#direct hire staffing

[idctech]

https://www.idctechnologies.com/services/staffing/direct-hire-strategy

Looking for top talent? IDC Technologies is a leading direct hire staffing agency, connecting companies with skilled professionals. Contact us today!

[emphire]

Important Points to Consider Before Choosing a Temporary Staffing Agency for Your Business.

There is no need for a company to hire full-time employees. It's possible that you should retain a temporary workforce and bring on specialists as needed for each project. In that case, it’s important to work with a reputed temporary staffing agency to handle your direct hire staffing requirements.

[seo-techfive]

The TekTree Promise: Innovate, Transform, and Success with Workforce Solutions

TekTree is transforming workforce solutions to promote innovation and success for businesses in today’s ever-changing environment. By recognizing the challenges organizations face, TekTree provides modern technology and services that boost productivity and streamline operations, enabling companies to achieve lasting growth.

The ability to adapt is essential In this rapidly evolving landscape. TekTree’s solutions connect human resources with strategic objectives, leveraging data-driven insights to attract, retain, and nurture talent. Through the integration of advanced technologies such as AI and data analytics, TekTree redefines workforce management, leading to enhanced efficiency and lower operational costs.

Key benefits of using TekTree's workforce solutions include improved efficiency through automation, better decision-making with real-time data, and promoting a culture of ongoing improvement. TekTree focuses on customization, making sure that solutions are adapted to the specific needs of each business, which helps build strong partnerships.

Below are the few workforce solutions offered by Tektree: 

Contingent staffing: 

Also known as temporary or flexible staffing, which involves hiring employees on a temporary, contact, or freelance basis according to the business needs. Contingent staffing helps to fill gaps, adapt to change, access specialized talent, save costs, and reduce training costs. 

Direct hire

In this process, people are directly hired for permanent positions by the company through interview process, which is different from temporary or contact position hiring. 

recruitment process:

The recruitment process involves finding a job and hiring the candidates; this includes identifying, sourcing, screening, interviewing, hiring, and onboarding. 

outsourcing services:

This is a business practice where a company hires a third party to perform services that are previously done by the company's employees themselves.

payroll services:

These are the services provided by third-party companies which helps businesses with payroll processing. These services make sure that employees are paid accurately and on time.

global PEO services:

Global professional employer services is a process followed by companies to hire employees in other countries without establishing a legal entity in each country; this acts as the employer of record for the company, handling payroll, taxes, and other functions. Global PEO retains the decision-making authority over the workers of the company, which distributed with it. 

statement of work:

It is a legally binding document between an external worker and a company that outlines the activities, deliverables, and timeline for a project and can also be used for internal projects.

nearshore staffing:

This is one of the ways to fill staffing gaps. By the name itself, we can clearly understand the meaning that it is a business practice which involves in hiring the employees from a nearby country to complete services. 

Success stories showcase TekTree’s influence across different sectors, from boosting employee engagement in technology companies to improving operational efficiency in manufacturing and ensuring compliance in healthcare organizations. TekTree provides a range of solutions, such as talent acquisition, performance management, and training programs, all aimed at maximizing human capital.

Choosing the right workforce solution starts with understanding your organization's specific needs and collaborating with TekTree specialists to find the ideal match. A successful rollout requires careful planning, training for employees, and continuous assessment to ensure the best results.

As the future of workforce solutions evolves, TekTree is committed to leading this transformation. By leveraging technology and innovative strategies, TekTree enables businesses to realize the full potential of their workforce and succeed in a competitive environment. Partner with TekTree to embrace change and drive sustainable success.

[mightywarnersus]

How to Assess Candidates in Direct Hire Staffing?

In this developing world of direct hire staffing, selecting the proper candidate for the job takes a lot of work for a company’s long-term success. The hiring process focuses on short-term employment, and direct-hire staffing involves, To Know More, Visit: - https://medium.com/@officemailiidd/how-to-assess-candidates-in-direct-hire-staffing-a328c7f12a73

Contact Us: - Name: Stellar Grey Web:https://medium.com/@officemailiidd/how-to-assess-candidates-in-direct-hire-staffing-a328c7f12a73 Call: +1-855-823-8911 E-Mail: info@mightywarners.com

[prosearchgroup]

Navigating Talent: Insights into Finance and Healthcare Recruitment Strategies

Recruitment within the finance and healthcare sectors is a dynamic and multifaceted endeavor, driven by a confluence of industry-specific trends, evolving skill requirements, and broader economic forces. In this section, we delve into the current landscape of recruitment in these critical fields, highlighting the key trends and the most sought-after skills and qualifications.

Current Trends in Finance and Healthcare Recruitment

The recruitment landscape in finance and healthcare is continuously shaped by several pivotal trends. In finance, technological advancements are revolutionizing the way organizations operate and recruit. The rise of ProSearchGroup, into financial systems have created a demand for professionals adept in these cutting-edge areas. Financial institutions are seeking candidates with not only traditional financial acumen but also the technical prowess to navigate and leverage these innovations.

Regulatory changes also play a significant role in shaping recruitment strategies in finance. As governments and regulatory bodies introduce new compliance requirements, there is an increased demand for professionals skilled in risk management, regulatory compliance, and ethical governance. These changes necessitate a workforce that is both adaptable and knowledgeable about the latest regulatory landscapes.

In the healthcare sector, the recruitment trends are equally compelling. The rapid advancements in medical technology, telemedicine, and electronic health records (EHRs) are driving the need for healthcare professionals who are tech-savvy and proficient in these new tools. Additionally, the ongoing global health challenges have highlighted the critical need for specialized healthcare practitioners, from epidemiologists to critical care nurses, underscoring the importance of a robust and responsive recruitment strategy.

Economic factors further influence recruitment in both sectors. Economic fluctuations can lead to varying levels of demand for financial services and healthcare, impacting hiring trends. In times of economic uncertainty, financial institutions might prioritize hiring risk analysts and financial strategists, while healthcare providers might focus on recruiting frontline medical staff to manage increased patient loads.

Skills and Qualifications in Demand

The evolving recruitment landscape has led to a distinct set of skills and qualifications that are highly sought after in finance and healthcare.

In the finance sector, there is a growing emphasis on data analysis and risk management. Professionals who can interpret complex data sets, identify trends, and provide actionable insights are in high demand. Expertise in financial modeling, forecasting, and strategic planning is also crucial as organizations strive to navigate volatile markets and economic conditions.

Moreover, the integration of AI and machine learning into financial operations requires a new breed of finance professionals who are not only proficient in traditional finance but also have a strong foundation in technology. Skills in programming, data science, and cybersecurity are becoming increasingly valuable as financial institutions seek to protect their assets and enhance their technological capabilities.

Healthcare, on the other hand, demands a unique blend of clinical expertise and technological proficiency. With the increasing adoption of telemedicine and digital health platforms, healthcare professionals must be comfortable using these technologies to provide patient care. Additionally, there is a significant demand for specialists in critical care, mental health, and geriatrics, reflecting the changing demographics and health needs of the population.

Interpersonal skills, empathy, and the ability to work under pressure remain paramount in healthcare. The ability to communicate effectively with patients, families, and interdisciplinary teams is essential for delivering high-quality care and ensuring positive patient outcomes.

In summary, navigating the recruitment landscape in finance and healthcare requires a keen understanding of current trends and the ability to identify and attract candidates with the requisite skills and qualifications. By staying abreast of industry developments and aligning recruitment strategies with these evolving demands, organizations can build a workforce capable of driving success in these critical sectors.

[expressvancouverbc]

Business Staffing In Vancouver, BC - (604) 638-6980

Locally owned and operated, Express Employment Professionals in Vancouver, BC is a Full-Service Staffing Agency that continually exceeds expectations by providing services to companies in our community while also helping job seekers find employment.

Express Employment Professionals Vancouver (Downtown) 555 West Hastings Street Vancouver, BC V6B 4N6 (604) 638-6980 https://www.expresspros.com/VancouverDowntownBC

[cipheramnesia]

Everything about the USA will make you feel as if your whole ability to reason and think coherently has just flown away.

