#It might not work on you it is much more reliable half the time than just listing a book blurb without mention

[crow-caller]

I see a lot of posts where people decry all these horrible books where characters talk like they're in therapy have pronoun circles and get advertised only by listing identities and never have I seen anyone decrying them actually name real books they have read doing this.

Somehow I think it might be less a common problem and more something people vaguely heard about and complain about without ever actually reading or encountering

[zephyrchama]

Belphegor followed you down the hall as you dragged your suitcase. It wasn’t very big, but it was still heavy and annoying to lug over the thick decorative carpets. Every time one came to an end, the luggage thudded loudly back onto the hardwood floor.

“You sure you have everything? You packed the pillow I gave you?” Belphegor sluggishly matched his pace to yours. Having long legs must be nice.

“Of course, I triple checked.” ”Good. That’s my fifth favorite pillow, so you have to come back and return it, ok?”

You nodded as the suitcase went over another bump. This was your third time going over this exact conversation.

It wasn’t just the youngest, all of the brothers were antsy about your little trip. It was written all over their faces as you arrived at the foyer where they were waiting. Satan and Asmodeus solemnly stood up from the steps they were sitting on. Mammon and Leviathan had a hard time looking at you, their eyes darted all over the walls and ceiling. Beelzebub offered to move your suitcase by the door.

Just one weekend away. That was it. Solomon volunteered to take you back to the human world for a bit. You couldn't let a rare trip home pass by, as who knew when the next opportunity would arise. You could eat some normal food for once and stock up on your favorite human things. Though, your housemates reacted like you were leaving for a year.

“Did you pack everything?” Lucifer asked.

“Of course, I triple checked.” Deja-vu.

“Even the lotion I gave you?” Asmodeus looked so worried. He loosely took hold of your forearm with a tear in his eye. “Don’t forget, the sun is awful this time of year. I’ll never forgive you if you come back looking like a lobster.”

“Asmo, I won’t.” You grinned at his silly concern and leaned in for a hug. Asmodeus did not disappoint.

Everyone else took a step forward, hoping for a hug of their own, as Asmodeus breathed into your ear, “I’ll be waiting.”

“You have my number. If anything goes wrong, call me.” Lucifer sounded so reliable as he placed a hand on your shoulder.

There were half a dozen chimes of “mine, too!” and “same here!”

You’d been away for longer trips. How in the world did these guys survive for so many millennia before you met them? You turned to look at Lucifer, wanting to counter that Devildom phones didn’t even work in the human world, but he probably knew that already.

"Don't talk to strangers," he reminded, "and don't go out alone at night. Some humans are worse than demons." He wrapped his arms around you and wished “safe travels.”

Mammon stepped up next. He forced himself to stare at you, haughtily playing off the sadness he was really feeling. His bottom lip jutted out a little more than usual. “Well! You’ll bring me back a good souvenir, right?”

“Oh? I don’t know, I might not have time…” It was playful banter, yet your words shocked him. Mammon’s eyes widened. He began stammering and gripped your fingers. You quickly performed damage control, “Joking! I’m joking, Mammon. Of course I’ll get you a souvenir.”

The younger siblings piped up, “us too!”

“I’m getting everyone souvenirs, don’t worry!” You already had a few gift ideas in mind.

Mammon put his forehead on your shoulder and a hand on your back that he rubbed. “But mine’ll be the best. I trust ya.”

“Don’t let Solomon give you any food he cooks,” Beelzebub warned. “Actually, don’t let Solomon give you any food. Ever.” He tried to give you a lumpy-looking cloth bag, no doubt filled with homemade treats to take with you. It smelled scrumptious. Only issue was, the bag was half your size.

“Beel, there’s food in the human world. I can’t take all this, why don’t you enjoy it with your brothers?”

Beelzebub frowned, setting aside his present. It tilted under the weight of its own contents. You felt a slight pang of guilt, but how could you carry it all? That much food could last you a week.

He picked you up for his hug, your toes dangling several inches off the floor until he gently set you back down. Belphegor caught you as you regained your footing.

His hug was simple and cozy. He tucked a strand of your hair behind an ear. “Don’t forget about my pillow.”

You suspected that if you ever actually tried to run away, these seven would go to the ends of the three realms to find you.

Satan nudged your luggage, observing the way it slided forward an inch. It was heavy to you, but clearly not them. “That’s really all you’re bringing? Do you have enough clothes?”

“Yes! You helped me pack!” The repetition was really starting to grate on you. Things were never this crazy when one of them had to leave the house for a few days. They wouldn't even care unless somebody went mysteriously unseen for over a week. “You all know I’ve got everything under control. I’ll be back in two days.”

“Hey, how come Satan got to help you pack?” Mammon complained.

“We did too,” Belphegor said, his twin in agreement.

“It was a group effort,” according to Asmodeus.

Mammon crossed his arms. "No way! You let these guys see your underwear?"

Satan ignored them. “Do you want another book for the road?”

“I’ll be fine.” You gave Satan his hug. After letting go, his fingers hovered by your side. “We’re teleporting there anyway. I don’t think there’ll be time to read anything.”

One suspiciously quiet demon in the back stared at the floor. “Two days,” he sighed. Leviathan did a poor job of hiding how upset he was.

“Levi, aren’t you going to say goodbye?”

“Yes!?” His head jerked up, met your gaze, and looked down again.

“I can’t leave until I get a full set of hugs from everyone,” you admitted. “I’m missing a very valuable part of the collection.”

Asmodeus and Mammon readily offered themselves for a second go. Leviathan’s cheeks flushed with envy and he grabbed you a little roughly, squishing his face into your shoulder. “You’ll take lots of pictures? A-and you won’t forget about us?”

You scoffed, “how could I forget about you? We’re bound together by a pact, aren’t we?” As for photos… you didn't know what would be interesting, but it couldn't hurt to take a bunch anyway.

Lucifer cleared his throat, signaling to Leviathan it was time to let go. "I miss you already," he muttered.

The seven of them followed you out of the house and down to the House of Lamentation’s front gate. It was like having a school of fish circling you. You could call it a miracle they weren't following you onto the main road, but if they went that far you knew they'd unreasonably demand Solomon take them along too.

“It’s just one weekend!” you reiterated. “Take care, you guys.”

They peered at you through the fence bars, waving when you glanced over. It was a sad sight, and possible attempt to make you come rushing back. If it was this bad already, you didn't want to think about how they'd act if you were going away for one week.

[marlenesluv]

۵pairing: fem!albonsibling!ballerina x platonic f1 grid. slight readerxlandonorris

۵type: social media au

۵authors note: i’m super excited to continue this! i’m hoping it will be a little series :) also, the picture for the series has my main blog name but i’m too lazy to change it lolz.

۵warnings: slight language

۵summary: y/n albon and her partner seem to have a little fall out…how will her fans and friends react?

۵this is part 2! please read part 1 before this (it’s my work, just on my main blog)

masterlist here -> masterlist link

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

yourinstagram

liked by landonorris, arthur_leclerc, and 838,103 others

y/n.albon: solo practice mornings 🩰

view comments…

user9: no ben…?

↳ user2: he’s been kinda absent as of lately…

lilymhe: you look like an angel

↳ y/n.albon: i love you more than i love alex

↳ alex_albon: excuse me??

user5: the bell jar? someone cooked here

user3: solo???

landonorris: i’ll just come to your studio and keep you company!

↳ y/n.albon: yeah, you can not do that. my ballet instructor would literally kick you out

↳ landonorris: oh😟

user8: anyone else notice that ben hasn’t liked any of y/n’s recent posts?

↳ user6: yeah, i noticed that too!

↳ user8: kinda suspicious since they usually always like and comment on each others posts…

………………..

bensinstgram

liked by destinyyy and 251,007 others

bens.insta: a day with my love 💓

view comments…

destinyyy: i love you💓

↳ bens.insta: i love you more💓

user4: wait a damn minute…..

user7: y/n and ben practiced everyday together since they were 16, and he stops to go on a date??

f1updatepage: oh boy, drama is upon us, folks

↳ user2: you got that right

user9: ben ditches y/n for his gf and lando said he would come over to keep her company? idk. i wish lando was a ballet dancer fr

↳ user1: LMAO SAME. he seems much more reliable

user0: this is some crazy shit right here

user7: so..are y/n and ben partners, orrrr?

↳ user8: they didn’t say they weren’t, but here ben is, posting his gf when he should be at the studio?

………………..

yourinstagram story

seen by landonorris, danielricciardo, and 789,024 others

…………………

twitter:

F1 Updates @f1updatepage • 5hr

Y/N Albon has recently posted her solo practices on social media, leaving fans speculating. Her ballet partner of 8 years, Ben, went on a date while she was practicing. Fans believe that Ben and Y/N might have stopped being partners since Bens girlfriend, Destiny, came into the picture. What do you think?

↳ Y/N FanPage @y/n4lifeee • 5hr

I think Y/N deserves a ballet partner who she can rely on😭 If Ben actually left because of his girlfriend, that’s not only rude to Y/N, but stupid. They are amazing together, but whatever. His call I guess.

↳ Ferrari Fans @ferrariclassics • 5hr

Ben is a piece of shit. That’s what I think😙

↳ Carlando Babe @carlandocontent • 4hr

We should just wait for Y/N or Ben to speak out about whether they are partners or not. Speculating does no harm, but it’s just a never ending circle of ‘what if’s’.

↳ Albon Siblings!!! @albonsibsupdates • 4hr

As much as I like Ben and Y/N as a duo for ballet, I don’t like when Y/N has to solo practice. She deserves the best, not some half-assed guy who’s too busy with his gf.

………………….

landosinstagram

liked by y/n.albon, charles_leclerc, and 389,240 others

tagged: y/n.albon, charles_leclerc

lando.jpg: grid party🍾

view comments…

user8: y/n is at party with the grid??

↳ user2: this is suchhh a slay

flupdates: this wasn’t on my bingo card but i’m living

y/n.albon: last night was sm fun

↳ landonorris: do you remember anything?

↳ y/n.albon: ummm.. next question

alex_albon: ive never seen my sister so shit faced

↳ lilymhe: i have

↳ y/n.albon: omg lily

↳ alex_albon: wdym, lily?

↳ lilymhe: uhhhhh jk

user4: lily exposing y/n time

user7: HELP😭 who’s pouring champagne in y/n’s mouth💀

↳ user6: looks like kika LMAOOO

user1: i love how close y/n is to the grid

………………

bensinstagram

liked by destinyyy and 190,377 others

bens.insta: hi, guys! a lot of stuff has been going around on the internet and i wanna set some things straight. first of all, yes, i have officially quit ballet. but it has nothing to do with y/n and all to do with the fact that i am just not as in love with the sport as i use to be.

secondly, please keep my girlfriends name out of your mouth if you are going to bad talk her. she’s done nothing wrong.

lastly, i really do wish y/n the best with ballet. she’s very talented and i know she’ll make it far. that being said, no, we don’t have any communication as of late. things have been said that we both regret. i hope you all understand.

*comments have been disabled on this post*

………………

yourinstagram

liked by lewishamilton, landonorris, and 1,012,004 others

y/n.albon: i suppose it’s my turn to speak about this. ben posted last night about him quitting ballet, which is obviously a fact. it sucks that i’m loosing a partner i’ve been doing ballet with for 8 years, but that’s life. friendships were made, but new ones can be made. friendships were also torn down. it’s unfortunate, but the ball was not in my court. i regret not a word that i said to ben. ending these types of professional relationships sucks, but that’s what it was. professional.

view comments…

user3: QUEEN SPOKE FAX AND KEPT HER COMMENTS ONNNN👏

alex_albon: so glad you spoke your part. you’re an incredible sister. me and lily love you

↳ y/n.albon: aww, i love you both too

landonorris: sorry about ben. should i bring pizza or indian for when i come over?

↳ y/n.albon: indian pls!

↳ alex_albon: you’re going over to her house??

↳ alex_albon: why is no one answering my texts???

user7: i frankly don’t gaf about ben. i’m more invested in the fact that lando and y/n are hanging out without the grid

↳ user1: REAL. like, plsss i need content

charles_leclerc: you’re an amazing dancer, you’ll find another partner!

↳ y/n.albon: ty charles!!!

f1updates: “i regret not a word i said to ben” and ben said “things have been said that we both regret.” like ben, babe, that’s embarrassing for you

………………..

twitter:

F1 Updates @f1updatespage • 1hr

Quick update about Y/N Albon & Ben:

Both have made posts on the situation and announced Bens leaving in ballet. We wish Ben well.

Another side note that people have picked up on, is Landos comment on Y/N’s Instagram post. The comments insinuate that they are hanging out together without the grid in Y/N’s apartment.

Comments have been disabled on this Tweet in respect for privacy of Ben!

*comments have been disabled*

………………….

(reposts, comments, and likes are appreciated!^-^)

[howtofightwrite]

re: the question about stunning someone with head trauma (and how you Should Not unless you're okay with them dying) would knocking the wind out of a character be a better way to have that happen?

