his hair.

“Hello?”

“¿Como va tu entrenamiento, Bernie?” The voice on the other line made him shiver. He knew who it was, but that wasn’t his mother. Bernard looked at the lesions and blemishes across his chest the foggy mirror, draping the towel over his shoulder.

“....Qué deseas.”

“¿No puedo revisar a mi estudiante estrella?”

“Qué es lo que realmente quieres.”

“....Los planes han cambiado. Necesitamos que termines tu entrenamiento y vuelvas a casa. Hay trabajo que hacer.”

Bernard was quiet. Not out of choice, but because he didn’t know how to respond. The voice on the other line filled the lack of noise for him, though.

“Sería una pena si tuviéramos que poner a tu hermana en el sistema. Usted tomó ella lugar para mantenerla fuera de peligro. Hazlo por ella.”

“Tres meses.”

“Demasiado largo. No empujes tu suerte. Un mes.” The person hung up, and the chorus of the song played again. It didn’t have the same impact on him that it did before, ringing through the now hollow emptiness he felt in his chest.

The factory homebase of the Hedge Witches was much larger than most would expect. Yes, there was the actual factory portion where shipments were made, and the courtyard connecting the greenhouse to the main building, the field behind it, and the array of repurposed storage rooms used as offices, but there was much left to explore. The black haired boy who sat in on meetings held by the organization’s leaders, arms crossed and sitting on a crate when he was supposed to be taking notes, cautiously moved down a long stairwell. His only source of light came from candles mounted on the walls, which flickered rhythmically as he walked past each one, like a dance of warning to turn back. He wasn’t afraid. The stairs opened into a narrow hallway in the basement, a level of the headquarters few people had ever actually seen. This area looked older than the building on top of it, and it reminded him of ancient catacombs more than a dusty cellar. As he made his way through the crypt, the boy took time to acknowledge how the brick walls and wooden floors were now covered in dirt and mud, packed on in layers like an animal den. The end of the hallway opened up into another oddly shaped room, a mud-shaped cave that ended at a near wall, and an extremely high ceiling. At one point, it was a smokestack that puffed fumes from the taffy factory. But now, the floor of it was covered in silk pillows and cushions. The boy looked up to the tall, open center of the pillar that shone a foggy grey sky through a mess of black webs and nets wrapped around its walls. “You needed me?” He shouted up, listening as his voice bounced off the walls of the structure in echoes.

The black netting shifted and changed shape, and slowly, Sable lowered herself onto the pillows by her hair like a ribbon-dancing acrobat. Her locks stayed where they were, except for the few that held her head and waist like a harness. “Yes.” The sway in her walk gave her body the shape of melting wax, her movements resembling the dancing flickers of the candle flames at the entrance as she stepped over the lush cushioned bedding on the floor.

“I need you to run an errand for me. Yorick’s semblance training is moving at a….less than reasonable pace. We have to speed up the process.” She handed Hari a tattered comic book. The ink on the cover was faded, but the title, Blue Inferno vs Doctor Bloodlust, was still readable. He took it, running his hand over the figures of a masked vigilante fighting a man in a lab coat, both of them clad in futuristic armor and shooting lasers at one another. The art style of the book has not aged well, the blue spandex on the story’s hero looked to be riding up a bit too high in some rather unappealing places. “How long do you think a trip to Atlas will take?”

“Two days, if I leave right now.”

“Good. Find Azura, follow her to their home. Take anything that you think will spark memories for him.”

“Anything?” “Anything.”

Hari rolled up the comic and tucked it under his arm, and Sable’s hair spread to make an opening in the tower’s ceiling. He crouched down, pulled at the neckline of his tank top, and looked up through the hole into the sky. “Oh!” Sable remembered, advising him, “Bring a coat, I hear it’s cold in Atlas this time of year.”

Hari rolled his eyes, “I’ll be fine, mom.”

“I know you will, but I get worried!” She hugged him and planted a big wet kiss on his cheek, which he immediately wiped off in embarrassment and disgust.

“Goodbye, sweetie! Stay safe! I love you!” She clasped her hands over her chest, giving Hari a patient look while she waited for him to repeat the phrase. He groaned loudly and turned his back to her, groaning “....I love you too, mom,” before he sprung out of the crouch and disappeared out the mouth of the smokestack in a swirl of black hair and feathers.