I'm thinking right now about a radio advertisement I overheard for Indeed - a theoretical jod search website. The advertisement, however, was directed at companies who were searching for employees. Presumably these companies pay Indeed to serve as a hub for their job postings and applicants. So Indeed wants people signed up, because more accounts shows more potential applicants and they can get more money from companies looking for employees. There's no money in actually connecting applicants to positions, so you sign up, make the account, discover you signed up for a portal that just sends you to other company's jobs pages with the same info and spams you with jobs you don't want, and you leave forever. Money in the bank.

Meanwhile on the hiring side, job postings make a business look good. If you always got job postings, you're growing. But keeping fresh postings in rotation is time consuming, especially when you're lean staffed on purpose with investors who demand you show an infinitely growing rate of improvement. So you pay Indeed a monthly fee to upload a bunch of jobs you aren't hiring for and use that to hook more investors to pay the first group.

And you end up with a company that gets paid to do nothing but generate fake data by other companies paying them to do nothing but post fake information, and the only part we (the ones looking for income to survive) play in this transaction is lending the process just enough legitimacy to make it legal. Money that doesn't exist cycles around between people doing nothing and as long as none of us can afford groceries or a home, the economy is considered "doing well," but the second one investor caves and demands to be paid, the economy collapses and suddenly 99% of the population in the USA can afford to eat again.

All you have to do is multiply that by a thousand companies doing it a thousand times a month and that's the USA baby, except also we supply billions of dollars of weapons killing people around the world.

[employvision]

The recruitment process has undergone significant changes in the past few years. Locating and hiring new and pertinent talent has become a more complicated procedure. It is estimated that talent shortages are at a ten-year high, creating a situation where the talent demand is greater than the supply. Research shows that more than 85 million job positions could remain unfilled due to the lack of enough skilled people. In 2022, new innovative and disruptive trends will drive the recruitment process. Organizations and tech recruiting firms need to adopt a more proactive role in sync with the latest trends if they want to find the right people to take their businesses forward.

Let’s take a look at the top 4 talent acquisition trends in 2022.

[chronicallycouchbound]

I feel like people often don’t talk about the experiences of disabled people who have caretakers because so much of the conversation is about us—not including us.

I receive in home care for 30 hours a week (+ 4 hours/week for respite). This is paid for by Medicaid (state insurance). Outside of paid hours, my primary caretakers care for me unpaid and assist me most of the time. I’m very rarely left alone due to my high support needs. Often, when I am left alone, I am completely bedridden or at minimum housebound. I have frequent emergency life threatening health problems, falls, and serious injuries even with support in place, and these things significantly increase when I’m on my own.

I’m extremely lucky that my paid caretakers are my partner, my sister (the only family member I have regular contact with, I’m estranged from the rest of my immediate family and most of my extended family) and my best friend.

I used to have agency staffing which was horrible for me and borderline traumatic. At several points, before doing the self directed care option (which allows me to choose my own staff, hire and train them myself and dictate hours for them), I opted to not have any staffing. I was regularly in the emergency room. I can’t drive, so I was having to walk and if I was lucky enough to be able to take the bus on occasion or get a ride from a Facebook acquaintance, they were few and far in between. I don’t have family support, and even my sister who is supportive wasn’t living in the state at the time and doesn’t have a car most of the time.

And before I could even choose which staffing option, even though medically it had been deemed essential for me to have in home care, even though my insurance covered it, I had to wait several years (I was 18 when I was approved) until I was 21 to qualify to start. The reason why: I was legally an “adult disabled child” because of my high support needs (which is funny because I STILL don’t have SSI at age 24) and thus legally unable to consent to my own care plan. I needed a blood relative to consent, and that same blood relative (who had to have proof of such!) couldn’t care for me. At the time, my sister was the only person who could’ve been my caregiver and also she is the only verifiable blood relative I have contact with for safety reasons, and my only relative on this side of the USA.

The first business day after my 21st birthday I immediately got things set up to get in home care.

This is out of date, I get assistance with more than just these highlighted ADL (activities of daily living) tasks now.

In short: my day-to-day life is entirely dependent on others.

And there’s power imbalances that exist between me and my caregivers, even with my current caregivers being amazing and anti-ableist. They will always exist. We talk about the power dynamics of me being dependent on them for my survival, and how heavy that weight can be for each of us.

Having caregivers often means that accessibility is extra difficult— I’ve been told straight up multiple times that I can’t have assistance from my caregivers to help me change in a changing room when we’re out shopping. That they can’t go into the bathroom with me, that they can’t help me get un/dressed during appointments, that they can’t come into spaces with me.

I’ve been denied access to psychiatric care because I can’t do my daily living tasks (ADLs- the highlighted items) independently. And when I’m in a hospital or emergency room, I can’t have my in home workers be paid to care for me, there’s an expectation that the nursing staff at the hospital will do it. Even though my caregivers were specifically trained to learn my body and needs for weeks and have been working with me for years. I have severe cPTSD and showering in front of a stranger is something I cannot do. I would rather fall or faint or get injured or just not shower than deal with that. But I’m expected to just let anyone have access to my body just because I’m physically disabled and need support.

When I faint/fall/get injured/have life threatening health issues arise while I’m not clothed, or when I’m otherwise vulnerable, I’m supposed to let strangers just touch me however they want to. I have to show them my chest (for my cardiac care) and let them poke and examine me. I can’t object without losing access to vital care.

I have agency. I have rights. I have autonomy. I deserve to be able to exercise these things.

[idctech]

Looking for a reliable direct hire staffing agency? Look no further than IDC Technologies. Our expertise and dedication ensure you access the best talent pool, simplifying your hiring journey.

[pricegouge]

here's a little victorian ghoap x reader thing i might continue but no time soon. stable hand ghost, minor noble soap, maid reader.

cw for dub con, though nothing happens here and non con mentioned in passing

It's Mr. MacTavish who lures you in, pretty blue eyes and the cologne you've only ever smelled on him - too expensive to be worn by any of the other men you know. He's charming as always, schooled smiles and lingering gazes. It's easy to let yourself be herded along to the horse barn when you've harbored a flame for him for so long. 

Less easy is the sight of Simon lingering in the stall. 

"Bring her here, pup."

You dig your little heels into the dirt when Mr. MacTavish grabs you by the arm, steering you close. Simon is a recent hire, but you'd never guess by his notoriety. Well earned, as far as you can tell. The other maids have given you fair warning about him, the stable hand who doesn't know the first thing about proper horse care. They said he was the devil, or maybe just on the lam. You hadn't thought too much about it, because you'd never imagined you'd be in this position in the first place. 

More fool you, it had never occured to you that the devil would use another to seduce you for him.

"Mr. MacTavish, I think I ought to get back to my chores," you hedge, voice so meek you barely recognize it.

"Not the song ye were just singing, little lass," he lilts. You hate yourself for the way it still manages to make your knees weak.

"I -. I -. I only just remembered I have some hemming to do."

"Well it's a good thing I know the man of the house then, eh?" His father, he means - old and incapacitated. John himself oversees the staffing, and if he excuses your tardiness to your head housekeeper then all will be forgiven. But there will be no need, because you were lying, and you both knew it. Mrs. McGovern would never notice your absence because you had the evening off - something you're sure Mr. MacTavish knows as well. 

He's got you in the stall now, despite the way your boots drag a wake through the straw. Simon sits on an overturned bucket with his legs sprawled, looking for all the world like it's him who issues your cheque, who hosts your lodgings. Mr. MacTavish does nothing to correct this behavior, you note, content to bring you to stand between the stable hand's knees as directed.

Simon's an ugly man - eerily pale despite his supposed profession, and painted all over with the kinds of scars horses simply did not possess the ability to install: long and jagged, improperly healed. If he was a stable hand with his last house, the livestock were hardened criminals and the village doctor had been too scared to come around for a visit. But there was no denying his figure was impressive. Tall and broad, you'd heard the driver once say that it wasn't a stretch to believe Simon had gotten the job by simply 'standing in the stall and looking like a natural.' Like a horse, he'd meant, and within the week he'd been sacked for sodomy. The driver had been adamant he'd been attacked by Simon, but when pressed, the stable hand had simply said he'd just 'stood there and looked natural while the driver had done the rest.' You hadn't gotten the joke, and when one of the butlers had explained it was a reference to the size of Simon's manhood, you'd thought yourself likely to faint. Mr. MacTavish had found this so funny that Simon had not been let go for fornication - neither then, nor any of the subsequent run-ins he'd had with the other maids.