Yes, but no.

So, knocking the wind out of someone is a lot safer. I wouldn't say perfectly safe, this is how Harry Houdini died, after all. However, it's a lot safer that head wounds, and usually wouldn't result in any major injuries.

The downside is against a trained opponent, who's ready for the hit, it's not going to work. This isn't called a, “sucker punch,” without reason. If your abdominal muscles are tensed for the punch, they will absorb a lot of the blow. So this works better against the unaware or the untrained.

The other problem is, it's not going to take someone out for the duration of the scene. In a self defense situation, winding your attacker is great, because it lets you create an opening to start your escape. But, it's not going to stun someone for minutes. From personal experience, you can measure the time you gain from winding your opponent in seconds.

There are combos that start with winding someone and lead into more painful blows that can extend that opening. But, there is a continuity of force: Incapacitating someone for longer requires inflicting harm that is increasingly difficult (impossible) to moderate.

If the goal is to escape from someone who means you harm, then yeah, an elbow strike to their stomach, will give you the opportunity to get out of there.

If the goal is to have a prolonged conversation while standing over a defeated (but still living foe), that's not really something you can do intentionally. At the same time, intentional application of lethal force isn't as reliable as you might expect. For example, gunshot wounds to the head are only fatal ~98% of the time.

The issue with this train of thought is that the individual inflicting harm cannot moderate for the desired outcome. Knocking someone out, only for them to recover, is 100% possible. However, you can't do that intentionally. And having a character who does bounce another person's head off the pavement until they stop twitching, is an incredibly violent act, and it's not going to be a casual, “well they're just knocked out.” It's a, “Carl, that kills people,” moment.

If you want a character that is disproportionately violent, and probably scares everyone around them a bit, this will feed into that presentation. If you want a character who's a good person because they don't kill people, then attempting to inflict life altering injuries on someone is probably not the best way to demonstrate their ethics.

(Remember, Batman doesn't kill people, he just shatters their spines; leaving them at the mercy of the American health care system. So, the real moral lesson of Batman is that it's better to be psychologically unwell and wealthy, than economically disadvantaged. You can murder half of the city, and he'll gently deposit you in a padded cell that you can escape from whenever you get bored of the place, but if you so much as imply that you'll resort to less than legal means to put food on the table for your starving family, he will end your existence as a vertebrate.)

And, yes, I fully realize that, by the nature of his character, and comics, Batman (like most superhero comics) is poorly suited to discuss the complex factors involved in street level crime. This this is more of a critique on the treatment of “violence is okay, so long as no one ends up in the morgue,” more than a specific character critique.

There's another part to this that worth remembering, and I know I've said this before, but when you're writing, violence offers diminishing returns. Violence releases the tension you've been building. You can think of it like a rubber band gun. Until you pull the trigger, that rubber band is under tension, and the moment you release it, you hit your audience. Now, getting hit a rubber band is a sharp, and somewhat unpleasant experience, but the second time is going to annoy you less than the first, and if you're constantly bombarded with them, you'll quickly become numb to their impacts.

I'm not saying that you can't, or shouldn't, use violence, however as a writer, you are paying a very real cost whenever you use violence to resolve a scene. It's something that you do need to consider carefully. Part of my aversion to questions like this comes from this structural consideration. A lot of writers make the mistake of using non-lethal violence somewhat indiscriminately. This can absolutely harm the credibility of your characters, and your world.

There is absolutely a place for violence in stories, however, this is a tool that is most effective when used sparingly, or deliberately. (This doesn't mean the violence itself needs to be deliberate, just your use of it.)

A lot of the time when someone says, “I want to use violence to temporarily remove a character from the scene,” that's a scenario that will harm your story. There are a lot of ways to remove a character from a scene, and I don't mean, “alternatives to fighting,” like hiding from them or talking them down. The limit here is your creativity, and in a lot of ways, violence is the least interesting way to achieve your goals.

-Starke

This blog is supported through Patreon. Patrons get access to new posts three days early, and direct access to us through Discord. If you’re already a Patron, thank you. If you’d like to support us, please consider becoming a Patron.

[forsworned]

I ALWAYS FEEL LIKE SOMEBODY'S WATCHING ME ft. LOGAN WALKER

Warning(s): Sexual Content, Solo Sex (f.), Usage of Sex Toys, Voyeurism, AFAB!reader,

Author's note: @keegansshark because you inspired me!!!!

Being the Walker brother's third roommate is awfully quiet. In fact, half of your time here is spent apologizing about any ruckus you might be causing them whether it be your music, the loud clattering in the kitchen, or having a friend or two over. But they insist that it's fine. Giving you grand, boyish, heartthrob smiles that make you melt like a popsicle on a hot pavement.

Unlike Logan, Hesh is more outgoing, and talkative, and not staring you down from across the room when you're attempting to complete your work. He's asking you about your day, telling you to tag along with him and his brother when they go gyming and somehow is always sitting on the opposite end of the table when you're going out to eat, leaving you next to Logan every time.

And sometimes there's a sneaky, mischievous glance sent Logan's way followed by a pained expression that's stifled with laughter on his older's brother face.

But that was neither here nor there. However, upon finding out that the Walker brothers were going to spend the weekend out camping, you took it as an opportunity to be as noisy as you wanted. As much as you adored them, you felt relieved not having to walk on eggshells around them when it came to your sonorousness.

A deep exhale leaves your chest as your body hits your mattress. It had been a long week and you wanted nothing more than to unwind. Unfortunately, you didn't have a boyfriend to fuck your brains out so you settle for the vibrator in your locked drawer. You fish out the keys from your pocket and unlatch it. It wasn't a stellar collection of sex toys, more like just the essentials.

You decide upon your favorite, old reliable, first Eve's thruster and tug off your shorts and panties, tossing them carelessly to the side of your bed. It's a little depressing that you have to resort to such methods, but it was going to be a long weekend, so what better way to start it off then with some solo sex?

You turn it in and slowly work yourself up and the image of Logan flits into your mind. How good he would feel between your legs right now, filling you up with his cock and gazing down at you with those pretty hazel eyes of his. It's hardly been a few minutes before you feel yourself sopping at the mere notion of him touching you, and you're sliding the vibrator past your folds imagining that it's him inside of you.

His name spills from your lips over and over again, so sticky sweet, and delectable to the ears of any man if they had the pleasure of listening in on you.

So luckily for Logan, he's back at the apartment complex, fumbling with his keys to unlock the door after Hesh had forgotten to pack propane fuel. It isn't a huge deal, certainly not enough to sour his mood. An earnest mistake that Logan is more than willing to make up for for his older brother.

Too entranced by your own euphoria, you don't hear the door unlocking, nor it opening and the footsteps that follow, but Logan certainly hears your wanton breathy moans, reverberating into the hallways leading to the living room. He halts dead in his tracks and he's pondering about how he should approach the situation. He's thinking that maybe you happen to be watching a movie with a sex scene and it will pass at any moment. But it's past five minutes now and he's thinking otherwise.

His heart thuds against his chest as he stands there completely paralyzed, but his body isn't the only rigid thing. If it weren't obvious to you yet, Logan had a raging crush on you, and Hesh would be happy to take any opportunity to tease him about it. So the sound of you moaning is definitely getting him riled up. His eyes dart to the propane that sat on the kitchen island where stupid Hesh had left it and he's quietly making his way over to grab it and leave without alerting you, but then he hears you calling out his name. And then, again, and again and again.

As each passing second ticks by, the urgency in your whimpers intensifies, and Logan's legs seem to act autonomously, losing sight of their original purpose. He silently stalks to the ajar door of your bedroom and his eyes ream at your sopping, wet pussy out for display, hammering away at it with your hot pink, dildo that's thrusting into you. You're throwing your head back in pure rapture and his dick fully bricked up on sight. His Adam's apple bobs up and down, swallowing thickly as he absentmindedly palms at his dick.

It's so fucking wrong. And he's so aware of that, but it doesn't stop him from burning the image of you getting yourself off to him in his mind. His desire to step into the room is magnifying by the minute, but he holds himself back. The way your mouth is parting as you reach your climax is so, so, so delicious. The salacious sighs that escape you drive him wild and honestly, he could cum right now. It wouldn't even take long. One touch from that pretty mouth of yours and he would be coloring you a pretty, ivory white.

And just when you're about to orgasm, the creak of your door jostles you, stopping you mid-thrust and you could almost die when you see Logan's form leaning against the doorway. The blood drains from your face as you take in his unbuttoned jeans, undone zipper, and his hand slipping into his boxers. His hazel eyes might just be as wide as yours and the embarrassing sound of your machine is still going off and you practically rip it out of you, but your unexpected orgasm reels you in for a moment. It halts you as your bach archs and you gasp out in a fervent daze. It's humiliating as you gawk at your pulsating, drenched pussy in horror and you're scrambling to get up and somehow apologize??? But by the time you can even catch your breath to pull on your shorts, you hear the front door slam.

You make a dash for the window to see, Logan climb into Hesh's truck and they seem to be having a brief conversation before they're back on the road. The blood is rushing to your face as you watch them pull away. Oh God. What were you going to do!?

[puppygirlclaspers]

Your mission is simple: provide fire support from a distance while your comrades engage the primary target. You've been specifically chosen for this job. You've always excelled in long-range engagements, and this is a perfect opportunity to stress test the prototype long-range cannon your sponsor has been developing. You don't know the name of it, you were just given the machine and told to make it work. A piece of cake for you, given your experience.

The cannon you were told to use is heavy. Heavier than anything your suit has ever carried before. There's a twinge of worry that the servos and joints might buckle under the weight, but you trust your machine to carry you and the payload to your destination. It always has.

You arrive at your sniper's nest and prepare the cannon for firing. This thing is massive. The barrel is long, and thick, made of high-quality alloys that even you can't quite recognise. The firing mechanism and bolt action nature of it is simple, yet powerful. Setting this up on the ground is like assembling a mortar. Multiple pieces, big and small, but all forming to make something so much bigger than the sum of it's parts.

You revel in the sounds and feel of the assembly - the clicking and snapping of smaller parts, the sound of friction when metal slides on metal, the delicate nature of it all. There's no way a pilot can do this on their own without their mech, the machinery is simply too large and complex. You work alongside your suit, controlling it as the optical scanner guides your vision and thought process. It is the mind, and you are the hands.

Within minutes, you are finished the assembly. Faster than anyone else could have ever hoped to do it. There's a while longer before the mission is set to start, so you take some time to appreciate this machine of war. Trace the fingers of your mech's hands along it, and feel the grooves and imperfections through the haptic feedback of your controls. Inspect the bolt, the cartridge that holds your ammunition, the scope, everything. Everything about this is perfect to you. It's like this was made specifically for you to use. It's beautiful. It's love, and it's hurt, and it's yours.

It's almost time.

You lay the cannon on the ground, with the tripod attacked to the barrel sticking into the dirt. You use the mech as an extension of yourself in order to position yourself comfortably. Your legs fall to each side of the cannon as you lay above it, almost as if you intend to mount it. Your feet dig into the ground, preparing yourself for the inevitable recoil that firing this artillery will bring. Your knees fall to the ground, for further stability, and your body is mere inches away from touching the hardened steel of this machine below you. Your dominant hand reaches for the trigger, and your free hand holds the top of the barrel down to prevent it from flying away when you fire. You position your head perfectly in line with the scope, and you can see your allies now engaging with the target. You are ready to fire.

Your breath is shaky, heavy and getting faster. This is... exciting. You can't wait to pull the trigger and see how much damage this cannon will do. You're already thinking of names to give it, of how to modify it to make it more reliable, of how to make it yours. All yours. Your eyes are trained on the target, and you're listening to the comms channel for your order to fire, though your focus only allows you to parse half of what is being said.

Finally, you hear the order. Through half-understood chatter, you hear a loud and stern "fire". You pull the trigger.

Time slows.

First, you feel the recoil of the firing mechanism pushing back against you.

Then, the deafening, piercing sound of the combustion that propels the bullet forwards towards your target.

The cannon pushes back against you and pushes you both back several feet, leaving a trail of dug-up dirt and sediment around where you and your weapon are planted. You feel the joints of your suit scream against the strain of the sheer force, and the haptic feedback from your controls is going haywire.

Everything hurts. This hurts to use.

But it's worth it. You feel amazing. You feel alive.

A sudden gasp leaves your mouth, and you start breathing heavily. The ringing in your ears, the tingling feeling in your hands, the pain you feel must be the same way your suit feels in this moment. You are as one. You are together.

But there's no time to revel in this feeling. You have a mission to complete. Another round needs to be prepared before your comrades are struck down. This is what you're ultimately here for.

You don't even have a chance to look at the damage this cannon dealt, you simply start reaching for the next cartridge to load.

You pull back the bolt on the cannon, feeling the friction of it sliding against the body of this gargantuan weapon.

The used cartridge falls to the ground, cracked from the force of this machine, with wisps of smoke trailing off of it.

You hastily slide the fresh cartridge in, holding it in place with one hand as you push the bolt forward to lock it in place.