Yorick’s hands were getting sweaty again. It was a strange sensation when it was paired with the frigid cold from his milkshake glass. The drink was long finished, he wasn’t even holding the cup. But the club he followed Rettah into after Scarlet and Queenie scouted it out put him off. It wasn’t exactly his scene. Rowdy biker bars full of criminals and drunks weren’t his preferred spot. The raucous laughing and shouting pounded at his ear drums, and the constant shattering of bottles and metal music on the jukebox in the corner didn’t help. He would have killed for a smoke right about now, to calm his nerves. A gang of bikers hunched over a pool table, one of them with a thick beard reminiscing about the good old days. Like some kind of miracle sent by an angel, the miscreant flicked half a cigarette butt onto the floor at Yorick’s feet, apparently finished. Avoiding eye contact with the group of men, he sneakily picked up the butt from the floor before someone stepped on it and snuffed it out. He took a couple of puffs and followed Rettah the rest of the way to a booth at the back of the bar, where their friends waited. Their path was blocked by a crowd of people waiting in line for the bathroom, so the girl grabbed Yorick’s wrist and pulled him through the sea of ruffians. On the other side of the line, Queenie leaned forward over the table of their booth and negotiated with a lanky man in a burgundy pinstripe suit. Scarlet scooched further into the booth to make room for the other two to sit down, and Rettah skipped over giddily with Yorick trailing behind.

“You have been very generous to me, and I appreciate that.” The man combed a strand of hair neatly back into place on his head of grey hair, eyeing Queenie. “But I want something in return for these goods. Understand?”

“Whatever you need. Money, Boost, supplies, we can provide it.” Queenie rapped her knuckles against the wooden table.

“Protection.” The man shifted in his seat, the gold pins on his lapel reflecting the light hanging over them. “I want a guaranteed alliance with the Hedge Witches. The way I see it, you need someone on the inside, and I need someone to keep me safe if you want this job done correctly.”

Scarlet tugged on the sleeve of Queenie’s jacket, whispering something into her ear. She nodded, and held her hand out to the man. He took it and shook, then glanced over his shoulder to make sure nobody was watching them. Under the table, he handed an orange envelope to Scarlet, who folded the package and hid it between his knees. “Pleasure doing business with you, Mister Reed.”

Reed picked up his hat from one of the coat hooks on the sides of the booth, placing it on his head and leaving the bar without another word. The four of them made sure he was out the door before they pulled the envelope out. Scarlet wedged his nail under the fold on the paper, ripping the top open and pouring its contents onto the table. “What is it,” Rettah asked. Queenie turned the papers over, and showed them the detailed blueprints of Grail Academy’s clocktower.

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mldrgrl · 6 years ago

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Full Circle

by: mldrgrl Rating: PG Pairing: Hank/Stella Summary: Preparing for the big move

Leaving a job after more than twenty years was difficult. Stella thought she could be an exception to the rule. She’d kept her colleagues at a distance for most of her time on the force, which allowed her the detachment necessary to do her job effectively. Whereas others might have felt isolated, she felt comfortable.

It came as a surprise to her that packing her office came with unexpected melancholy. Hank had come with her to carry heavy boxes, according to him, but she knew it was only because he’d been curious about what her life in Scotland Yard was like and he’d never been inside. If he didn’t tag along now, there’d never be another opportunity. He rescued an anti-stress ball that had been in a gift bag from some conference somewhere that she’d just thrown in the rubbish bin and flopped down on the couch in her office to toss it around.

“I expected more funny hats,” he said. “I never asked, why are your cops called Bobbies?”

“The home minister that created the police force was named Sir Robert Peel,” she answered, wrapping an elastic band around a folder of personal files to take with her. “The public referred to them as Peelers for some time, and then Bobbies.”

“Do you think Emma Peel was named in honor of Robert Peel? God, she was hot.”

“I’m not up to speed on my Avengers trivia, I’m afraid.”

There was a light knock on the open door of her office and she looked up from packing her files. Jim Burns gave her a half-smile and gave a nervous glance around the room.

“You’re needed, Mrs. Peel,” Hank said in a posh British accent.

“Jim,” Stella acknowledged. “This is my husband, Hank. Hank, this is Jim Burns. He was my supervisor once upon a time.”

“What’s up?” Hank waved his fingers and then tossed his ball in the air again.

“Uh.” Jim cleared his throat and began to stammer over a goodbye. “I know today is...well, I thought I would just come down...you know, uh, wish you luck and everything.”

“Thank you.”

“Well, I’ll uh...I should let you…it was nice to meet you. Hank.”

Hank waved his fingers again and Jim patted his hand against the door frame before making an awkward exit. As soon as he was gone, Hank whistled low like a bomb dropping and raised his brows at Stella.

“What?” she asked.

“You must’ve done some kind of number on that guy.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You want me to believe you never fucked that guy?”

She glanced at the empty doorway and then raised her brow back at him. “I’m merely denying that I did any type of number on him.”

Hank threw the ball up again and caught it mid-air. “I’d be jealous, but I just feel sorry for him.”