And now here you were, latest in a long line. You want to scold yourself for believing the others had simply been lacking wit, or personal strength. You'd been nothing but cautious of the man, but still he'd managed to get you alone.

Well, mostly alone. In your naivety, Mr. MacTavish still stands as a beacon of hope - a way out of this mess unscathed. You ought to know better by the way he stares down at Simon, blue eyes searching for direction and approval both.

"Pretty one," Simon muses. He looks at you as if he never has, though you've felt his eyes on you since his first day on the property. "Took her long enough to come around. How'd you get her, then?"

"Easy enough. Just told her I knew a spot we could sit and talk in peace wi'out her pesky ol' ma'am breathin' doon her neck."

Shame knots your stomach to hear it described as such, though he speaks true enough. Mr. MacTavish had barely needed to show any interest in you at all before you'd been mentally canceling your plans to visit the fountain in town and read under the shade of the big oak tree. If only you could go back now, perhaps remind yourself what it meant to be a god fearing woman.

Simon will fix that for you.

"That so, pet?" he asks you now, mangled lips curling around a cruel smile. "Can't even spare me a glance, but you come running when Johnny gives you a crumb of attention?" You realize your face betrays your shame when his smile turns knowing. To Mr. MacTavish he says, "Think you've got a pet of your own, pup."

The younger man hums, leaning over your shoulder. He doesn't look at you when he compares you to a bitch in heat.

Laughing, Simon draws you ever closer with two massive palms wrapped round the backs of your thighs. "Two pups then, 'ave I? What a lucky man."

"Please, s-sirs. I'd like to leave now."

The way Mr. MacTavish shushes you is almost apologetic, but Simon does not look at all sympathetic when he glares up at you.

"Your employer has asked you here, pet. Are you really going to decline him?"

And the thing is that you won't because you can't. To deny Mr. MacTavish is to put your income in jeopardy. So you'll stay, despite knowing full well that come tomorrow, Mrs. McGovern will know exactly where you've been, and you'll just be another disgraced girl in the long line of maids Mr. MacTavish and his ilk has ruined. You'll have no hope of ever finding another position after this, so you'll stay, and you'll do as you're told - because if you're stuck in this household anyway, you may as well ingratiate yourself to the head of it.

You feel as if you've been soaked in tar when you tell Simon no, that you wouldn't deny Mr. MacTavish anything.

"Good girl," Simon purs. "Call him John."

When you peek over your shoulder, Mr. MacTavish offers no indication on what he thinks of that, too busy stroking the line of your shoulder. His thick finger is heavy, feels as if it pushes each individual stitch into your skin.

"John, may I please be excu -?"

"Ye may no'."

You gaze between the two of them, heart hammering like a rabbit's when Simon's hands climb higher up the backs of your thighs. You think you can feel Mr. - John's hips rock into you, but the impact is padded by Simon's grip.

"Good girl," Simon repeats himself. "You'll call him John, and me Mr. Riley, got it?"

When you don't answer at first, John's hand trails up to squeeze your neck threateningly. 

"Y-yes, Mr. Riley."

Prequel

[gguk-n]

Can you please write second change romance with Lando where reader tells him "Love me. chose me. for once in your damned life, fight for me!"

Reader is working at sky sports as a journalist. I hope you like it. I hope I did it justice.

Track of the Heart

{Reader's POV}

I knew the world was a small place and some times you run into people you are actively trying to avoid. For me, that was Lando Norris.

We were both young and in love. He was my first serious adult relationship. I loved him deeply; if you asked drunk me, I'd probably say that I still love him. But that was the past. He broke up with me because his fans didn't like me. The hate had gotten to the point that I had stopped using my phone except to call or text my friends and family and Lando knew. I had told him through tears about all the mean things people said about me. Part of me hoped that he would tell them off for it but what I didn't expect was for him to disregard it and let it get so bad that even at races people would name call me, even in front of Lando and he would do nothing. It affected my health, my mental peace and my studies. So, I did what was best for me; walked away.

That was 3 years ago. Right now I was standing face to face with the man that broke my heart. I knew when I applied for a position at Sky Sports that I would run into Lando. Luckily, I had stayed clear of him for the year that I had interned there; by only going to cover other sports and minor leagues. Today, the team was short staffed, they needed someone to help make the scripts and organise the cue cards, so they brought along a couple new hires. I did everything in my power to evade the race because it would mean being stuck on an F1 venue for a whole weekend with my ex. My direct superior wouldn't listen to any of my crap, as he put it and told me to pack my stuff and to meet him at the venue.

So here I was, awkwardly standing, in front of the supposed love of my life. He looked shocked to see me before his eyes flickered to the Sky Sports entry pass, as if a switch flipped. He smiled and greeted; "You're finally a sports journalist, like you always wanted to be. Congratulations" he said while raising his hand to shake mine. Out of courtesy, I moved all the files in my hands to my left and shook his hand. "My colleagues were saying you had your maiden win this season, so Congratulations I guess." I retorted. I adjusted the files in my hands, almost dropping one, which Lando quickly caught with his hand. I thanked him and left to see the team with all my files.

{Lando's POV}

Her hands were still soft like I remembered them with a sweet tinge of vanilla, her favourite body lotion. She had coloured her hair recently and she looked so much more professional and put together then I remembered. I guess it comes with the job. Hearing her congratulate me felt like home even if it felt like it was laced with sarcasm, like the only thing that ever mattered. How did I even celebrate a race without her? She was still clumsy I thought as I caught the file she almost dropped. The weekend just got more eventful I thought as she walked away.

--------------------------------------------------------

{Reader's POV}

If there is one thing I will advice you is that don't be a hard worker especially in a situation if it will land you working with your ex for the whole year. One of the members from the F1 team went on maternity leave and she spoke so highly of me that I ended up working on the races till she returned. Now to my horror, all the fans still remembered me. Even after 3 years, they did not hesitate to start up rumours about me and Lando being together and that we never really broke up and it was all a publicity stunt. I had to speak to my bosses to let them know that all of that was in the past and that I wasn't dating him anymore; they didn't care unless it affected my work.

Working at the paddock wasn't easy and Lando didn't make it any easier. He acted like a menace before and after interviews especially if I was around. Sometimes I wanted to strangle him.

{Lando's POV}

Being around her reminded me why I had fallen in love with her in the first place. She brought the idiotic side of me out. "Mate, you need to stop annoying Y/N. She'll strangle you one day." Carlos said while they were on the drivers parade. "She wouldn't. There's a reason she's tolerating me." I said. "Yeah, sky sports pays her to do her job." Carlos laughed. Part of me wanted to believe that she tolerated me because she still loved. But I knew that was selfish of me, since the reason we broke up lay heavily on me.

This made me want to be closer to her. I guess proximity made the heart softer. I found myself bringing her snacks or treats during her long days. Slowly but surely I found myself back in her arms. We didn't out right say it, but we were dating each other. She made the weekends even more enjoyable. It was exhilarating to be running around trying not to get caught; until we did get caught. It was like a switch flipped inside her and she stopped seeing me.

{Reader's POV}

The gifts and the sneaking away and having someone care for me got to me. Before I knew it I was back in Lando's arms. I knew getting back together with Lando was a bad idea. All my suspicions were confirmed when a picture of us leaving together from a club in Las Vegas made rounds. The hate was worse then before; it's like they forgot there was a person behind it all. I couldn't even shut off social media because of my work. I didn't want to be seen with him anymore; I was going to stop reporting for F1 and live my life covering other sports. Hopefully they didn't find me there. Lando was still persistent even after I had stopped talking to him and cut him off.