The strained joints of your suit ache and tremble as you use all of your strength to push, and eventually you load the next shot.

The barrel is still red hot, and dangerous to the touch, but you have no choice but to stabilise it like you did before. There's no time to worry if the heat will melt you suit's hand onto this thing. A small part of you wouldn't even mind if it did.

You readjust your sights and focus on the target again, and finally, you can admire the damage that this cannon did. It's a miracle that your shot didn't finish the job, but that's okay. You have plenty more.

This next one should do it.

Once again, your focus is trained on the comms channel, waiting for the firing order.

Breath getting faster, heavier, warmer. Heart beating out of your chest. Feeling pistons, servos, joints, every mechanism of your suit as a part of you.

"Fire"

[octuscle]

Hi, im a 19 yo nerd, yesterday some kids wre playing with a soccer ball in front of my house, the ball got into the garden of my house and when i threw it out, i didnt nlticed i threw it a bit far and it arrived into the house across the street, breaking a window, the neighbor, a single man, came to my house and told my parents what i did, he demands i repair the window by myself, i dont know how to do that, can you give me a little help?

First of all, you do what you do best. You sit down at your computer. Enter "repair soccer window" into Google. A lot of things come up that won't help you at all. Care tips for footballs. And advertisements for household contents and liability insurance. The soccer care thing doesn't look very helpful, but it might be interesting.

Shit, you can waste a lot of time on the Internet very quickly. After half an hour, you're back to the current and upcoming match day in the Premier League. But you still don't know anything about repairing windows. "Repairing windows". Perhaps it would help to remove soccer from the search query. It doesn't matter why the window is broken. It just needs to be repaired.

Now we're getting closer to the point. Lots of tutorials on youtube. Surely there's something there. Unfortunately, you don't even know what kind of window is broken. And what exactly is broken. Damn, just how many different types of window panes there are. You can find an article about German windows. They have a lot of damn cool features. I wonder if that would be a market to sell and install German ones here. What this tilt function is supposed to do is still not clear to you. But these shutters on the windows are hot shit. You'd like to install something like that at your parents' house.

You're guaranteed not to install something from Schüco for a few thousand dollars in your neighbor's house… You're assuming that your neighbor will have vertical sliding windows in most of the rooms, just like you do. Probably made of aluminum. A shame, really. Horizontal sliding windows made of wood with glazing bars would fit the character of the house much better.

Haven't you ever worked for your neighbor? You must still have plans and views from the street side. Or at least a photo. Yes, here. Where were you standing again? How hard did you throw the ball? What was the wind like? Just because you did an apprenticeship as a carpenter doesn't mean you're stupid. So it's probably the window of the study on the second floor. Yes, it must have been rotten, you can see that quite clearly in the photo. Just replacing the glass won't help much.

Nowadays, working on the computer is half the battle. Calculating material requirements, programming saws for cutting. And downloading some porn in between. Hehehe, unlike your father, you don't need to hang up raunchy calendars in the workshop anymore. Your father is hardly ever seen here anyway. It's no longer his world. In his day, a carpenter needed a hammer and a saw, he used to say. Old man, those days are long gone.

Before you start, you went to your neighbor's house across the street. Real life is sometimes more reliable than virtual life. But it was the right window, you measured it again with your laser measuring device. You had miscalculated by a few millimeters. You are a craftsman with passion and dedication. You don't mess around. You deliver precision work.

"Mr. T, better than before my throw," you say with a grin. But it's the pure truth. But you know exactly why your neighbor insisted that you carry out the repair. He'll do anything to get you to fix things in his house. And when no more chairs tip over and no more doors squeak, you'll take care of Mr. T. yourself.

He asks if you can have a look at the shower after the window. While you take off your dungarees, you say that you are a carpenter and not a plumber. You will probably need help. You don't have to ask Mr. T for long.

[hellfirenacht]

Wing Man Part 2

No beta, we die like men and edit in post.

Fic Summary: Steve ‘the Hair’ Harrington is your best friend, and is constantly striking out. Sick of this, you two make a deal; you’ll wing man for each other. Hooking Steve up with dates is easy, but he finds himself struggling to find you a date. At least, until Dustin starts talking about his new cool friend Eddie. 

Chapter Summary: You and Steve go hang out at the Palace Arcade with a bunch of high schoolers and pit two against each other in air hockey.

5.5k words

Part 1

Steve learned more in the next half hour about Eddie Munson than he ever wanted to know. Eddie had been in a band since middle school, and he played guitar. Eddie hadn’t started the Hellfire Club, but had taken it over three years ago and had been the designated DM ever since. Eddie probably sold drugs, but wouldn’t sell to freshmen. Eddie had picked out Dustin and Mike in the lunchroom after they had been banished from every other table. Eddie knew everything about metal music and sometimes skipped class to sleep in his van. Eddie lived in a trailer with his uncle Wayne and was probably going to graduate this year. Eddie was just so cool and Dustin clearly looked up to him.

Eddie also had long hair. Well, at least that was something you had been specific about.

“Do you think he’d be interested in going on a date with her?” Steve asked after Dustin had finished gushing about Eddie.

“Maybe?” Dustin said. “He doesn’t talk about his dating life much. We mostly just talk about music and D&D.”

Steve could have strangled him. “Dustin, you just spent the past half hour talking about him, knowing that this was to help her get a date. What do you mean ‘maybe’?”

“Look, I’m just giving you the information I have.” Dustin said. “If you want you could come to a Hellfire meeting and bring her along to meet him.” Once again he had a shit-eating grin that Steve was quickly losing tolerance for.

“We don’t go there anymore, we’re not gonna be allowed on campus.” Steve said. “Can’t you just, I don’t know, help set up some sort of meeting outside of school?”

Dustin thought for a moment, then snapped his fingers. “Sidequest day!” he said.

“Side- what?”

“Sidequest day! Sometimes Hellfire Club will meet up at the arcade to play games. Eddie will sometimes give buffs or inspiration for the game if we win tickets or get a high score.” Dustin explained.

“You’re speaking an alien language, Henderson.” Steve sighed.

“Just come to the arcade next Saturday and bring her.” Dustin instructed. “We can introduce them, and you can try and play matchmaker.”

It was as good a plan as any, and more importantly it was convenient. It would probably mean skipping out on a potential date but you’d already done so much for him that he’d be willing to give up a Saturday night to help you. He just needed to get you one date, and if that happened to be with Eddie Munson of all people then so be it.

“Fine, we’ll be there.” Steve agreed.

“Good!” Dustin smiled. “Now, about the campaign he’s running-”

Steve would let Dustin ramble for the rest of the shift about the campaign until you came out to politely kick Dustin out when you and Steve closed.

Going out on a Saturday night proved to be more tricky than expected. You were the only one who could reliably work on Saturday nights, being the only one willing to do so. It had taken a lot of pushing and some bribery to have Keith agree to take your shift for the night. He owed you anyway for all the times you had covered for him.

Steve hadn’t told you the full truth about what the plan was. He had only said that since you were a weirdo, he’d take you to the arcade where other weirdos might be. It didn’t make a whole lot of sense to you since you’d been to the arcade plenty of times and it was mostly kids there. It didn’t seem like the ideal spot to flirt with guys, but he knew more about this stuff than you did.

He told you to meet him outside the arcade at 6:30, and to look good. You had insisted that you always looked good, but you at least made sure to wear something that made you feel confident and followed up the same with your hair and make up. When was the last time you had an excuse to really put in effort? You looked presentable at work, but this was different. Your reflection in the mirror after you had put yourself together made you feel good. Even if tonight was a total bust on the flirting front, at least you knew you looked good.

It was 6:20 when you showed up at the arcade, and Steve showed up at 6:35. The past fifteen minutes had you watching excited kids and tired parents and disgruntled older siblings enter the building. If you were going to be completely honest, this didn’t seem very promising.

“So, I’m going to be frank with you, everyone here looks either way too young or too old for me.” you said as you both made your way inside. “The only person I’ve seen close to my age hanging around here is Keith and, Harrington, I swear if your end of the bargain is making me go on a date with him, I am firing you on the spot.”

“You can’t fire me.” Steve snorted.

“I can set you on fire.”

“I’m not setting you up with Keith!” he promised, holding his hands up. “I just think that this is a place where a lot of weirdos could hang out. And hey, if there’s no one here that’s interesting we could at least play some games or something.”

“Steve, I have a very serious question for you.” You turned to look him dead in the eyes. “This isn’t you trying to be my date, right? I know you’ve been overloading on romcoms with all the dates you’ve been going on. Please tell me this isn’t some sort of half-ass way to take me on an arcade date so you can say you got me a date.”

“What? No. You’re the one watching too many romcoms here.” Steve accused. “You turned me down, I get it, you have terrible taste. I accept this about you- ow!”

Steve winced as you smacked the back of his head. “Okay, good. I just wanted to make sure. Let’s just play some games for now, I’m really not seeing anyone our age around here.”

As the two of you made your way around the arcade, Steve kept an eye on the time. Dustin had told Steve that ‘Sidequest Day’ (whatever that meant) would be starting at 7:00. He just needed to keep you entertained for a half hour and then the club would show up.

Lucky for him, you were actually very easy to keep entertained. You bounced around from game to game, with eager enthusiasm often getting distracted by the many blinking lights and sounds from all the machines. You didn’t even notice it when a group of guys walked in all wearing the same shirt.

Steve noticed though.

“Henderson!” He called out, casually.

“Steve!” Dustin walked up to him. “What a surprise, I did not expect to see you at the arcade tonight!”

You looked up from a cabinet that you were considering playing, that was a weird tone of voice Dustin had used. One that seemed- no it was suspicious. Steve and Dustin had definitely planned on meeting here tonight. They really were not as smooth as they thought they were. But who were you to spoil a plan? You decided to roll with it.

“Hey, Dustin!” You said walking over to the pair. “Good to see you again.”

“They let you leave the Family Video?” Dustin asked. “The way Steve talked, you’d think they kept you chained to the front desk.”

“Union rules say that they have to let me leave at least once a week for mandatory enrichment time.” you joked. “Somehow I got lucky and got a Saturday off.”

You looked over Dustin, and his bright open button up on top of his Hellfire Club shirt. You had vague memories about that club in high school.

“Hellfire Club... I remember that from when I was in school.” you said after a moment. “Yeah, wasn’t it Chris Morrison that ran it?” You turned towards Steve.

“How would I know? I was popular.” Steve said.

“Yeah, I think he was the leader until he graduated and then Eddie took over.” Dustin said, looking down at his shirt. “I think he said that the club was a lot smaller back then.”

“Yeah well Chris was a dick who didn’t actually want anyone joining his super secret club.” you huffed, rolling your eyes.

“Wait, you knew him?” Dustin’s eyes widened.

“That’s a strong word, but we were in the same grade. I tried to ask him about the club once but he blew me off and told me I wasn’t smart enough to understand the game. So I got a copy of the rule book and spent the next few weeks memorizing it out of spite.” you snorted.

Steve looked at you like you had lost your mind (fair), and Dustin looked like he couldn’t believe what you’d just said (impressed).

“...Anyway, I see a lot of the same shirt running around now. I take it that Hellfire isn’t as closed off now?” you asked.

“Uh, yeah!” Dustin said. “The new leader- Eddie- he’s a lot more open to people joining. He’s the one who invited me and Mike to join.”

You looked over at where Mike was leaning over a cabinet in concentration. He didn’t come into Family Video as often as Dustin did to bother Steve, but he had come in enough for you to witness the kid shoot up about a foot in the past few months.

“It’s alarming how fast he’s growing.” you said. “Well, I’m glad that it’s more open now and that you’re having fun with it.”

“Yeah, Eddie’s great, you should meet him!” Dustin said.

You stared at him, and slowly looked over to Steve whos’ face had met his palm.

“Steve.” you said slowly. “Did you bring me to the arcade to meet a highschooler?”

“He’s twenty!” Both Dustin and Steve said in unison. You weren’t sure if that was better or worse.

You knew that the dating pool would be limited for you, but you didn’t think it would be that narrow. Still, beggars couldn’t be choosers, and if Dustin and Steve both vouched for this guy it couldn’t be that bad, right?

“Oh boy.” you sighed. “Alright, I’ll play along. Does this guy know I’m supposed to be meeting him?”

“Nope!” Dustin said. “He doesn’t have a clue.”

“Wait, did you tell Dustin about our deal, Steve?” you asked.

“I needed help and he happened to have a new older male friend that happens to be a freak.” Steve said nonchalantly. Well, this was going to be a very interesting night.

“He’s more than just a freak, you know.” frowned Dustin.

You racked your brain trying to think back to your time in high school, trying to remember if you knew any Eddie’s. In all honesty, you never were good at noticing people outside of your own circle of friends. How some people seemed to know everyone's full name and popularity rank was beyond you. Hawkins High had 2000 students, like how did people even know that much? Who had the time? Who cared?