Stella put the lid on the banker’s box she was using to pack her personal items and placed her hands on the top. Twenty years in one small box. She breathed in deep through her nose and then collected her jacket from the coat rack.

It’s just a job, she told herself, watching Hank pocket the anti-stress ball and then grab the box from her desk. Just a job.

*****

The house was empty, save for a few select pieces of furniture the new buyers had requested as part of the sale. The barstools remained, the slender end table in the hallway remained, and the pair of chairs in front of the bay window also remained. They had asked for the glass bookcase in the bedroom, but it was one item Stella wouldn’t part with, and wouldn’t send to storage. It was costly to ship, but she was attached to it and so it was making the journey to New York as well.

Stella stood in her empty bedroom and took a final look around. In less than an hour she would be signing the final papers to complete the sale of her home and then in the morning she and Hank would be on a plane to New York where they would remain. Permanently. No traveling back and forth across the Atlantic anymore. They were no longer Londoners and she was no longer on the police force.

“Hey,” Hank said, stepping up behind her and hooking an arm around her chest.

“Just taking a last look,” she said.

“Fond memories of this room. Very fond.” He pressed his hips up against her back and she took hold of his arm across her chest and smiled.

“You’re the only man that’s been with me in this room. Have I ever told you that?”

“I took your bedroom virginity? Humbled and honored. You should’ve told me earlier, I’d have written an acceptance speech.”

“Do you know, when I looked at this house, these walls were blue.”

“Blue? How blue are we talking? Ocean blue, Smurf blue, or Stella blue?”

“Like a hazy sky.”

“I can see why you’d paint over it.”

“I wonder if the new owners will paint. I wonder if by next week these walls will be buttercream or lilac.”

“You can pull out, you know,” he said, opening up his arm to step in a half-circle to face her. “You don’t have to sell if you don’t want to.”

She put her hands on his chest and patted very lightly. “I want to,” she said, her eyes drifting over the bare walls for another look.

“I’ll be downstairs.”

She nodded and her eyes fluttered shut as he cupped her cheeks and caught her lips with a few short pecks. On his last kiss, he lingered and she captured his wrist to tug his hand away. He got in one more peck to the corner of her mouth and then brushed past her and out the door. Before she joined him, she gave herself one last walk around the perimeter of the room, feeling unexpectedly sentimental to the point that she found herself caressing the closet doorknob almost reverently. Suddenly feeling foolish, she jerked her hand away and held her wrist near her chest.

It’s only a house, she thought. Nothing more.

Adjusting her blazer by tugging on the lapels, she turned on her heel and joined Hank downstairs. He was on his cell phone, leaning against the wall. Their bags were in front of the door. He nodded at her and pushed away from the wall.

“Gotta go,” he said. “Becca says hi.”

“Hello to Becca,” she answered.

“Stella says hi back, we’ll see you soon.” He hung up the phone and put it in the pocket of his leather jacket. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

*****

Papers were signed, checks were distributed, and keys were turned over. The townhouse was no longer hers. On the one hand, she was relieved of the burden of a mortgage, on the other, she felt bereft and untethered, even if she had a home in New York. The house was the first move towards something permanent she’d ever made in her life. Marrying Hank was the second. Moving to New York, well that was almost like making the permanent officially permanent.

Hank had waited with the car while she went into the realtor’s office to sign the papers. When she came out, he was chatting up the driver as they both leaned against the hood of the black towncar. For one last time, she’d called her favorite car service and her favorite driver, Nicolá, had shown up promptly on time, as effusive as always. He and Hank had met on several occasions, but she couldn’t recall if they’d ever had a conversation. As soon as he saw Stella, he put his hat back on and opened the back door for her.

“To the bank now, signora?” he asked.

“Please,” she answered.

After the banking was done, there was officially nothing left to be done except check in to their hotel for the night. She’d left those arrangements to Hank and didn’t know where they’d be staying, but she hoped they had room service. She didn’t feel much like going out.

“Signora, may I say it’s been a pleasure driving you,” Nicolá said as he set their suitcases at the curb in front of their hotel. “If you return to London at any time, please allow me to drive for you, it would be my honor.”

Stella smiled and on impulse, embraced the older man. He’d been a constant in her life for the past few years and she would actually miss him. Her eyes grew a bit misty, but she blinked away any sign of emotion before she stepped back.

“My wife is going to call me a silly old goat when I tell her the most remarkable woman in London next to her majesty embraced me today.”

“Take care, Nicolá.”

“You as well, signora.”

Stella managed to draw out the process of gathering their bags together to enter the hotel just long enough to watch Nicolá drive away. She felt a little foolish for wanting to see him off and she reminded herself that drivers come and go. He was just a man who got her from place to place, nothing more.