"Babe, you gotta stop running away from me." Lando spoke cornering me, out of breath from the running. "I have work to do, if you'll excuse me Mr Norris." I said. "Since, when was I Mr Norris?" He questioned. "Since a while, I never should've gotten back with you." I declared. "You don't mean that." Lando stammered. "Actually I do." saying that broke my heart because deep down I loved him but it didn't feel like he loved me. "But I love you. Don't you love me?" he asked. "It doesn't matter what I feel, when you'll never reciprocate it." I pointed out. "What do you mean?" he pleaded. "Lando, the exact reason we broke up was because you couldn't stick up for me. I knew you and yet I got myself involved in this." I sighed. "But, baby I need you." he voiced. I laughed, there were tears in my eyes, "Not enough to stick up for me." "What's gotten into you?" Lando probed. "Nothing's gotten into me, I should've stayed away from you. Your fans hate me, they always have. They want me fired; did you know that?" I asked. Lando was at a loss for words.

"You know when we broke up I wanted you to want me. But you love your fans more." I commented. "It's not like that I love you more, I missed you a lot after we broke up." he said. "Not enough to clear the air anyways." I voiced out. "What do you want me to do?" Lando asked trying to reach for my hands. "Love me, choose me. For once in your damned life, fight for me. If you really want me you'll do something, or you can watch me walk away for the second time." I stated while turning on my heels and leaving.

I did not expect Lando to do what he did next. He made a statement on every social media account of his, even Quadrants; it read-

Hi guys, Lando here. I would like to let you all know that I love Y/N Y/L/N who is currently working for Sky Sports F1. We used to date a few years ago but we broke up because of my foolishness. Fate gave me another chance and I don't want to blow it. If any of you have any issue with her, keep it to yourself. Because she is here to stay for as long as she will have me. Kindly refrain from sending her any hate if you love and support me. If you do send hate, I will be forced to take legal action to protect the love of my life.

I was sat in shock reading the statement. I can already imagine the train wreck McLaren PR must be in. I was pulled out of my thoughts by a knock on my door. I opened it to find a sweaty Lando with a big bouquet of flowers, chocolates and a couple gift bags. "I know this isn't a lot, but this is a start. Let me apologise. I'm sorry for all the hurt I caused you. Please take me back." he said with tears in his eyes. I wrapped my arms around his neck. "I love you too Lando Norris." I declared. Lando dropped all the stuff on the ground and wrapped his arms around me. "I won't let you down, I promise." he said. "I'll hold you to it." I said. "You can hold it against me for the rest of our lives." he told. "I don't think you want me that long." I laughed. He broke our embrace to cup my cheeks, "I'll have you as long as you'll let me stay." and pressed a kiss against my lips. "I think I'll like to have you inside for now." I said while pulling him in and closing the door.

[expressvancouverbc]

Direct Hire Placement In Vancouver, BC

Direct Hire Placement In Vancouver, BC

Locally owned and operated, Express Employment Professionals in Vancouver, BC is a Full-Service Staffing Agency that continually exceeds expectations by providing services to companies in our community while also helping job seekers find employment.

Express Employment Professionals Vancouver (Downtown) 555 West Hastings Street Vancouver, BC V6B 4N6 (604) 638-6980 https://www.expresspros.com/vancouverdowntownbc

[tropes-and-tales]

Firewatch

(Alex Keller x F!Reader)

CW:  Slight angst; healing from trauma; mild danger

Word Count: 6210

AN: This was inspired by the video game "Firewatch."

Alex Keller takes the job as a lookout at a fire tower because he needs time away.

He needs time to heal.

He carries too many ghosts with him.  Ghosts from his time in special ops, then in the CIA.  Ghosts from his time with Farrah in Urzikstan.�� His third act with Farrah was supposed to help exorcise the ghosts from his time under the dubious command of the U.S.  Yet here he is, in his pitiful fourth act, with just as many ghosts.  And one less leg.

It’s a buddy of a buddy who manages to hook him up with the job.  The national service eyes his prosthetic leg with skepticism, but if he can fight on it, he reasons, he can serve as a lookout.  The national service isn’t exactly overrun by applicants—it is lonely, isolated work for half of the year, so they hire him.

The swath of wilderness has four fire towers, each miles apart and separately staffed.  Each can see so far across the mountain range and can radio to the national service in the event of smoke.  Each person has rudimentary EMT skills, survivalist skills, and can be pressed into service in case a hiker or camper needs aid.  Each person gets a weekly supply drop.  The towers have solar panels for some creature comforts.  Each has three radios so that two can always be fully charged while the other is in use.

Alex is assigned to the fourth tower, the one with the flattest terrain in a nod to his prosthetic leg.  It’s called the Delta tower, and he snorts at the symmetry in his life.  From Delta Force to Delta tower.

He takes the job because he needs time to heal.  He needs quiet and solitude.

Ironic, then, that his first night, his radio crackles to life with a hail from the Charlie tower, and when he answers, he hears your bright voice introducing yourself, welcoming him to the summer.

“I was in Delta for the last three years,” you explain.  “I only moved to Charlie this year.”

Alex feels a sting of guilt.  He likely pushed you out because of his leg.  “I’m sorry,” he replies.  “I think they moved you because I’m missing the lower half of my left leg.”

“Oh, no worries.  Charlie tower is nice, and it’s new terrain for me to explore.  I just wanted to welcome you.”

“Thank you.”

You sign off, and Alex sighs, makes his way back to his cot.  Your cot, until now.  He stares up at the ceiling and waits for sleep to come.  It takes a long time:  after an entire lifetime of the noise of war and tragedy, the near-silence of his tower is as loud as a bomb.

-----

Alex can see how this would be a tough gig for most people.  The average well-adjusted person would struggle with the solitude.  His days are long, and with no smoke on any horizon, he is in charge of filling his hours. 

He acclimates to the terrain.  He hikes his territory in wider arcs.  Part of his job’s secondary tasks include checking the blazes on the trails, clearing any debris, and making sure the emergency supply caches are stocked.  He takes to it like a fish to water:  all those years of precise military training, put to use making sure everything is neat and orderly.

His evenings are spent sitting on his tower, the wide windows open to allow the breeze in.  This high up, every direction is picture perfect.  If he turns to the left, he can see the sun setting in all its technicolor glory, and he swears there are colors that have no name—the thin bands of melding between purple and orange, orange and fiery red.  If he turns to the right, it’s already dark, and the sky is a velvety blackness.

His first few weeks, the only person he speaks to is you:  a daily and nightly hailing that goes from tower to tower to base camp, so that everyone is accounted for.

“Charlie to Delta,” you call each night.  “Here to tuck you into bed.”

Alex smiles at it each time.  “Delta accounted for.”

“Excellent.  Sweet dreams, Delta.”

-----

It’s the teenagers that put you and Alex on chattier terms:  a foursome of nineteen year-old girls, a troublesome age where they are technically adults but unable to legally drink.  They are camping in the area between Alex’s tower and yours, and they spend their first night setting off fireworks.

“You’re seeing this, right?” you crackle through his radio.

“Affirmative.”

“Bravo tower called them in to base.  They have permits to camp, so we’ll have to keep an eye on them.  Still….shitheads, setting off fireworks during fire season.  Do you think you can make your way down to them tomorrow and give them a lecture?”

Alex grins, then presses the button on his radio.  “You don’t want to do the honors?  I feel like you have a ready-made lecture.”

“Well, for one, I’d hate for you to not have any fun during your first summer.”

“And two?”

“Two is, I have to hike through and resupply my caches.  One needs repaired.”

Alex considers it.  He’s used to… less than kind ways of convincing people to bend to his will.  But idiot teenagers?

“Any suggestions?” he asks.

He hears your laugh over the radio and it makes him smile.  “Whatever you do, don’t try to meet ‘em on their level.  Teenagers are assholes.  Give them the straight facts about forest fires, and be prepared for them to call you a vulgar iteration of ‘Smokey the Bear.’”

“You speaking from experience?”

“I repress it each year, Delta.”

-----

You hail him a little earlier that night. 

“Charlie to Delta.  How’d it go?”