While Dustin and Steve continued their odd squabble, you looked around the arcade for this mystery person. Nope, still nothing but not-age-appropriate high schoolers. Oh well, the Q*bert cabinet was free, and playing a round was better than standing around nervously to meet someone who had no idea they were being set up to meet you.

Damn, poor guy had no idea what he was getting himself into tonight. You felt a little bad that you were potentially crashing his club’s night out. If this went bad, you were putting Steve on backroom duty for a month.

“Where are you going?” Dustin asked as you walked off.

“I’m gonna play a game,” you said, putting your quarter in the machine. “Let me know when this guy shows up because I cannot take the suspense.”

“You know, this is why it’s hard to get you a date. You keep saying you’re interested and then the second you have a chance to meet someone you change the subject.” Steve sighs, leaning against the machine.

“Who are you, my therapist?” You asked, focusing on the game. “I know you’re right. If I’m going to be completely honest with you I am actually nervous about meeting someone. I’m sure that it’ll be fine and I have no real expectations but it’s still hard to put yourself out there.”

“I’ve been putting myself out there for months and had a two month dry streak.” he pointed out as Dustin stepped behind you and watched you play.

“You’re King Steve. People will like you no matter if they date you or not. You’re popular, as you love to keep reminding me.” You didn’t take your eyes from the screen.

“Yeah, well I was also a total dick in high school.” Steve admitted. “I fucked up a lot and pissed a lot of people off because I thought I was hot shit. If you want the honest truth, I’d probably be a better person if I hadn’t tried so hard to be popular. It took getting my ass kicked for me to realize that.”

“It’s true, he got his ass beat a lot this summer.” Dustin piped up which earned a glare from Steve.

You thought this over, the movement of the character on screen helping you think. “If I wasn’t enough for anyone in Hellfire when I was a junior, if I wasn’t enough for the freaks when I was a weirdo in school, why would I be now?”

“Because Chris Morrison was a dick!” Dustin yelled out, far louder than he really should have.

“Jesus, Dustin we are right here!” you said, shaking your head.

“Henderson is right.” a new voice said from behind you. “Morrison was the biggest asshole that Hellfire has ever seen. Worst DM too.”

The voice was lower in tone than Steve’s, and there was an energy to it that made everything else background noise. This new person was very sure of themselves, and you had a very bad feeling of who was going to be standing behind you as soon as you turned around.

You focused even harder on the game.

“I had one conversation with him in Junior year and promised myself to never talk to him again.” you said, trying to calm yourself. He definitely did not sound like a high schooler, which was a good sign. You risked a glance at Steve who looked like he didn’t know what to make of the newcomer. That was a bad sign. Maybe.

“Yeah well I wouldn’t have kept talking to him if I could have helped it.” This voice- you were going to just assume it was Eddie, said. “I didn’t think you were the type to hang out at the arcade, Harrington.”

“I’m not.” Steve said. “I am only here for a friend.” Steve gestured to you, smacking your hand on ‘accident’ and making you die. “Whoops.”

It was clear he had done that completely on purpose. Backroom duty for a week.

“Thanks, Steve.” you said and turned around slowly to face this new person.

Oh, you were going to murder Steve Harrington into the ground dead. The man before you- and he was definitely a man- was unfortunately for you, completely your type. Long wavy brown hair fell just past his shoulders onto a denim vest covered in buttons and patches over a leader jacket. He was also wearing a Hellfire Club t-shirt and you glanced a quick look at his ripped jeans and wallet chain.

You wished that you would have warned Steve that you were never your types’ type. This was doomed before it even started. But that was a freeing thought in a way, you weren’t going to be this guy's type so that meant you didn’t have to try. If Steve could hear your thoughts, he’d probably get pissed at you for already giving up, but that was fine.

“Oh uh, Eddie, this is Steve and his co-worker.” Dustin said, introducing you by your name and title. “They both went to Hawkins High.”

“Nice to meet you.” you reached out and offered your hand, and he took it. Eddie’s hand was warm and you got a glance at chunky silver rings on his fingers. There was an expression on his face that you couldn’t quite read; he was smiling but also seemed to be studying you.

“I know who King Steve is.” Eddie said in a way that made Steve roll his eyes. “When did you go to school?” he asked.

“I graduated in ‘83.” you said, looking at him. His eyes were very round and expressive, and he was still studying you. There was something familiar about him that you couldn’t place your finger on. Then again, he was only a little younger than you so you probably saw him in school.

That was good enough for Eddie as he dropped your hand and turned back to Dustin. “So, Henderson. Are you going to keep standing there talking, or are you going to earn that magic dice roll you’ve been talking about all week?”

You’d never seen Henderson look nervous around Steve, but there was tension in Dustin’s shoulders as Eddie talked to him. But you didn’t get the sense that it was a bad thing, Eddie seemed... intense. With Steve, Dustin was always ready to bicker with and defy. With Eddie, he was ready to hop to it, whatever it was.

Geeze, no wonder Steve was jealous.

“Yup!” Dustin said quickly. “I’m just gonna go, go over there and find something to play.” He glanced at you pointedly before hurrying off in Mike’s direction.

“So, my friend here actually had an interest in Hellfire Club back in the day.” Steve said before Eddie could turn and leave. Eddie looked at you in surprise.

No one would find Steve’s body after you were done with it.

“Really?” Eddie said. “And what about our little club was so interesting to you?”

You didn’t miss the way Eddie’s eyes glanced at Steve. That was a look you understood all too well, it was one you’d given many a popular kid back in the day. Eddie thought Steve was being a dick, and for good reason. That was the look you’d given when someone came up to you and said ‘my friend thinks you’re cute’. Except now you were the friend.

There was no going back now, you couldn’t let that tension be his first impression of you. Steve had set you up to be honest and vulnerable right off the bat. Great.

“Yeah, I asked Chris about joining back then.” you said honestly. “I’d had an interest in D&D, but never had a chance to play. But he shot me down pretty hard, so I... didn’t.”

Eddie’s shoulders relaxed as he looked down at you. “That doesn’t surprise me.” he said. “He was a bigger cynic than I am, and wouldn’t give anyone outside Hellfire the time of day. He didn’t even talk to anyone after he graduated.”

His gaze didn’t leave yours and it almost felt like there was a spotlight on you. Or maybe one of those lamps that you’d see in movies when someone was being interrogated. Eddie might have relaxed but you had a feeling that Steve being here wasn’t exactly winning you points. But Steve was also your friend, which made things a bit complicated.

Damn, why did you always have to be the one to bend over backwards to impress a guy? This is why you stopped dating in high school. Oh wait, this guy didn’t even know he was supposed to be making an impression. Looks like you were going to have to be the one to take the lead on this one.

Not that it mattered, because as previously stated, this was already dead on arrival.

The conversation immediately stagnated, as anything interesting you could have possibly said died in your throat. You could feel Steve’s gaze boring into your skull now, willing you to say something.

“Yeah, he wasn’t really social.” you managed to force out.

The sound of a game machine and hyped yelling suddenly echoed through the arcade and the three of you looked up to see the whole club huddled around a basketball game, cheering one of their friends on.

Eddie took that as his sign to remove himself from the conversation and made his way towards the game without so much as a goodbye.

“Seriously?” Steve asked when Eddie was out of earshot. “I hand you a conversation topic on a plate and you fumble it that badly?”

“I couldn’t think of anything to say!” you groaned. “Gossiping about Chris Morrison isn’t exactly the juicy conversation topic you think it is.”

“You were supposed to talk about your nerd shit, not about Chris!” he shot back.

“He thought we were making fun of him, Steve.” you said, watching as Eddie stood with his arms crossed as his club cheered over the game they were playing. Two members flanked him on each side, and even if you didn’t know that he was in charge, it was clear that he held power over these kids.

“Making fun of him? How the hell did you get that idea?” Steve was gawking at you. “I told him you were interested in his weird club!”

“Steve, I get that you were popular in high school. But you know that popular kids are dicks right? That popular kids will say things that sound nice, but are clearly making fun of whatever it is they’re talking about? That’s what he thought was happening.” You sighed.

“That’s not- I didn’t-” He was at a loss for words for a moment. “Shit. Did it really sound like that?”

“With the way he looked at me? Yeah, he thought so.”

The two of you were quiet for a moment, and you leaned against the arcade cabinet again as you contemplated what the next move would be. Maybe you’d just adopt a cat or twelve instead.

“I knew people did that.” Steve admitted after a while. “I hated it, but I went along with that shit because my shit friends told me it was fine and cool.”

“Steve, while I always appreciate that you are always learning and growing, let’s save the character development for later.” you said, cracking your knuckles. “Now, are you gonna help me talk to this guy or what?”

That snapped him out of his pity party. “You’re right, tonight isn’t about me. I’m sorry.” He looked at the club who was moving away from the hoops game and was spreading out again. You noticed that it was Lucas who they had been cheering for, Mike and Dustin were clapping him on the shoulder in congratulations. It was nice seeing the three hanging out together again.

“So you are interested in him” Steve said suddenly, looking at you with wide eyes. “That conversation was so dry I thought you weren’t actually interested.”

You glanced down at the obnoxiously colored carpet with mild embarrassment. “Steve, I’ll be frank with you-”

“Hi, Frank.”

That cut the tension and the two of you found yourself laughing- it wasn’t even funny but it was an inside joke that you two had shared over the past four months. It reminded you that despite how different you two were, he was still your friend.

“Shut the actual fuck up, Harrington.” you laughed. “I’m serious.”

“I thought you were Frank.”

“Shut up.” you gasped out. It really was not funny and yet the two of you couldn’t stop laughing. You two must have looked like idiots to anyone who was passing by you, and you were. You were both idiots.

When the laughter finally subsided, you looked over at Steve. “Steve, I think he’s attractive.”

“I do not see the appeal, but I still accept you have weird taste- don’t hit me again!” He lifted his hands as you raised your own.

You lowered your arm and looked around the arcade until your gaze fell on Eddie again.

"It's pissing me off because I swear I should know him, but I can't put my finger on it." You said as he put a quarter in a machine to play. "I mean, yeah we went to the same school but I feel like there's something else."

"I'm surprised you two didn't know each other." Steve said. "He's the freak of Hawkins and you're weird. Shouldn't you two have crossed paths before?"

"Maybe?" You shrugged. "I was oblivious in school. I only knew your name because being called 'the hair' is objectively funny."

"Ha ha. Super funny."

You kept Steve talking as you tried to figure out your next move. Him and Dustin had gone out of their way to try and introduce you to someone, and you didn't want to have those efforts wasted.

"That'll work" you said, interrupting whatever Steve was saying. You grabbed his hand and dragging him over to the air hockey table where Mike and Dustin were in the middle of an intense game.

You put two quarters down on the edge of the table as the puck whizzed by your fingers, hurdling towards Mike's goal. There was a loud and satisfying clack as Mike pushed it towards Dustin.

"I'm playing the winner." You said firmly.

Another satisfying clack echoed as Dustin pushed the puck back.

"I'll be more than happy to play you when I kick Mike's ass." Dustin said, not looking up.

"You're two points down, there's no way you're beating me!" Mike shot back with his words and puck.

"You've never beat me at air hockey before and I'm not letting you start now!"

You pulled your hands back from the edge of the table as the two friends trash talked each other. Steve moved to Dustin's side while you drifted closer to Mike, an unspoken rivalry brewing between the four of you.

Well, unspoken til you opened your mouth.

"Kick his ass, Mike." You said, watching as the puck shot back and forth between the boys.

"That's what I'm doing!" The gangly teen responded as the clack of the game echoed through the arcade.

Steve, shook his head. "I thought you said you had a plan?"

"My idea was I wanted to play air hockey." You said. "I never said it had anything to do with anything else."

Dustin looked up from the table as the puck shot through the goal on Mike's side, with a triumphant grin.

"See? I was going easy on you, Mike!" He said.

Mike groaned "You're still a point behind and I need a point to win." He said, setting the puck back out.

"I've beat you under worse conditions. Plus El isn't here to help you." Dustin shot back.

"She doesn't help!" Mike said defensively.

"Oh, and I am supposed to believe that the pink was just sent flying like that because you're so strong last time?"

"Yes! Exactly! Now shut up!" Mike said, giving Dustin a glare that clearly told him to shut up. You looked at Steve for clarification, but he was decidedly not looking at you.

Weird.

The game continued between the two boys, with you and Steve each cheering on your respective freshmen. Mike had the reach, but Dustin had the brain.

"Just give it up, Henderson- I'm gonna win and get that advantage in the next session." Whatever this rivalry was, you were now living for it. You had spent so long in a work-home-work rut, and this was way more entertaining than hearing about Steve's love life.

"Yeah? What are you gonna use it for? Another failed summoning spell?" Dustin laughed.

"It would have worked if it wasn't for Eddie's stupid rule about-"

"Stupid? Oh, I'm sure he'd love to hear more about your idea of how he should have let you cheat. HEY, EDDIE! MIKE WANTS TO TALK TO YOU."