*****

The hotel was familiar to Stella in a way she didn’t pinpoint until they walked into the room. She paused by the bed, looked out the window, and then turned back to Hank who was still in the entryway.

“This is…” she started.

“Where we met,” he finished, and then drew a line beneath the brass 908 above the peephole with his fingertip.

“Same room.”

“Your room. I was in 523.”

Stella stepped out of her heels and untucked her blouse as she walked to the window. It wasn’t dark yet, like it was the night she went to bed with him. Hyde Park bustled below. She heard the door snick shut and a few moments later Hank was beside her.

“Nice view,” he said.

“It is,” she agreed. She’d never really appreciated it before and now she didn’t know when she’d be back.

“I know it’s not easy, Sherlock.”

“It’s just a city.”

“Nothing is ever just anything.”

She wanted to nod in agreement, but there was a lump in her throat that caused her to remain still. She stared out over treetops and rooftops that she’d seen her whole life, but never taken a good look at.

“Why here?” she asked.

“Because when I walked out the door that night, I didn’t think I’d ever see you again, even if I wanted to. Tomorrow morning we’ll walk out of here together and I won’t have to wonder where you are, I’ll know. You’re with me.”

She turned from the window and put her hands on Hank’s chest. His jacket was in her way so she pushed it off his shoulders and he shrugged it to the floor. “I am with you,” she said.

“I thought that, you know technically, we began here. And we can begin again here with something new.”

Stella nodded once and took a step closer to rest her head against Hank’s chest. She put her arms around him and he wrapped his around her, swaying back and forth a little.

“It’s harder than I thought it would be,” she admitted.

“I know.”

“I want it though.”

“Stella, did you ever imagine that one night would lead us here? Or even that weekend in LA. Did you ever think, even for a second, that we’d end up where we are in this moment?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“You know, if we weren’t already married, I’d propose to you right now.”

“I would say yes.”

“What do you want to do now, Sherlock? On our last night?”

“Mm.” She breathed deeply and closed her eyes. “Hot shower. Room service.”

“Cheeseburger?”

“God, yes.”

“Fries?”

“I knew I married you for a reason.”

Hank gave her a squeeze and then let go. “Take your shower. I’ll place an order.”

Stella went one way towards the bathroom and Hank went the other towards the phone. She pivoted when she was halfway, unbuttoning her blouse as she walked backwards. “As I recall, the shower is large enough for two,” she said.

“You don’t have to ask me twice,” he answered, the hotel service guide on the end table in his hand. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Don’t make me wait.” She turned and shed her shirt just before the door to the bathroom.

“Hey, Sherlock,” he called to her, the phone at his ear. “Think of this new life as an adventure.”

“It already has been, Watson. A very lovely adventure.”

The End

#i wrote this #hanella #hank moody #stella gibson #the last adventure

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hazel-ang · 3 years ago

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farmhousesaleinnoida · 9 months ago

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The battery scrap of Chennai is further a productive material as the lead present in the battery is used again, as the lead is again a non-renewable source of energy and have a worthy value of re-sale in Chennai, therefore the scrap dealers earn worthy profits after buying the battery scrap from any of the locations of Chennai. The scrap dealers also take rejected pet bottle scrap of Chennai, they assemble them, sort them, clean them, then they are shredded and modified into washed flakes, which are then used to yield an range of produces, initiating from polyester fibre, which is recycled for a range of applications like filling material for pillows, cushions, and converted to materials for utilization in clothing.

Scrap furniture, a few fitting materials, lights, roofing, computer scrap, and countless more domestic products in Chennai can convey recycled scrap metal into depletion, giving objects that have stretched the end of their decided period a new tangled, tempting persistence in Chennai.

The old heavy fans installed in your homes are having copper binding in old days and therefore, they are very exclusive and valuable when goes in scrap sale in Chennai. If you plan to sell the old fan from your home, then the scrap vendors of Chennai are interested to buy it for the copper wire scrap, it is again a vastly valuable contract for them and we can also earn worthy profits by buying the copper cable scrap in Chennai.

SCRAP BUYERS IN HYDERABAD

SCRAP BUYERS IN MUMBAI

SCRAP BUYERS IN PUNE

SCRAP BUYER'S IN DELHI

SCRAP BUYER'S IN NOIDA

SCRAP BUYER'S IN CHENNAI

SCRAP BUYER'S IN GUJRAT

SCRAP BUYER'S IN BANGALORE

SCRAP BUYER'S IN ANDHRA PRADESH

SCRAP BUYER'S IN KOLKATA

#scrap dealers in chennai

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