Alex makes sure to press the button so you can hear the massive sigh he heaves.  He only got back to his tower half an hour earlier, just before the sun fully sank in the western sky.  He was so tired he didn’t bother to cook a proper meal — he smeared a bunch of peanut butter on bread, made a couple of sandwiches that he bolted down in a handful of wolfish bites.  Now he’s in the process of removing his prosthetic leg when he hears you calling on the radio.

“I’m back.  I survived.”  He sets his prosthetic on the bed beside him and groans as he kneads at his thigh.  His muscles are tight and knotted, and he’s sore, but it’s a good sore from putting in a lot of hiking.

“You put the fear of god in them?”

“I tried.”  He leans back against his pillow and feels the muscles in his back relax one by one.  “They didn’t seem to care about the forest or the loss of human life if they start a fire.  I had to frame it as all the cute lil bunnies that would die.”

“So long as they stop setting off fireworks.”  You pause, then ask, more playfully, “they verbally abuse you?”

He laughs, but it trails off into a wide yawn.  “Yeah, but standard stuff.  ‘Peg Leg.’”

“Boo.”

“Right?  I thought kids were more clever nowadays.”

“Two summers ago, I had to break up a campsite of teenaged boys,” you tell him.  “Same deal, fire conditions were high.  One called me ‘Smokey the Bear,’ but another looked me over and said, ‘I wouldn’t mind climbing up on Ol’ Smokey.’”

Alex laughs again.  Yawns again.  “Youths,” he chuckles over the radio.

“Youth is wasted on them.”  A beat of static as you hold the line.  “Well, I appreciate you handling it.  You’re a seasoned pro now.”

He tries not to note the warm flush of feeling at this tamest, faintest overture of belonging.  He tries not to let his mind immediately go to where it goes:  that with everywhere else he’s belonged, he had to kill for the right.  He had to do nefarious things.  Evil things.  Here, on the fire tower?  All he had to do was hike down to the lake and give a stern talk to a foursome of giggling, slightly drunk young women.

“Anytime.”  His voice has an edge of roughness to it, but you must just chalk it up to tiredness.

“Alright, I’ve kept you on too long.  Go to bed and sleep well, Delta.”

“You too, Charlie.”

-----

From there, you talk more.  Not just in the mornings or evenings for check-in, but at random intervals throughout the day.  You both drop a lot of the formalities on the radio too.

You break in one afternoon, your voice startling him as he works his way along a bit of trail that needs cleared. 

“What do you look like, Delta?”

As always, your non-sequiturs make him smile.  “I’m hideous.”

“Liar!”

“I wasn’t born so much as created in a lab,” he teases.  “And it didn’t go well.  Just really disgusting looking.”

“So you’re one of a kind, then?”

He draws his arm across his forehead to wipe away the sweat beading there.  He’s been hacking away at encroaching undergrowth with a machete, and you calling is a welcome break.

“Is this a prelude to something saucy?” he asks.  “Like, are you gonna ask what I’m wearing next?”

“Oh, Delta.  I imagine you’re wearing a white t-shirt, cargo shorts, and a red baseball cap.”

Maybe it’s a good sign that he startles now.  That he had no idea someone was watching him.  He’s been swinging his machete and feeling good to use his body for good work, and he never even noticed that he was being observed.

Still, he freezes like his training taught him.  He scans the landscape, quick but thorough—

Your laughter bursts out of his radio.  “I’m on my high-powered binoculars.  I can see you, but you can’t see me.”

“Then why are you asking what I look like.”  He does a slow turn with his arms out.  “Here I am.”

“I can’t make out your face that well.  But from the blur I can make out, you look disappointingly human.  No lab experiment at all.”

-----

The next day brings much-needed rain, and Alex lounges in his tower.  There’s a dog-eared copy of “War and Peace” (yours? He doesn’t know) that he is trying to work through just so he can be one of those impressive, kinda irritating people who can say they’ve read “War and Peace.”  But the rain drums on the roof, and the words—all those confusing Russian names that he can’t keep straight—swim together in front of him.

He reaches for the radio.  “Delta to Charlie.  How’s the weather over there?”

It takes you a moment to answer, and your voice is husky when you do.  “Sheets of rain here.”

“Did I wake you up?  Sorry.”

“Just dozing.  Can’t pass up on a good doze when the weather obliges.”  A beat.  “What’s up, Delta?”

“Trying to read ‘War and Peace’ and getting nowhere.”

“Oh, fatal mistake.  Summer in the tower calls for Jack London, Larry McMurty, Louis L’Amour.  The Russians are strictly for winter.”

“Duly noted.”  He pauses and turns his head to look out one of the wide windows.  Water streaks down, and the horizon shows nothing but thick black clouds.  “I was curious what you looked like.”

Your laughter carries over the radio and makes him smile.  “Well….I wasn’t formed in a lab.  In fact, I was, you know, in my mom with my twin.  But I partially absorbed my twin, so I have three eyes, four ears—”

“That’s wild.”  He laughs.  “What else?”

“Only one mouth, normal sized, but like, twice as many teeth.  I look like some fucked-up fish that you’d find in the Mariana Trench.”

“You speak really well for someone with a mouthful of teeth.”

“Thanks.”

“So you’re one of a kind too?”

He can’t account for why your voice turns sad and sighs as you reply, “just a lonely whale operating on a frequency no one else can hear.”

-----

And that—the rainy day where the two of you check in with each other, leisurely, comfortably—is what leads your chats into deeper waters.

“Why are you out here?” you ask him one day.

How to answer it?  The easy but still-true answer is that he needed the job.  Not because of money—he’s set up well enough for the rest of his life, so long as he doesn’t acquire any expensive habits between now and old age.  It’s more an inability to not work.  He’s had a job since he was twelve when he worked on a farm down the road from his house during the summer.  From farmhand to bus boy to lifeguard to soldier to undercover agent to freedom fighter to… what?  This, for now. 

The tougher, more-true answer is that he needed to feel useful in a way that didn’t involve death.  He needed a place to heal the sore spots in his soul, the places that burn because they’ve been grated raw by the world.

Instead of answering, he volleys a question back to you.  “Why are you asking?”

“Everyone comes here for a reason.  We have to, because no one without a reason would just take this job.  Why else would we sign up for so much seclusion?”

“Maybe I just needed the stipend a lot.”

You laugh.  “You’d make the same basic amount at McDonald’s, and you’d get to go home to a larger bed and hot shower each night.”

“But here, I don’t stink like fry oil.”

Another laugh, and it never fails to make Alex smile—the warm merriment traveling through the airwaves over the miles that separate you. 

“So Alpha has been here the longest, and he’s here because he’s just your standard loner.  Nice guy.  He just kinda hates society and likes to spend his time in the mountains.  A real Thoreau-type,” you say.

“You’re sure he’s not working on any manifestos in his spare time?”

“Nah.  He actually spends a lot of his evenings whittling these really lovely little wooden animals, right?  He gives everyone one at the end of each season.  Last year he whittled foxes.”

Alex wonders if you have similar conversations with the other towers about him, and he finds the thought doesn’t bother him.  You seem kind; most of your humor is gently teasing, if that.  He imagines you hailing Bravo tower and saying something like, “Delta had his first teenager encounter.  He’s one of us now.”

You continue over the radio.  “Bravo is a woman too.  She’s a writer, and she has this sturdy, bare bones laptop that she can charge with the solars.  She basically bangs out two, three really rough drafts here, then goes home after fire season to polish ‘em up.”

“Yeah?”  He glances at the dog-eared copy of “War and Peace” that he’s pretty much given up on.  “Anything I might’ve heard of?”

“Probably not, unless you are into shifter smut.”

He knows he’s missed a lot, being out of step with the mainstream, but his mind boggles.  “What’s that?”

“Like….”  You trail off, and he hears you clicking your tongue as you think.  “Shifter is shape-shifter.  Werewolves, humans turning into other creatures.  And smut is….you know.”

“Like two werewolves are in a romance?”

“Oh, Delta.”  Your laughter is more of a giggle over the line, a he-he-he that might seem flirty except for the tendril of nervousness threaded through it.  “It’s, uh, usually a human and a shifter.”