Both you and Mike visibly tensed as Dustin yelled out for the whole arcade to hear. You gave Steve a panicked look that mirrored Mike's so perfectly that Steve had to laugh.

Backroom duty for a month.

Eddie appeared again, standing on the opposite side of the table of you and Steve, looking at his freshmen.

"Oh really? And what could Mike Wheeler want to speak to me about?" He asked.

You didn't miss the way his eyes glanced over to you and Steve for a split second. There was an air about him that you were trying to put your finger on. The best way would be to say that he was 'on'. Right now, he was in charge of his club, and he didn't seem excited that a former popular basketball player and a background character were crashing what was supposed to be his night out.

You were starting to regret this meetcute.

“Nothing!” Mike said, his voice cracking as he barely managed to block the puck from going into the goal. It was a tense game now, and it was clear that Dustin had put Mike into a disadvantage by bringing Eddie into this.

Steve made eye contact with you and gave you a shit eating grin. Oh no, no he wasn’t going to-

“I’m going to go to the bathroom.” Steve waved and quickly made an exit.

Two months in the backrooms.Plus bathroom duty.

It was clear why he ditched you with the way Eddie’s eyes darted as he left. There was a hint of distrust, one that you couldn’t blame him for. The only way you could possibly get an in with this guy would be if Steve wasn’t there waving his popularity flag.

Eddie glanced back over to you for just a split second before turning back to Mike.

“You sure about that, Wheeler?” He asked, an amused edge in his voice. “Because Henderson over here seems to think you have something you wanna say to me.”

“I don’t have anything to say!” The panic in Mike’s voice was evident, and Dustin just barely missed getting into the goal. “Nothing! We’re all good here- shit”

The puck, which had been flying between the two teens so fast now you could hardly keep up, had been caught on Mike’s- Clacker? Paddle? (Did that thing even have a word?). It had been caught between that and the corner, sending the puck flying upwards and flying straight towards your face. By some miracle, you managed to catch it, clapping it between your hands before it made contact with your nose. It probably wouldn’t have hurt, but you still weren’t interested in finding out.

“Holy shit.” you said with a laugh as the three guys looked at you in surprise. Mike looked embarrassed, and Dustin looked impressed.

“Nice reflexes!” he laughed.

“Damn, Mike you almost killed me! I know you’re still pissed I wouldn’t let you rent an R rated movie, but assassination is a bit overkill, don’t you think?” you asked.

“Shit, sorry.” Mike said, reaching for the puck again. You pulled it back and shook your head.

“Final round, sudden death.” you said.

“Seriously?! He’s still a point behind me!” Mike protested.

“Nu-uh. Almost killing me loses you a point.”

“I think that’s gotta be up to Eddie.” Dustin pointed out. “I mean, he’s the one in charge tonight.”

Oh, right. Oops. For a second you had actually forgotten that you were the one crashing the party here and that you didn’t have the same sway over the kids when not at work or when Steve wasn’t here.

You looked up at the man in front of you, pushing away any nerves and bottling them up to deal with later or never. What the hell did you have to prove to him anyway? Nothing. God, you were so bad at this, Steve was going to have an aneurysm trying to help you kick start a love life.

“What say you, Eddie of Hellfire?” you asked, offering him the puck as an act of goodwill.

His hand reached out, taking it as he considered you. You held your ground and met his eyes, not daring to give him any reason you had anything against him.

Eddie’s eyes moved between Mike’s panicked face and Dustin’s eager one. It was so funny how the two had zero problems bullying Steve but they made damn sure not to piss Eddie off. Well, at least too much if Dustin’s shit-eating grin was anything to go by.

A large grim broke out on Eddie’s face as he held the puck over the center of the table.

“Sudden death it is.” He said, staring directly at you as the puck dropped on the table.

Next Chapter

Dividers by @strangergraphics

Tag list: @ali-r3n , @mxchese, @josephquinncore , @gagasbee, @peaches-roses-sins , @witchwolflea , @vintagehellfire , @royale1803 , @cumslutforaemond ,@prestinalove , @browneyedgirly93 , @hellfiredarling @crocwork-clockodile

[undiscovered-horizon]

[Apparently, all it takes for a doomed man to feel hope again is bad flirting and corny jokes. Or maybe it's about the comforting presence of someone he loves?]

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Whether Gale wants it or not, he's a quite predictable person. His reliability seems to extend far enough for you to always be able to correctly guess where he might be when the wizard is not near his tent. Although his tendency for routines might be mistaken for something dull, you've always thought of it as somewhat comforting - that among all the chaos that your life has become, there's a sense of regularity; the comfort of knowing how to navigate certain situations.

Just as you knew he would, Gale is sitting by the riverside. His back is slouched as he mindlessly reaches to grab a blade of grass, tear it off, and let his fingers play with it. Brown eyes would be intently staring at the flowing stream if their owner wasn't so lost in thought.

He hears you coming, dry leaves crumble under your feet but he makes no effort to look over his shoulder. Maybe you're actually a wild raccoon that will finally put him out of his misery... On second thought, that is a rather pathetic end for a wizard as great as him. To die by a raccoon. Ha!

"Hey handsome, come here often?" you ask as you sit down next to him.

Gale's robes once smelled of musty books and seawater but during your travels, they have lost their original fragrance in favour of a fresh aroma of pine needles, campfire smoke and herbal medicine. It gave him an "edge", if such a word could coexist with the wizard's homebody way of life.

"Only when I wish to wallow in pity," he answers. Although it's fleeting, almost secretive, you do notice the glance he gives you.

You raise an eyebrow at his response. "And that's often?"

A sad chuckle rumbles in his chest. Gale looks down at his fingers, for the very first time studying what his hands do with the long blades of grass. "A lot more than I'd like to admit." He actually bothers to make himself sound light-hearted but the dread eating him up has already soaked into his words.

You put your elbow on your knee and rest your chin on top of your hand. The new angle allows you to see more of his face, not that it changes your impression. Something's eating him up. "Is this what pretty wizards frequently engage in? I think I ought to update my schedule."

He looks almost like a painting, you think. The one a cleric would put up at the temple, a depiction of martyrhood in the name of something greater. Normally, you'd shrug at the thought of some poor sod thinking that making themself suffer will somehow please their god. It sounds like a questionable freedom of choice at best. But in Gale's case, you can't just shrug. Not anymore. Not since the two of you made it very obvious there's nothing platonic going on.

"I think you'll find that a moping wizard is hardly treasured company."

"Then maybe I should help him stop moping." Playfully, you bump your shoulder into his.

A sad smile graces his face. His brown eyes give you a quick glance again. Gale just can't help his longing. "As much as I appreciate the thought and the effort," he tries to sound unbothered, "my troubles already take up enough of your time. The others might want to have a word with you too."

Not a thing about Gale's statement surprises you. He's always wearing a facade of "Don't worry about little old me" but having gotten closer to the man, you know he's far from that - he wants someone to worry, only doesn't have the pride to ask for that. Part of him probably thinks he ought to earn the right to take up the space in someone's mind. How silly.

Gale's eyes return to you when he sees your fingers sneaking between his hands and a blade of grass he was playing with. No matter what he might say and how laid back he attempts to appear, all of his half-hearted bluffs dissipate when he forms a tight grip around your fingers.

"And I want to have a few words with you," you tell him in round terms. "Well, I want to have many things with you but I guess I can settle for a good old-fashioned conversation."

"I, erm..." he hangs his voice at your allusion. The blush on his cheeks is barely visible in the darkness of the night but you can tell it's there - his whole body is suddenly on fire. Gale clears his throat. "Enlighten me, then! What sort of lexicon do you wish to bestow upon me?"

You can't help the whole-hearted chuckle that leaves your lips. "You're really adorable when you talk all sophisticated." Gale laughs nervously at the compliment and he's just about to say something back but before he gets the chance, you reveal the truth about your arrival. "On a more serious note, I didn't have any endgame plan. I just thought that I'm going to ask you what's on your mind and no matter what you answer, I'm going to bless you with my presence until one of us falls asleep."

For the first time this evening, Gale's eyes linger on you for a long while. Although his initial embarrassment at your boldness is now gone, a sense of nervousness lingers. But do not misunderstand - it's a welcome kind of tension; the anxiety of holding something dear and fearing breaking it. "I'd very much like that," he answers. A small smile of genuine happiness curves his lips.

Gale momentarily tenses up when you lay your head on his shoulder. Then, as though paradoxically a weight has been lifted from his back, he finds himself sighing.

Strangely enough, he feels... calm. Too caught up in his thoughts of impending doom and past failures, Gale has been oblivious to the good things in his life. Especially in the present. He tries to grasp at the fleeting thoughts he had been pitifully entertaining for the past hour or so but they escape his focus. Now that each of his breathes is filled with the smell of campfire smoke and fragrant oils that stuck to your skin, the doom that had been haunting him before dissipates like storm clouds blown away by the wind. Part of him wants to laugh - the morbid scenarios that once rendered him sleepless seem so trivial now. Gale was dealt a bloody difficult hand, yes, but that doesn't mean it's impossible to play it, does it?

He's known hope for a long time but only now does he see her. And what a wonder it is that she's wearing your face.

[lavendercharm]

Linger, Chapter 1: She's So Mean

Summary: From the moment you meet her, you can't stand Melissa Schemmenti.

Warnings: Strong Language

----

You’ve always been one to go above and beyond. Whether it was because you were truly an ambitious go-getter, or because it was actually rooted in a deep-seated fear of letting others down, who can say? What mattered was you were reliable. You did your best to stay organized and on top of things, despite the fact that you struggled with it. You thrived when it came to creative problem-solving. And you were never, ever late.

At least, that’s the mantra you repeated to yourself as you mentally practiced the apology you’d be giving Abbott Elementary’s principal. Glancing at the watch on your wrist as you burst through the front door, you curse under your breath. Arriving almost a full 45 minutes later than you were supposed to was not the way to make the first impression you wanted. You’d been a bundle of nerves the night before, prepping the following day’s lunch as much as possible. You’d made a concerted effort to get to bed at a decent hour, you’d laid out your “first day subbing at a new school” outfit, and you’d even set a few different alarms in order to prevent this exact situation.

It might have slipped your attention that the alarms you’d set were actually for the PM.

The surge of adrenaline when you’d seen 7:02 AM blinking back at you from the digital clock on your bedside table as you woke was more effective than any cup of coffee. You were barely finished dressing before you were out the front door with your shoulder bag in tow - hair piled in an unkempt mess on your head and makeup, socks, and half-prepped lunch forsaken in your haste.

Mercifully, most subs had pre-planned lessons to follow, so you didn’t have to worry about throwing off your student’s schedules too much today. But seeing as this was your first day at Abbott, you weren’t familiar with the building layout. Even worse, you’d never met the principal, which means you have no idea what kind of reaction to expect in regard to your tardiness.

You knew students started to arrive at Abbott at 7:30 for an 8 o’clock start to the day, and you’d been instructed to arrive no later than 7:15. You looked up from your watch to get your bearings in the unfamiliar environment. Just up the hall from the doors you entered, you saw an office with glass walls and what looked like a check in area where there stood a tall, stunning black woman.

She was dressed stylishly, shockingly so for someone who works in an elementary school. A form-fitting olive green dress hugged her curves, which were emphasized by the large brown belt around her waist. Her hair was long and looked right from a salon, her nails meticulously cared for. She wore red lipstick and her eye makeup could easily be seen on the cover of a magazine. Her face was buried in her phone, so she hadn’t noticed you enter the building. You approached her, your hectic morning creating a distinctly frazzled air around you.

You felt silly and underdressed standing next to her, your normally put-together appearance ditched in favor of time. You silently thanked your past self for having the foresight to lay out your clothes for the day. Even still, your plain black work trousers, white button-down, and sneakers felt distinctly out of place next to this woman. As you stood there, she didn’t look up from her phone.

Unsure what else to do, after a moment you made yourself known by clearing your throat. Without looking up from her phone, a single, sculpted brow raised in question, followed by a short, “What do you want?”

Taken aback, you stuttered, “I-I, uh, I’m the principal- I mean, I’m looking for the principal.” You felt heat rising in your cheeks at your mistake. ‘Good one,’ you thought.

At least your slip-up gained you some ground. The woman lowered her phone and glanced at you, giving you a once-over from head to toe. “What do you want with the principal? If you’re here to complain about something, you’ll have to send it in an email or Instagram DM, she’s on vacation.”

Your heart dropped to your stomach - the principal wasn’t even here? You weren’t sure if Abbott had a vice principal. You were already late, you didn’t know where you were supposed to go, and you weren’t sure if the vaguely-unfriendly woman in front of you would be able to help.

“Oh, actually I’m a sub-” you started.

You were cut off by a loud, “Oh! Well, why didn’t you say so? Why are you dressed like a waiter?”

You frowned. She was right. You did look like a waiter.

You were stunned as the woman’s entire demeanor changed. A large smile graced her features as she held out her hand. “Ava Coleman, principal of Abbott Elementary.” You stared at the outstretched hand before taking it, your eyebrows furrowed.