“Seriously?  Doesn’t that make it bestiality?”

“Well, the shifter isn’t a beast.  It’s a fully consensual being, just not a human.”

He’s completely confused.  “And people read these books?”

“Bravo does really well.  She goes to all sorts of romance conventions and has a robust fanbase.”

“For werewolf and human smut?”  He can’t hide the way his voice pitches up in incredulity.

“Different strokes for different folks.”

“Well, shit.  I guess,” he replies, still baffled, and it makes you laugh again.

A moment later, though, you sign off—it’s supply drop day, and you have the furthest to go for yours.  Alex looks thoughtfully at the radio in his hand, realizes that you never circled back to your original question to him, and that you never said why you’re on a tower either.

-----

You don’t ask the question again over the next few weeks, so Alex asks it.

“Why are you out here?” he asks one evening.  There are thunderheads in the west, but the weather service says they should spend themselves before they get close enough to do any damage from lightning strikes.

You’re a long time in answering him.  You go so long that the line seems dead, and he adds, more playfully, “you some sort of smut writer too?  Alien smut, maybe?”

It draws a laugh out of you, but it lacks the usual bright merriment.  “I’m not that creative, unfortunately.”

“C’mon,” he wheedles.  “You gotta give me something, boss.”

“Boss?” 

Alex shuts his eyes, winces.  It just slipped out, his weird little term of affection.  His nickname for people he feels comfortable with.  Women he feels comfortable with. He hasn’t said it since Farrah, since their time together in Urzikstan, him at her right hand, helping rebuild until—

“Did I lose you there, Delta?”

“Still here.”

“Why are you here, then?  Turnabout is fair play, and you never told me.”

He doesn’t bother to point out that you never told him why you were on a tower.  That you’re similarly withholding from him.  He wonders if you’re hiding similar hurt, or if you need a similar sort of healing that can only come from being away from other people.

“I just needed time away,” he tells you.

The line is silent for a long stretch again, and then your voice comes across, smaller than he’s ever heard it before.

“Me too.”

-----

A grey day weeks later when low clouds obscure the sun and cast the landscape in a weird, muted light:  you hail Alex late morning when he’s fiddling around with a loose wire on one of his solar panels.

“Quid pro quo, Delta.  I’ll tell you my tale of woe if you tell me yours.”

He sets down the channel locks he’s been using and makes his way over to the steps.  He settles down, then answers you.

“Who says I have a tale of woe?”

“Because you never answered me the way I never answered you.  If you’re here because you love the wilderness, you would have just said so.”

“Fair.” 

There’s a beat of silence, and then you add, “and because everyone here has a tale of woe, including Alpha and Bravo.  But it’s not my place to tell their stories.”

Alex turns his head and gazes off across the slope to the west, the gentle valley that leads down to the lake that separates his area from yours.  He has no idea what you look like or what you’re even doing right now.  Are you on a trail, resupplying a cache, and did the spirit move you to call him?  Are you in your tower, peering in his direction with your binoculars?

He knows part of his reintroduction to the world will have to involve letting people in.  Extending trust even if it isn’t earned yet.  Why not start with a person he hasn’t seen?  Why not start with telling his story into a radio, when he doesn’t have to look you in the eye and see your reactions?

“Well,” he starts.  “There was a woman.  But really, before that, I had this job, and I did a lot of bad things that seemed like the right thing at the time…”

-----

He talks so long his radio dies.  He talks so long, the light grows dimmer—sunset is close—and he has to pause, clean up his abandoned project, and head up into the tower.  You’ve been silent for most of his story, only offering little one-word encouragements to continue, or keep going, or little noises of sympathy.  Or at least they sound sympathetic. 

And it’s a revelation how it all just pours out of him, every wretched moment:  the shit he saw and did on Delta Force, the worse shit he saw and did in the CIA.  The moment he tried to turn it around, sacrifice himself for a noble cause, and how he woke up in a clinic in the most agonizing pain of his life.  How he was airlifted to Turkey, how they amputated his leg there.  Then the long road to recovery and back to Farrah, happy to serve at her right hand as she rebuilt her country to be a beacon to the region. 

How he fell in love—how could he not?  How that love was gently rebuffed, and how there was no great falling out or massive argument. 

How ordinary it was, when he realized he couldn’t live with Farrah and not have his love reciprocated.  How Farrah couldn’t love him the way he needed.

All the drama and chaos of his life, and going out like that:  a love-sick boy on a plane back to the United States, sulking and hurt.  And that sulking and hurt nothing but a veneer over the deeper pain.

Then his radio gives its warning beep, and he has to sign off before you can reply.  As he heads in for the evening, he grows more and more horrified at what he’s done.  Oversharing to the nth degree.  His face flames hot; the tips of his ears burn so much he’s sure he looks like a beacon in the growing darkness.

-----

You call him back a few hours later.

“Are you free?” you ask.  “I wanted to give you time to eat, relax, unwind…”

“Yeah.  I’m free.”  His voice comes out rough, craggy around the edges of his words.  He shuts his eyes tight and lays back in his cot.  He waits for you to give him hell or worse, give him a gentle brush-off.  Something like maybe we should just stick to the nightly check-in.

“I appreciate you sharing all of that with me.”  A beat.  “I realize it must have been hard, trusting a stranger with your story.”

He snorts.  “You hardly seem like a stranger anymore.”

“Someone you haven’t formally met yet, then.”

“It was easier, I think.  Talking to someone I hadn’t met yet.  I could have never said any of that to my sisters or cousins or friends back home.”

He hears the sympathetic cluck of your tongue.  “I get it.  Sometimes it’s harder to share the dark stuff with the people closest to us.”

He feels a curious sensation in his chest at this exchange; a weird snagging against the back of his breastbone, like something barbed loosening there.  He hears no judgement in your voice.  No horror at the things he’s done in the name of freedom and country.  Maybe it will come later, but right now, he only hears sympathy and understanding.

“Quid pro quo,” he reminds you. 

He hears the sigh, and he hears a rustling over the radio.  Like you’re leaning back in your bed too, getting comfortable.

“Well, there was a man,” you start.  “Isn’t there always?  A man or a woman or some goddamned person that throws you off the trajectory of your life and leaves you spinning.”

You talk so long your radio dies.

-----

Alex wonders sometimes if you talk with the other towers like you talk with him.  He wonders if you and Bravo, say, chat about your various traumas.  Maybe Bravo was cheated on too, and the two of you spend radio-draining hours commiserating. 

He doesn’t think so, though. The two of you fall into a rhythm:  you spend your evenings and well into the night talking—deep shit, embarrassing shit, the shit neither of you would probably tell anyone else.  The mornings and daylight hours bring a sheepishness to your back-and-forth, a sort of “can’t believe I admitted that last night, so now I have to soften it with goofy teasing and joking around.”

But then the sun sets, and you’re back to baring your souls to each other.

The fire season is halfway over when you tell him one night that you appreciate him more than he knows.  That excising all of the bad feelings has led you to sleep better than you have in years.

“I don’t know how it happened, but you’ve become my closest confidant,” you admit. 

He doesn’t tell you then, but he considers it after you both sign off for the night:  how he’s sleeping better than he has in years too.  And how he’s confided in you more than anyone else, even Farrah.

And then he considers how the thought of Farrah doesn’t raise the sharp ache of loss it used to. 

He considers how this may be him healing.

-----

“What are your plans after the season ends?” he asks.  He’s been mulling that question over for himself.  He has no plans at all.  He could always crash at his cousin’s place for a few months—he’s got a rambling old farmhouse in Michigan, and he’s invited Alex more than once to join him. 

“I got a place in Colorado,” you reply.  “I have a seasonal job at a winter resort.”

“What do you do there?”

It’s daytime, so the jokes are in full force.  “I’m a caretaker.  Also working on my novel.  It’s just me and a bunch of ghosts and also the specter of my own alcoholism.”

Alex laughs.  “There was alcoholism in ‘the Shining’?”