“Wait, did you just lie to my face about being on vacation?”

“Usually when someone introduces themself, you’re supposed to do it back. Unless you’re like Leo DiCaprio levels of famous, obviously,” she prompts you, entirely ignoring your question.

You give her your name, overwhelmed by the whirlwind that has been this morning and the whiplash of the woman’s sudden change in attitude. “Nice to meet you,” Ava says with a glowing smile as she releases your hand. “You know you’re late, right?”

You nod, rubbing the back of your neck sheepishly. All things considered, Ava didn’t seem upset, or even remotely reprimanding, for that matter. She might as well have been asking about the weather she was so nonchalant. Having braced yourself for a lecture or a raised voice, you found yourself feeling just the slightest bit relieved. “I’m sorry about that. This isn’t… it’s not the norm for me, I promise. It won’t happen again.”

“Girl, I am not pressed,” Ava says, brushing off your apology with a wave of her hand. “At least you showed up at all. Trying to get a sub lately has been like trying to get Taylor Swift tickets - a whole lot of waiting just to find out there aren’t any left.” She gives a cheesy grin at her own joke, not waiting for you to react before continuing, “You’ll actually be with another teacher. Her aide has appendicitis, she’s out for at least the next week and a half.”

You were surprised, not unpleasantly so. You’d expected to have your own room, but there were plus sides to subbing in for teaching aides. “Oh, okay. That will be good actually, I can get a feel for things and watch how she runs her class, maybe ask her for pointers,” you state as you start to follow Ava down the hall.

Ava glances back at you, a look you can’t quite discern in her eye. “Uh, yeah,” she said, entirely unconvincing. “I’m sure she’d love to share pointers. She’s been a teacher here for a long time, so she does stuff a certain way.”

Ava’s words reignite some of the anxiety you’d felt starting to dissipate. You thought having another teacher to lead the class and watch would be a good thing, but Ava is making it seem like this teacher would be difficult. You’d had plenty of old, strict, mean teachers as a student. When you first started subbing, you’d met a teacher at another school who went through teaching aides like Duracell batteries. She’d been in the same school for well over 35 years, so it was essentially her way or the highway. She was so strict and particular, most people ended up taking the highway.

Ava stopped at a door on the right side of the hall, and as she pulled the door open, you heard a chorus of tiny voices say, “Good morning Miss Schemmenti!” At least you’d managed to make it before any actual instruction began.

Popping her head in the room, you heard Ava say, “Melissa, you got a sub today.” A ripple of ‘oohs’ and giggles spread throughout the class. Kids were always interested in a new face.

“Oh really?” came a dulcet voice with the strongest Philly accent you’d heard in a minute. It was tinged with incredulity and annoyance. “A sub who can’t be bothered to show up on time?”

Your stomach churned with anxiety and shame, but you felt a slight spike of annoyance as well. You suppose you couldn’t blame her, but you hadn’t even met this woman yet. You pushed these feelings aside as best you could as Ava replied, “You’re lucky you got a sub at all girl. I didn’t have to put her in your class. You’re welcome!” Stepping aside, she gestures you into the room.

The first thing you notice is the sheer amount of kids crammed into one room. There’s a division in the center and one side seems to be slightly older. The confusion must be evident on your face, because Ava chimes in, “We lost a third-grade teacher last minute and we couldn’t afford another one, so we combined a second and third grade class. You get two for one! I love a good deal myself.” Her joke doesn’t land.

Two grades in one room was really unconventional. How could both classes be receiving the right instruction? You couldn’t wrap your brain around it. Either the second graders had to be feeling left behind, or the third graders were learning the same things they’d learned last year. Not to mention the number of kids presented a challenge itself. ‘There have to be close to thirty kids in this room!’ you thought.

The velvety voice from before chimed in, “You could at least try not to look overwhelmed. Jeez, how old are you anyway, kid? I’m not gonna be able to tell the difference between you and the students.” Some small giggles echoed around the room as you turned.

Whatever you had been expecting, this woman was not it. ‘Is everyone working in this school hot?’ you grimaced to yourself as your eyes took in the gorgeous red-headed woman who stood before you. She was older, which in your mind only enhanced her beauty. She was a few inches taller than you, although you noticed the heeled boots she wore. Her deep red hair was luscious, with soft waves begging to have fingers combed through them. A single eyebrow was raised and a decidedly unimpressed expression graced her face, a dusky rose color painting her pursed cupid's bow lips. Her nose was soft yet prominent - it suited her immensely. Her eyes were slightly close-set, a captivating green-hazel color. They were rimmed with a subtle smokey shadow that made them pop.

She had on a long-sleeved black shirt and a few necklaces decorated her collarbones. But what caught your attention most were the leather pants that clung tightly to her soft hips.

You’d always been a sucker for a woman in leather.

“You gonna acknowledge me or not? Do I need to get you a copy of the lesson plan, or a coloring sheet?” She asked, hands on her cocked hips. Another ripple of giggles ricocheted throughout the room. Your cheeks flame with embarrassment. You were used to being teased about your height and young appearance by people you knew, not by strangers using it as a way to question your position at work.

Feeling a surge of indignation and annoyance, you opened your mouth before you could stop yourself and shot back, “I’m 28 years old - how old are you?”

A loud chorus of “Ooooh!” from the class, and in a split-second, you knew you’d fucked up.

A fire ignited behind Melissa’s eyes, her eyebrows coming together and her weight shifting forward. Her posture was rigid, coiled like a rattlesnake, ready to strike at any moment. Her nostrils flared as she bit out, “I’m none-of-your-business years old.” Her tone was dangerous and sharp. The class waited with bated breath to see what you’d do. Would the new sub start a fight with Miss Schemmenti? The tension in the air could be cut with a knife.

You heard, “Neither of you swing before I start recording!” from Ava.

Your heart was rattling inside your chest. ‘And I thought being late would be enough to make the wrong first impression.’ But you didn’t feel sorry for what you said. It wasn’t fair for her to be so critical. If she wanted to play the age card, then you’d meet her where she was at. She had no right to belittle you, even if you were less experienced.

You decided then and there that you didn’t like Melissa Schemmenti.

But you needed to get past this - you both had a class to teach, after all. Standing your ground, you managed to hold her gaze as you said evenly, “If you would be so kind as to point me to my desk? I believe we have a school day to start.” You were immensely proud that your voice didn’t tremble, despite the way your pulse thrummed in your ears.

Glaring at you for a moment longer, you knew you’d live to see another day when Melissa shifted her weight back again, arms folding across her chest. 'Her well-endowed chest,' you thought. You immediately chastised yourself. You needed to get a grip. This was your workplace and you should be keeping things professional, although that had almost gone out the window already. Even if she was alarmingly hot, she’d disrespected you without so much as a “hello.” The woman had been ready to tear you limb from limb a moment ago, and not in a sexy way.

Melissa tilted her head with a pointed look toward the back corner of the room, and you glanced over to see a small desk. You met her gaze once more and muttered a “Thank you.” But as you started to turn, you realized neither she nor the class knew your name. Stopping, you introduced yourself, instinctively holding out a hand.

It occurred to you how incredibly awkward it was to offer to shake the hand of the woman you’d just slighted, and you’re thankful you can write off the heat still lingering on your cheeks as your temper.

For a moment, she stared disdainfully at your proffered hand, but she sent a furtive glance toward the class and a look of realization passed over her face - her students had been watching all of this unfold. Maybe she wanted to set a good example, or maybe she just wanted to move on, but she took your hand begrudgingly. Her grip was a bit too tight. “Miss Schemmenti,” she said, and you noted the lack of a first name. Her teeth were gritted behind a strained smile. The flash in her eyes made the message clear. You are not on my good side.

Ava made a disapproving sound. “Man, I thought I was gonna get something good,” she said, and you caught the light glinting off of what you suspect was her phone camera as she turned and walked away.

You released Melissa's hand and retreated to the back of the room. As you deposited your things on what was now your desk, Melissa began, “Alright my little cannolis, enough dilly-dallying. Shawnte, will you please help me pass out these math sheets?” Her irritation was masked impeccably behind a practiced teacher's voice as she split a stack of papers with a small girl from the third-grade side of the room.

You exhaled deeply. It was only 8:15 and you’d managed to make your first enemy at Abbott. Unpacking your things, you found you couldn’t resist watching Melissa as she made her way around the room. You didn't consider yourself quick to anger, but somehow this woman had managed to piss you off in a matter of minutes. And you were supposed to spend at least the next week and a half with her?

As she passed by you, her eyes shot up and briefly made contact with yours. You felt the heat of her glare piercing into you. It seems she couldn’t resist another pointed comment on your tardiness. “Maybe tomorrow, you could get here on time and do your job, so I don’t have to ask a student to help pass out papers.”

This was going to be a long week.

[cherrychilli]

MDNI, NSFW, AFAB reader, divorced Dilf! Steve, Babysitter reader, oral sex(M), cum play, age gap (Steve is in his early 40's, reader is in her early 20's)

A/N: This takes place before the events of my first Dilf! Steve drabble. I'm also working on another drabble about the first time they did the deed so look out for that!)

You scrutinize your reflection in the bathroom mirror as you fix your hair and dab on a fresh coating of scented lip balm over your lips. You'd much prefer your signature shade of lipstick and an outfit different to the t-shirt and skirt combo that you're currently dressed in but this is the best you can afford to do without raising any suspicion. You needed to be careful. You didn't want to be made the subject of the latest small town scandal and you knew people would start to ask questions if they ever saw you getting all dolled up to babysit at Steve Harrington's house.

You saunter into his study once you're ready, closing the door gently behind you and turning the key for good measure. You find him at his desk where he's been for the past few hours, looking both pensive and deflated as he poured over paperwork. You'd been sneaking glances at him all day, growing resentful of the work that held his attention. That wasn't all. Feelings of sympathy tugged at you too. It was hard to ignore when seeing the stack of thick files piled next to him and the empty coffee mug with World's Best Dad blown up in big black lettering now cold and pushed aside after several refills. He looks up from the handful of important looking papers fanned across his desk when you enter, assessing you over the rim of his reading glasses. He notices how your skirt appears shorter now than it did earlier thanks to some intentional adjusting when you readied yourself in the guest bathroom.

He knows now. Steve looked forward to your "surprise visits" but he never failed to get the formalities out of the way first.

"The kids?", he asks, expression neutral.

"Asleep. Completely wiped out after playing with the Donovan boys", you inform him, leaning over his desk to let your cleavage show. He allows his gaze to fall to your chest now that the two of you are alone, something he tried very hard (and sometimes failed) to keep from doing when others were around, Not that anyone had noticed, thankfully.

"And Martha?"

The kids were one thing but Steve's housekeeper was the one who really kept you on your toes, unbeknownst even to her. There was always the chance she might notice a lingering look or subtle touch and realize something bigger was going on right under her own nose. She'd also have more credibility if she were to tell people that there was something going on between Mr. Harrington and the pretty babysitter nearly half his age. The kids on the other hand who although were the sweetest, were much less likely to be believed. They were still in that phase where they spouted the occasional harmless yet wildly imaginative lie in the hopes of impressing friends and grownups.

"Out shopping for tonight's dinner", you assured him with a coy smile.

You walk around the corner of his desk, hips swaying as he turns his chair to face you. Martha may be gone for now but she had proved she was worth the money she was paid. She was efficient, reliable and punctual above all else, meaning you wouldn't have as much time as you would have liked to be alone together. Foregoing any kind of buildup, you drop to your knees, hands reaching to toy with Steve's belt. "Wanna suck your cock, Mr. Harrington", you announced. It was blunt, you knew and gathering from his widened eyes you were certain he thought so too.

"Please, can I?", you begged, voice sticky like honey and dripping with urgency.

You can see the traces of fatigue starting to fade from his features as he cups your cheek with a large palm, thumb brushing over your bottom lip, all soft and plush from the balm. You're already undoing his belt, popping open the button on his pants and pulling at the zip. "You've been so tense lately" you cooed. "Working so hard. All those late nights", you reminded. "I Just want to help you unwind."

You reach inside to rub him over his boxers, parting your lips at the same time to lick at his thumb. "Shit", he hisses. He'd only fucked your mouth once before - and just barely because that tryst was cut short when Martha had come back home after forgetting her purse one night. You hid behind the kitchen island when you heard the front door open, crouched down by Steve's legs with your lips all puffy and slick with spit and precum. You cowered while he pretended to have come in for a glass of water as he so explained, or more so stammered, to Martha who hadn't asked because why would she? it was his house. What was so unusual about wanting a drink of water in your own house? She might have suspected something if she didn't already think you had been sent home for the day, not knowing that you were staying over after hours when she was off the clock and the kids had been put to bed. As she politely collected her purse and left for the second time the both of you agreed, no more fooling around unless it's behind locked doors.

His length was already growing stiff as he watched you on your knees, begging to have his cock in your mouth like some naughty fantasy come to life. Maybe you were right, he thought. Maybe he had been working too hard lately. Maybe he had been sifting through files and contracts for a few hours too long and the exhaustion had numbed him momentarily because why the hell hadn't he started unzipping his pants himself the moment you got on your knees for him?

"Fuck- alright", he relented, suddenly feeling more enlivened than he had been the entire day as he helped you to pull his boxers down. Your expression turns glassy as you stare at his cock when it bobs free, saliva pooling in your mouth. He was bigger than anyone you'd ever been with before and you found that you were still getting used to it. You wrap your fingers around his impressive girth as best you can and lap at the blurt of precum weeping from his tip, catching it on your tongue and sucking it into your mouth in a filthy display. "Jesus Christ" he groans, balls feeling tight at the sight of you like this. A distant cry from the reputable young woman people thought you to be. "Tell me how you like it", you request, breath fanning over his cock as you pant softly. "I wanna make you feel good, Mr. Harrington". He curses again under his breath because how can you look so sweet and sincere when you're begging for something as indecent as having your mouth full of him.

"Okay I-uh, I like it a little messy", he admits. "Can you spit on it? 'want you to get it really wet for me, sweetheart".

You do as he says, first spitting into your palm to wrap around him again and then leaning closer to dribble some spit onto his tip and rest of his shaft to help coat him.

"Little more- Yeah, just like that...start moving your hand, baby- squeeze it a little, okay?"

You pump him just as he instructed, only speeding up when he tells you to. It's still on the slower side - a steady, rhythmic schlick that fills your ears and makes your belly burn. You don't put your mouth on him. Not yet because he hasn't given you permission. You're trying to be obedient, not knowing that he's getting off on the desperate look on your face as your eyes flick back and forth from his erection and his face. You work yourself up even more at the taste the fruity balm when you bite your lip, wishing once again that you'd been able to dress up for him just so he could ruin your pretty lipstick till his cock bears messy traces of your favorite shade. You're growing more needy as you listen to all the noises spilling out of him, deep throaty groans and half restrained moans that have you rubbing your thighs together in search of some kind of friction. You don't want to divert from the way he's guiding you but you can't hold off wanting to taste him any longer. "Mr. Harrington, please, can I suck it? I want to feel it in my mouth again", you whimper meekly.

You've got his cock in your hand and you're the one begging? He chuckles softly at that. "Go ahead, get your pretty lips on me", he finally grants.

You're on him quick, popping his fat head in your mouth and wrapping your lips around it. You suck gently at first, hand still stroking his base and when you begin to bob your head you moan around him like you've been starved for this. "That's it, baby- shit keep going", he encourages you. You grow bolder when his hand weaves into your hair and you take him in further and further until you feel him bump the back of your throat. Tears gather in your eyes then as you choke, throat clamping around him when you gag, squeezing his cock. "Fuck", he tightens his grip on your hair. "Do that again", he watches you with half lidded eyes, tears spilling down your face as you struggle to take it.

You can feel the spit and precum seeping out of the corners of your mouth and trail down your chin. It's messy, just as he asked for and he praises you again and again. "You're doing so well, baby- making me feel so good", hips bucking up lightly into your mouth. Every time you pull off for air, spit and precum web from his throbbing length to your panting lips. You lick up the underside of his cock hungrily after you catch your breath, following the gentle curve of it, feeling the veins pulse and throb when your tongue glides over the sensitive skin. When you reach his ruddy tip again, you swirl your tongue around it, eyes never leaving his.

"Want your cum", you puff out desperately, voice hoarse from having having him fuck your throat. "Please?"

You see his expression shift and you're just about to ask him if he's close when he cuts you off with a curt command. "Get up".

You worry you've done something wrong until he's flipping you around and pressing you against his desk. He hastily pushes the fanned out papers to the side, letting them flutter and strew on the floor.

"Hands on the desk", he growls. You plant them there without question, whimpering when you feel him pull at your skirt. He holds the material up with one hand, yanking your soaked panties down your thighs with the other.

"M-Mr. Harrington?" you stutter, never finishing the question but he knows what you mean to ask. Are you going to fuck me?. You want him to. Desperately. But you know there's no time. Martha would be home any minute now and you couldn't risk having her wonder where you were. There'd be no way to hide what you'd been doing if she caught you sneaking out of Steve's study, looking like this.

"Not this time, sweetheart", he answers, kicking your legs apart as he strokes his cock between your thighs. "'Gonna give you what you asked for."

You gasp when you feel it, ropes of his cum catching on your inner thighs and the gusset of your panties. You quiver in place when he pulls your panties up, pressing his hot wet release right up against you. He fixes himself behind you as you process the mess between you legs, circling your hips experimentally so you can feel it spread between your folds.

"You've got an hour left, right?", he breaths low against your ear. You nod your head when your voice fails you, feeling spent. "You're going to wear these home today", he commands, his fingers snaking under your skirt to circle your clit over your soiled panties. "Want you to think of me while you drip", pressing a kiss against your tear stained cheek. "And tomorrow you're going to come in early so I can fuck you proper, understand?"

"Yes, Mr. Harrington", you manage to answer this time, tone taking on a pitiful whine.

"Good. Now go get cleaned up".

[blacknight7890]

welp, essay time, lets talk about the clown in the room.

the amazing digital circus spoilers below!

so, Kaufmo's room.

The room of a mad man and a recently "abstracted" human. we don't know much about Kaufmo, other than he told unfunny jokes and was looking for a way out. He lost his mind at some point and got "abstracted" as the result.

What this means and how it happens is hard to say for sure as of now, but madness seems to be the main cause of it. Before he turned however, he has spread his madness to the rest of his room, so lets look at what we have here.

Most of it is simply the word "exit" over and over and over and over again with some disturbing art as well.

"EXIT EXIT EXIT EXIT EXIT EXIT EXIT EXIT EXIT EXIT"

However, there are some exceptions. Certain spots have partially readable writing on them. To start with, the head of his bed.

"CAN'T SLEEP"

Its partially obscured, but its location behind the pillow make it obvious what it says. They say that they don't need to sleep, but this implies that he wanted to sleep, but couldn't. If that is due to just his madness, or something else its hard to say. Hard to know what that means as of now, but its something to note.

Now the sketch on the back wall. The phrase is fairly self explanatory, as far as we know, there is no way out of the circus. Not much to say about that, but the drawing is interesting. A fanged Cain chasing after Kaufmo. Seems he has a fear of the ringmaster, understandable at first, but further thinking makes you ask some questions.

"NO WAY OUT"

We see at the end of the episode that Cain actually tried to make an exit for them, but never finished his simulated version of the outside. When we first see him dancing around the idea of an exit door, we assume malicious intent. However, its more likely he was referring to this exit, rather than an actual way to leave.

This place is clearly a fabrication of the world outside The Amazing Digital Circus, one half built by Cain. He said he made it because everyone kept asking about it, but never finished it and didn't want them seeing his unfinished work. He also didn't want them ending up in the void, a slightly more important reason to keep it locked up.

But regardless, he did try to actually appease them, give the trapped humans the closest approximation to freedom he could. Its clear that Cain is not in full total control of the circus, its possible that even he doesn't know how to leave.

Anyway, back to my point. Cain is weird, strange, and insane, but he's not really "evil", so Kaufmo's depiction of him doesn't make total sense. But then again, the eyes of madness are hardly a reliable source. We will need to see more of him to learn his true intentions, but for now he just seems unhinged rather than actually bad.

Back to the room though, there is one more thing I want to go over, the foot of his bed.

"WHAT DID THE E------ SAY TO THE C--------"

this one is hard to determine, but thankfully for us, this isn't the only place we see this sentence. We also see it scrawled onto one of the paintings in the wide shot.

"WHAT DID THE EXIT SAY TO THE CLOWN?"

Now at first this seems nonsensical, but remember who wrote this. Kaufmo liked to tell jokes, this is the only real thing we know about him. In that light this is clearly worded as the setup to a joke. This begs the question on what the punchline is, but it also implies that the supposed "exit" somehow communicated with him. Probably not but its something to note.

We have no idea what the punchline could be at this moment sadly. It could be that him abstracting could metaphorically be the "punchline", or the lack of a response from the exit might also be it, hard to say.

"NO EXIT"

This is all what I can really determine from what we have seen in this room, other than interpretations of his various framed paintings, but I'll leave that to an art major or something.

Of course we have to ask if the "Exit" that he refers to even is the same exit Pomni found. They might have found something else, or maybe that exit door is a lot more important than we know. Maybe that weird computer is important.

Pomni seemed familiar enough with it that the mere sight of it sent her laughing mad. That vr headset looking thing is probably what she put on to get there.

All of this is just observations and speculation on the future, and I can't wait for the next episode!

[cassiesdevblog]

~Shmovement~ in Grey Area

Hello goober goblins! Grey Area comes out ~September 15th~ and I wanna make some posts going over my involvement with the project 👁️👁️

I joined the project back in March because, while playing early builds, there were a million things, big and small, that I wanted to be able to polish up to really make the game shine, and my top priority was Hailey's movement

Grey Area is a game where beginners will mostly play inside a small range of velocities, but, thanks to @bisthefairy, there are ways to build and maintain greater speeds, so Hailey's movement has to be tuned for both small-scale, precision platforming and large-scale, broader movements. Plus, as most of the level design was already finished when I joined, all my changes had to work with, rather than against, the established design

General momentum adjustments

When I first joined, there were a few ways that slow and fast play would clash with one another. For instance, Hailey had low air friction. This was nice at higher speeds, because you should be able to briefly release the d-pad to shave off a little speed without getting rid of all of it, but it didn't mesh with tighter sections where you'd be asked to land precisely on small platforms

Luckily, since the smaller range of speeds Hailey usually stays within is well defined, I was able to just dramatically increase her air friction while not pressing a direction, only while inside that range.

Unfortunately, this led to a small problem: There are lots of spots in the game where you're meant to bonk off a wall and land on a platform. Where you could previously do this without having to hold a direction, you now had to hold back a little or Hailey wouldn't make it. To fix this, I just made her use the old friction during a bonk. That may seem unintuitive, but the bonk is all about Hailey bouncing back off a wall, so it feels natural for her to travel further. In practice, the discrepancy doesn't feel like a discrepancy.

Dive momentum changes

Hailey's main mechanic is her dive: a burst movement option that lets you speed straight forward. You can cancel out of the move at any point, cutting off all your momentum. However, when I first joined, Hailey would keep a small amount of the dive's momentum after a cancel. The intent was to let you keep the flow going even after a cancel, but it led to lots of overshooting in a game with low margins for error. I preserved the original way if the player is holding in the direction of the dive, so you can still keep your flow going, but if you're not pressing a direction, Hailey will instead cancel all the momentum and drop straight down

Release cancel (aka, half the reason I joined the project)

These subtle changes have made Hailey much more reliable to control. It feels much easier to translate your intent onto the screen regardless of how fast you're going (September 15th btw)

Speaking of intent, I've had a big impact on this game's controls! The first time I ever played, the dive could only be canceled by releasing B and then pressing it again. I felt this was really cumbersome and I barely felt in control, so I wanted to cancel by just releasing B

This was controversial though, as everyone else preferred the original way, so I instead suggested being able to cancel by pressing back on the d-pad, as it felt instinctual to hold against the direction of momentum to cancel it. I also suggested being able to press down to cancel, since a player might think of it as dropping Hailey down. Fortunately, both were implemented and the game became a bit more comfortable for me, but I couldn't get the idea of releasing B to cancel out of my head

Later, when I finally got my hands on the project, release cancel was the first thing I added, and it felt just as right and perfect and natural as I imagined it would. I figured, if I just made the other devs play with it, they might see the merits of it and change their minds. Tragically it didn't change any minds, but I was ultimately able to persuade Alayna to make it an option in the options menu. When you play the game, especially if you don't like how cancelling is controlled, please please please try changing "Press to dive" to "Hold to dive" in the options menu and join the church of release cancel. We have plenty of room :')

Other controls

I've made a bunch of other small changes to the controls too! Generally, I like every button on the controller to do something, so I mirrored a lot of functions to previously unused buttons. Hopefully this makes the game feel more responsive and playful, as well as a little more accessible! I also made it so Hailey sits down when you press down :) It's one of only a few graphics I drew for the game! (did I mention September 15th btw)

The Bounce 👁️👁️

I've saved my biggest (and most iterated upon) change for last >:3

When Hailey dives at smaller enemies, she'll bounce off as if she goomba stomped them, which cancels her dive and allows her to dive again. I added this because I thought the sick tricks and possibility for advanced play were too sweet to pass up. Not to mention it just seemed like fun. Plus, it would add exciting counterplay to some previously unexciting enemies. It's a simple mechanic, but it underwent a lot of changes!