“In the book, yeah.”  You pause, and Alex hears you give a little grunt of effort.  He knows you’re on a trail, clearing out a downed tree.  “Anyway, I do a little bit of everything at the resort.  Mostly I give out skiing lessons and man the medic hut.”

“Sounds like a good gig.”

“It is.”  Another beat, another huff as you move a heavy section of tree.  Alex hears the thud as it lands on the soft ground.  “What about you?”

“Not sure yet.  I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

You heave a sigh, and he imagines you sitting down or leaning against a tree to rest.  “There’s a whole swath of society that does this sort of seasonal work as a living.  I could give you some sites to look at.  Ideas of what to do during the winter.  If you plan on doing this again next year, I mean.”

He chuckles again.  “I definitely haven’t thought that far ahead.”

“C’mon.  You don’t want to do another summer on the tower?”

He isn’t against the idea, exactly.  The summer has turned out to be exactly what he’s needed:  time and space away from others, time to be alone with himself.  And a friend on the radio, which he hadn’t counted on. 

But this was only ever meant to be a stop-gap.  He never intended to become a lifer on the fire tower, because he has always imagined a life more ordinary.  A regular job and a home and partner to come home to every night. 

He tells you as much now, and asks, “do you want to do this forever?”

“I never planned on it.”  Your voice sounds thoughtful, maybe a little sad.  “I guess it was supposed to be a stop-gap for me too, and now here I am…”

He knows now how you’ve been hurt.  The story of a husband who used you, then cheated, then left you with less than nothing.  How it launched you out of the trajectory of your own life, as you said, and how you find yourself drifting now.

“You could go anywhere,” he tells you.  “Anywhere at all.  And you could do anything.”

“You want me to put down some roots, Delta?”  You sound playful now, and he smiles to hear it.

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing, right?”

“It’d be tough to start over in a place where I didn’t know anyone,” you admit.  “It’s tough to make friends as an adult.  Starting over, all that shit.”

Alex shakes his head, rueful.  “Don’t sell yourself short.  You made a friend in me in a matter of months.”

You laugh over the radio, your usual merry sound that makes that barbed pain behind his chest wall unfurl a bit.  “How about you get settled somewhere, and I’ll come glom off of you until I put down some roots of my own.”

“That’s a deal,” he replies, quick, and you laugh over the radio again, but Alex spends the rest of the golden afternoon imagining an entire future that looks a lot like the present:  him in his own place somewhere undefined, and you nearby, just a phone call away to chat or listen or vent.

-----

The season is a month away from ending when the fire starts.

It’s two fires, actually:  one sighted early by Alpha tower, and the second sighted by you in Charlie.

“The Service is keeping an eye on them,” you tell him one evening.  Your voice has a taut quality that Alex realizes is fear.  He’s never heard you afraid before.

“They are sending in a team to strip out a fire line,” you continue.  “Hopefully it will keep them from merging.”

Alex eyes the smoke on the horizon.  The wind has been carrying the acrid scent of burning to him all day.  “Have you been in a fire situation before?” he asks.

“Once, but it was small.  It was handled before it became a big thing.”

“You able to move out quick if you have to?”  He thinks of his years of training and experience.  He can light out in less than a minute if he has to. 

Your scoff over the radio tells him all he needs to know, but you kindly answer with your words anyway.  “Of course I can move quick, Delta.”

-----

The weather is against you:  high winds and no rain.  The wind takes the fires and pushes them to ungodly heights, and no rain ever comes.  Alex can’t tell what is a genuine cloud and what is smoke now—everything is hazy, and his eyes feel like they are laden with grit. 

The fires merge within a couple of days, and the situation changes from concerning to dangerous.

“I need you to look at the map on the wall,” you tell him without preamble.  The taut quality of your voice is gone, and now it shakes with fear.

He takes the three steps over to the wall where it’s tacked up, the corners curling and yellowed with age.  There are notations on it in neat printing, some of them humorous.  He’s looked at it all summer and always assumed it was you who named some of the local features, like Twisted Knee Trail and Drunken Fratboy Pond. 

“I’m looking at it,” he tells you.

“You see where you are in Delta tower.”

“Affirmative.”

“Look northwest.  Do you see Wapiti Meadow?  It’s on the other side of the canyon.”

He leans closer and studies it.  Does the quick math. 

“Looks like it’s about five or six clicks from me.”

“Correct.  There’s a research station there so it’s the best place the helicopter can set down to get us.  Alpha hiked out two days ago, and Bravo caught a ride with the fire fighters who were cutting the line.  It’s just us now.”

Alex’s stomach sinks, and he turns to look out the window.  The fire churns thick plumes of black smoke in the air.  It’s like a beast, ravenous for more acreage.  “We’re evacuating.”  The thought occurs to him then, and he returns to the map.  Wapiti Meadow will be a hike but he should be fine.  You?

“The northern edge of the fire is between the rendezvous spot and you,” he says, and now his voice is laced with fear too.

“I’m leaving now,” you reply.  “I have to flank it.  Take only what you absolutely need.  Wet a cloth and tie it over your mouth and nose.  And take some water.  Not enough to weigh you down but enough to hydrate you.  Don’t underestimate the smoke in the air.”

He makes his way over to his cot and sits down, pulls out his pack and starts to check its contents.  He’s always ready to go in a moment.  He’ll be fine. 

A not-tiny sting of guilt lances through him:  this was your tower, and the service gave it to him because of his leg.  Now you have to make your way through dangerous terrain around a wild fire because of him.

“I’m sorry,” he tells you. 

“None of that shit,” you snap over the radio.  “Don’t you dare apologize.  Get moving, and I’ll see you at Wapiti Meadow. 

“Please be careful, Boss.”

“I’ll see you there, Alex.”

It’s the first time you’ve called him by his first name all summer, and it’s the jolt he needs to finish his preparations and launch him out the door of his tower. 

He gives it a backwards glance, realizes it will be gone within a day or two.  At the last minute, he turns back and pulls the map from the wall.  He has his smaller one in his pocket that he can consult with his compass, but he has the idea to save the tower map with your notations.  A memento from your home for so many summers, your refuge from the wider world while you healed.

He folds it and puts it in his pack, then leaves. 

-----

He makes it to Wapiti Meadow okay.  He underestimated the haze from the smoke, and how quickly it would make his vision blurry with tears.  Near the end of his journey to the rendezvous, he has to stop every few hundreds of yards to wash out his eyes and blink his vision clear again. 

By the time he gets there, the helicopter is already in the clearing.  A grim-faced ranger offers his hand and helps haul Alex up into the helicopter, and he does a quick scan of the others there.  The ranger, the helicopter pilot, and a man that he later learns is a research scientist at the Wapiti station. 

No you.

For the majority of Alex’s professional life, he’s only been a member of teams where everyone was expendable.  He himself had been left behind for dead more often than he wants to count.  It’s that history that makes him stand up as much as he can in the tight quarters of the helicopter, makes him loom over the ranger, and growl, “we aren’t leaving her behind.”

The ranger, who perhaps has some understanding of the lookouts on the towers, only looks back at him and mildly replies, “we weren’t planning on it, buddy.”

Over the headset, the pilot adds, “she’s only a click or two away now.  She’s been radioing in every thirty minutes.”

It would be more dramatic to say that there is a frenzy at the end, that the helicopter’s blades start to turn, that it starts to rise from the flattened grass of the meadow just as you break through the treeline and make a run for them.  It’d be more dramatic to say that Alex reaches out a hand as you reach out a hand, and that your fingertips brush, and that you either lose your grip on him and fall, then die in the fire, or that he hauls you into the helicopter just as it’s lifting off.

In the end, neither happens.  Alex is all turned around from the smoke and the adrenaline, so he’s looking in the wrong direction when you break through the treeline.  The pilot says, “there she is,” and Alex has to look to see where everyone is looking before he finally sees you for the first time.

The pilot hits the controls and starts the rotors, but the helicopter is firmly on the ground when the ranger—not Alex—extends his hand and hauls you in.  The lower half of your face is covered with a damp cloth, but the top part of your face is black with smoke.  Tear tracks cut clean lines from the corners of your eyes, and you’re coughing and sputtering as the ranger hands you a bottle of water.  Alex watches as you pour half of it over your face, then drink the other half, and it isn’t until the helicopter is a few feet in the air that your eyes find his and light up.

That barbed, snagged feeling in his chest unfurls completely when he finally lays eyes on you.  Even sweaty and smoke-stained, tears leaking from red-rimmed eyes, a skinned knee oozing blood… you’re absolutely gorgeous to him.  The voice on his radio, helping him heal.  The voice hailing him each night, tucking him into bed, wishing him sweet dreams. 

“Delta,” you say, and your voice sounds brighter in person than it did over the radio, even roughened up by the smoke.  “Alex.  Good to finally meet you.”

You hold out your hand and he takes it eagerly, and he cannot stop the smile that breaks across his face as the helicopter takes to the air. 

“Good to finally meet you, Boss.”

[employvision]

As the workforce and delivery of work are going through a rapid change, so is the world of recruitment. Technology is revolutionizing most aspects of our lives, and whether you are a large corporation, small business or a recruitment agency, you need to adapt to stay ahead of the game. Augmented Reality and Virtual Reality (AR/VR) are the buzzwords of today, and virtual recruiting is definitely creating a buzz.

[frostedclock-writes]

Alastor x ♀️! Reader

Path to Damnation

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Part 1 (Prologue)

Warning: Rated 18+ (just as a general rule of thumb)

---

You are the new resident of the hotel, but you aren't there to redeem yourself. No you are repaying a debt owed and it might cost you more then you bargained for. What should you report to Vox on this?

It was always a bit stuffy inside the conference room, the aquarium walls with circling sharks kept you on edge. Though you kept your composure as Mr. Vox ran his electric blue claw like didget around the rim of his glass.

" Simple enough instructions? Our last effort didn't even last the night. " Vox made a scoff of a laugh. " But with this new fancy hotel, " he put on a large smile and made a mocking excited gestured, then rolled his eyes and looked down at his glass, " it should be easy, you will give me a report every week on the hotel and what that fucker is up to with this damn scheme. "

" I think I can handle it, Mr. Vox. " You give a grin and put a hand on your hip. " It's perfect, they are hiring for a second maid thanks to all of their fancy new rooms and I know how to clean up a mess. "

The grin stretched across Vox's screen. " Then don't fail us. " He swirled his glass before taking a drink. " And we can call ourselves even. "

You nod and excuse yourself from the conference room as quickly as possible. You did have this. You haven't been in hell long, but you watched the news three months ago during the last extermination. You saw the faces of those who you will be calling coworker for now. You checked your phone as you got into the elevator. 1:15 p.m. You were expected to arrive and meet the head of staffing at the Hazbin Hotel, the woman named Vaggie. Room and board is included as pay for now, not that you didn't have a flow of funds right now from your current employers. Report and watch. Remember that. A job. Nothing more.

The ding of the elevator brought you back into reality and you stepped out into the bottom floor of the Vee Tower. The crisp smell of electronic and perfumed workers left your nose and was replaced with sulfur and shit. It was something you had gotten used to, among other things that might have once made you cringe or look away in life now just seemed normal. The walk through town was a dangerous one at the best of times, but you knew how to handle yourself. If you didn't, you would have been double dead by this point. You slip your way through the distracted crowds of sinners gathered around the store front of the Vee tower.

Your heels clicked against the concrete of the sidewalk as you made your way through Pentagram City, you looked at your phone again at the directions to the hotel. The Hazbin Hotel. It had been the butt of everyone's joke just nine months prior, but after that little maid had killed the leader of the exterminaton angels it changed. Which has really put a craw in your employers ass. The Vees had hoped the Radio Demon - who was helping with this 'princess passion project ' as they had put it - had disappeared again after that battle but much to Vox's dismay, it seems like he's a lot harder to kill.

You stop as you reach large wrought iron gates and a winding cobblestone pathway to a massive hotel, a large golden statue was in front of the entrance. Is that a dragon goat? You know what, it's hell, why should anything surprise you at this point. You gaze up at it as you pass beneath it on your way to the French double doors, it was massive and the whine of the gold made it seem like someone polished it everyday.

" Quite a work of art, don't you agree?" The crackle of static was the only warning you had before the filtered voice hit your ears from behind you.

You spun on your heels and you were looking into the intense red gaze of the deer demon known as Alastor. He seemed to chuckle at your response and stood up straight from the slightly leaned posture he had. " Oh, yes. Hi. Hello. " You clear your throat and keep your gaze on his smiling mug. Remember why you are here. " I'm here to find a Vaggie ? I am the new hire."

Alastor looked over you for a moment, his eyes drifted from your shoes up to your face and he made a hum sound. " Ah, so she was serious in requiring more help. She only needed to ask and I could have provided. But a fresh face to the hotel will do just nicely. " He extended his hand, " Alastor, quite a pleasure to meet you. Though I am sure you have heard of me no doubt."

You make a laugh and you take his hand, he shook it a little hard and you felt your body wiggle in the force of his shake. " Of course, Well, at least what you used to do was rather famous in the circles I ran in. Though you havent done much in the past eight years. "

His eyebrow twitched, he made a laugh. Loud, a bit forced. " Ha ha, well yes, I had taken a well needed vacation and now my time is taken up by this little project I am helping with."

The sound of a door opening, and a stern female voice called over. " Alastor, Niffty got caught in the chandelier again, could you- oh. " The white haired woman walked over, she had her hair pulled back in a ponytail that was held with a red ribbon and her bangs covered one eye. " You must be who I talked with on the phone. " Then she shot a glare at the Radio Demon. " Are you fucking scaring off our new help?"

Alastor put his hands behind his back. " Nothing of the sort! I was merely introducing myself, as a hotel manager should, hm? Now it seems I am needed elsewhere, " he looked over his shoulder as he began to walk away. His gaze on you for a moment, your stomach felt like it was in a vice with the way his red eyes met yours. " Looking forward to working with you. "

Then he was gone.

You blink and see Vaggie's fingers snapping in front of you. " Oh, sorry, did you say something, ma'am?" You day as you look over at her.

Her stern face softened a bit and she put her hand on her hip. " Come, let me show you the room you will be staying in and we can introduce you to everyone else. Don't worry, they aren't all like... Him." Her nose crinkled as she glanced in the direction that Alastor had left.

" Oh, alright. How many people are staying here anyways?" You ask as you fall in line behind her as Vaggie went inside.

Vaggie made a hum, her hands went behind her back like she was in a slight march. " Currently? We only have one guest, Angel Dust. Our staff includes myself, Husk the concierge and bartender, Niffty is our other resident maid, and you just met Alastor. We often have Charlie's father here as well as 'hotel manager consultant ' as he calls himself. And of course Charlie herself, she's particularly excited to meet you. "

She seemed to speak in a fond tone towards the end, you chuckle and smile. " Well if she is running the place, it's only right I meet her as well."

" She's busy right now prepping your welcoming party. She's going a little crazy in the new banquet hall. " Vaggie made a breath of a laugh. " So I hope you are hungry.

The hallways were carpeted in a elegant red with gold along the edges, the walls were a cream with gold molding along the top and bottom, it was almost a bit intimidating to be walking through in your dirty shoes. Thankfully you had dressed nicely at least in a simple button up blouse and an ankle length skirt, professional was what you had been going for and from what you could remember this outfit fit the bill.

She lead you up to the room you will be staying in for the foreseeable future. It was large, with the carpet being a plain dark red with a queen size bed with plain sheets and a dresser in the corner next to a dark wooden door. You assumed it must lead to a bathroom.

" It's bare, but you are welcome to decorate how you want. Charlie wants everyone to be able to ' express themselves' in healthy ways. " Vaggie explained as you made your way to the bed and felt the soft sheets.

It didn't smell foul in here you noticed. Everything had a sweet scent like apple blossoms and nature, you had almost forgotten what it had smelled like. It was comforting almost, but at the same time you had gotten so used to the copper and sulphur smell that seeped through Hell.

" That's fine. " You made a small chuckle, you clap your hands together as you spin around. " So... A party?"