Firstly, it used to work on almost every enemy, but it didn't feel right against bigger monsters. We ended up deciding that Hailey should only be able to do this against enemies around her size, so in practice, this mainly comes up with the Golch enemy. When I first played, I found the Golch really annoying, as the best and safest strategy to deal with it was to just stand and wait for it to fly toward you so you could jump on it. Now, you can dive right at it and pull off sweet tricks instead! This has ended up making room for tons of cool skips and it feels great >:3

I even redesigned the Golch's flight path so that it will usually be flying at your exact elevation (it moves faster vertically than it does horizontally to accomplish this) so you can more consistently dive straight into it

I also made it so that bouncing off an enemy clamps your speed within a relatively small range, as otherwise you would carry the momentum of the dive and easily fly off into a pit

Now, in my mind, this all worked perfectly, but then disaster struck

@zombielesbean, who uses press cancel, would try to press B to cancel right before running into an enemy in order to avoid it, but would press a few frames too late and instead the input would happen after Hailey had bounced off the enemy, so she'd dive again and accidentally fly off into a pit. We tried a million different avenues to resolve this, but all of them were significant downgrades to the mechanic

Fortunately, Alayna found that the issue was only happening because of the enemy placements in one or two spots, and after adjusting them, it was no longer an issue, so fortunately the best version of the mechanic got in >:3

So yeah!!

Those are a few of the ways I've cleaned up and improved Hailey's movement since I joined! I've gotten my grubby paws all over every bit of this game in a similar way. Cleaning things up, tuning numbers, adding effects, making things more clear, overhauling things, enhancing the flavor

A huge takeaway from this project for me has been that polish is a full time job!! Every little bit of polish seems small on its own, but when you add them all up they can make the difference between a decent game and a total banger. It just takes a huge amount of time to accrue all those tiny things. I think that's why they say you should triple all your time estimates on gamedev...!!

Fortunately, I have a good eye and a strong passion for all those little things, so I feel like an extremely valuable asset on this project, even though my hand is largely invisible and it takes long-winded posts like this to even explain what I've done

As Bis puts it, "Cass did for Grey Area before release what Sonic modders do for Sonic games after release"

~September 15th you vibrant fools~

[lucifer-is-a-bag-of-dicks]

when I took a month off work I was lowkey worried I'd come back and find everyone had been fine without me and I wasn't needed at all (because being terrible at every previous job I've had did some ✨damage✨ to my self confidence)

but that is not what happened

I have never encountered someone so fucking happy to see me as my boss' wife was on my first day back, her face lit up like it was christmas, she was practically jumping for joy because now that I'm back she doesn't have to do the ops team's fucking timesheets anymore

I have been told by one of the ops guys that my leave of absence had caused a genuine rift in the boss' marriage because his wife hated doing my job so much they were actively fighting about it

to be clear, his wife is lovely, she doesn't usually throw a shit fit about just anything, it was just that my job is just so fucking annoying that she hated every second of it, and that was the most validating shit I have ever experienced in my LIFE

and the reason she was pissed off at my boss/her husband about it is because he's too soft on his crew and doesn't make them all report their hours for the week

which, as you can imagine, makes building their timesheets extremely fucking difficult

it basically turns the whole process into a puzzle that I have to solve using roughly three different sources of information, one of which is the boss himself who isn't always easy to get ahold of when he's on a site

this puzzle is made even more difficult by the fact that a glitch in our form system keeps messing up the dates on the timecards, so I have to cross reference the time cards from the two (2) ops team members, who actually DO fill out their forms, with the roster, but my boss often changes the roster at the last minute without telling me or noting it down, so then I have to cross reference with the reports they have to submit for certain ongoing jobs because they'll have correct dates and also a list of who was present (if they were doing one off smalltime jobs that week I'll have no physical records and will rely entirely on the boss' memory to confirm dates and staff numbers, unless I can get ahold of one of the ops team members themselves and there's only one who will reliably communicate with me but only when he's not currently on a site)

I tried to explain this process to boss' wife before I left and, looking horrified, she asked me 'is there no way to streamline this?' I replied 'this is streamlined'

as far as I'm aware, as long as I've worked there, there has only been a handful of times people were paid incorrectly, and it was because I was not given correct information by the boss, in the time I was gone, his wife told me that she had incorrectly logged several pays because of this broken ass system

so, as you could imagine, my ego is through the fucking roof right now, I am GOOD at this bullshit job, I took an impossible system and made it work, I am playing on hard mode and killing it, in a field I had zero experience in before taking this job other than a natural inclination for organising and scheduling

and to be clear, I love this job, the boss is too soft on his staff but he's a good guy, he makes us all feel valued and appreciated, he paid me above my award rate, he's absurdly accommodating, and I have an insane amount of freedom to do what I want with company files

I may be working with a bullshit system but I can take naps in the office whenever I want and tell my boss off when he's being too soft (one time his wife literally started clapping when I told him off for sending clients their reports before they'd paid for them) and I get to control when I work, and whether I work from home or the office (which is GREAT when my back flares up)

I might not get many hours (only 16 hours per week) because the company is so small and I run out of things to do because I've streamlined everything (boss literally called me TOO EFFICIENT), but he'll give me those 16 even if I spend half of it playing solitaire and watching youtube

so just, yeah, it feels so good to be confident in my work, to feel valued and appreciated and like I'm actually successful at something after being handed dud jobs for years that I wasn't cut out for, and now knowing that what I'm doing is actually genuinely hard but I've been doing it anyway without fail, makes me feel good!

so tldr; taking a month off work taught me I have phenomenal job security because if my boss ever fires me his wife might actually fucking kill him

[skinnywalker]

Professional protector (Aaron Hotchner x nanny! male reader)

It's become a slight problem. Most nights it Hotch was late. Some he wasn't home at all and babysitters were only so reliable.

"You're really using Garica to get a other new babysitter?"

"I'm not trust random teens with my boy."

Emily rolls her eyes and pulls away the file of potential names.

"Can't you just hire a full time?"

Hotch groans.

"Same problem."

"Well it's either a once time issue or a till-jack-is-grown issue so make up you mind."

She's right of course, he needs to just bite the bullet.

After nearly an hour of barely scrapable options Hotch's attention was caught by a face.

Young, clean cut, handsome and with a bakround in child care. He gives Hocth a strange stomach twist, the kind he felt in high-school when he meet Harley. That same at once connection.

"Is he free?"

"Looks like it. Says on his employee web page he is open for full weekdays."

"Send that to me would you?"

Garcia can't help the small grin that crosses her lips.

"At once my lord."

From his nightstand the buzz of that familiar notification sounds him awake.

Clients.

He checks the profile his boss Diane always sends but this one is different than normal. He is used to business men who don't have time for their children but the man is an FBI agent and high in ranks too.

Doesn't look half bad either.

"How much is the pay?

"60 an hour."

He stops dead in his track.

"60? For one child and house sitting?"

"Ahuh. He asked me if that was too low."

"Too low?!"

She smiled at him with a gleam I her eyes.

"He really wanted you specifically."

Hotch keep glancing at his watch. He wasn't late but Hotch was nervous he might be.

"Excuse are you Mr. Hotchner?"

He's pretty in person Hotch thinks. More real. More warm. He's bright-looking but not cocky. Fair featured but no vain. He could reach out his hand and Hotch would near before him to kiss it without even thinking.

"Yes, you must be the nanny."

"Ahuh. Would you like to go over the details of what you need me to do while your away?"

Hotch smiles. He has no clue why but it feels natural.

"Of course."

Hotch leads him through the house explain everything he needs from the house care side of things.

"-and if you can't try to fold the blankets to fit in properly I'd be really thankful."

"Of course. What about your son?"

"Jack spends most of the day at school. He still in k-8 and does sometimes need homework help. He can make his own food but often prefers it made. He has 2-3 hours of screen time weekdays and 4 on weekends. He'll want to call me when I'm out of town which you can also do if you need anything."

He nods. Simple kid.

"He always wants to come along on grocery trips and basically anytime you leave the house."

Hotch hands him the house keys.

"And most importantly he'll ask for want he wants and his bedtime is 8:30."

"Got it. I call you at night if I have questions."

"Daddy?"

The two turn to see a sleepy toddler standing in door way. His spider-man pj's frumbled from napping.

"Hey Jack buddy, this is your new babysitter. He'll be here all day till I come back in the evenings so you don't have to be alone at home."

Jack looks up. Hotch feels the two smiling at eachother. His heart is aching know Jack is already bonding with the nanny. This have been a good idea.

"I have to go home today Jack but I'll see you again tomorrow ok?"

"Ok! Can we play with my Lego pirates."

"We can play whatever you want to Jack."

Hotch loves that smile on Jack. The innocent love. His boy is safe.

"Hotch? We have an emergency."

"What is it J.J.?"

"Ten victims all male in their 20s and the unsub is moving."

"I'll be there in ten mintues."

Hotch's body knows the routine of his morning work runs so well it work on autopilot.

Lastly he kisses Jack's sleeping head and text his new nanny 8 words.

"Flying for work for at least a week."

He'll get what I mean Hotch thinks before he stops himself. Why is he so sure? He doesn't even know the guy and he is trusting him like an old friend already. That's not good but Hotch can't seem to stop himself. He doesn't trust easily but something about him is so safe. So at home at ease. Hotch hates how his walls are just gone the moment he met a pretty man who takes care of his son. Hotch hopes he'll stay.

"He's targeting men who seem successful in love. Men with kids and partners and well paying jobs. Young man living how he wants to live. And he does it through robbery and hold ups. He is choosing targets on the fly."

"Where do we thinking he is making his way to?"

"Maybe his home or his get away car. I don't think he can keep this up for too long and I know he thinks that too."

At the hotel Hotch picks up his nightly call.

"How's your nanny been buddy?"

"I love daddy! He is super smart and he knew all about the history for my test on Tuesday and he makes such good pasta and he read me all the books I have trouble with!"

Hotch feel his stomach twist again. Just like a dad.

"That's great buddy. I'm glad you like him so much."

"He is gonna be my new best friend."

"I'm sure he will sweets now you need to good to bed."

"Ok, Goodnight daddy."

"Sleepwell Buddy. I love you."

"Love you too!"

He's safe. He's for the first time Hotch feels confident in thinking that Jack is really safe and happy. He sleeps better that night then he has in a while.

"Unsub is now in Virginia and he's getting risky. Going straight for our home now. He might even be there at this moment."

"So we came out here just to go home?"

"No, we came out here to know for certain he is home. Let's go."

Jack had asked to come along to the Cafe. He had followed his nanny to the counter and was rewarded with a small pink lemonade.

"Have you ever tried limeade or just lemon?"

He shakes his head no.

"Never liked lime. Too sour."

He chuckles.

"I like a lot of sour things especially ones that have some sweet in them."

"Everyone get on the floor! This is a hold up and if everyone behaves no one will get hurt."

Jack looks up confused and then frighten.

"Nanny?"

"Comere Jack. Everything will be alright."

"We've tracked him to a Cafe he's holding up. Swat is on their way but we don't time on our side."

"How fast can we get there?"

"20."

"20 is not fast enough."

"You, with the blonde kid. Move up here."

His arms wrap around Jack and gently lead them both to the front.

"Give him to me."

"No."

His breathing hitches.

"I'm not letting you near him. You'll have to take me first."

The click of the handriffle echoed in his ears before he felt the the world go black.

When the room came back into focus he realized he was in the ER. His chest was burning. He could feel the dizziness bringing him in and out of blurry awareness.

"Hey, just rest, you're really injured."

"Jack.. what about Jack?"

"He's safe with his father."

A knock at the door interrupts them.

"Hello Doctor is it OK for me to see him?"

"Mr. Hotch? Is that you?"

Hotch leans over the hospital bed brush some hair.

"How are you feeling?"

"I've been worse."

"Worse than shot?"

He giggled even though it hurt.

"Yeah. I'm better knowing Jack is safe."

"He was really scared for you, so was I. You don't know how much it means to me that you put yourself in such danger for my boy."

"I'd do it again."

Hotch felt strange. On one hand he was deeply relieved that he was safe but such a close call had his nerves in a twist. It was like a weight had been added to his psyche. Hotch couldn't let anything happen to him. He felt protective.

"How is he?"

"Exhausted but ok."

"Hotch I know he is just your nanny but you seem pretty worried."

"I can't help but be. He nearly died keeping Jack safe. I don't know what could've happened if I hired someone less bare. This whole time I've felt so.... connected with him. Like he is someone who I can trust."

"Does Agent Aaron Hotchner have a slight crush."

Oh no.

[delta-pavonis]

Dreaming Week 2024 Day 3

Dreamling Week 2024 Day 3 Prompts (from @mr-sadman): solarpunk, painting, meet cute, massage

Dreamling || Rated T || 1093 words

tags (other than the prompts above): fantasy, urban fantasy, solarpunk, drow druid/sorcerer Dream, half wood elf bard/gunsmith Hob, investigator partners with a history, they get captured and held for days as torture, passing mention of biological consequences of being tied to chairs for days on end, confessions

Read Part 1 here. Part 2 here.

(In chronological order, Part 2 comes before Part 1 and this comes after Part 1. Mentions events of Part 1 and events discussed in Part 2.)

“When we get out of this the first thing I am doing is getting a three hour massage, bloody fuck these chains are tight.” Dream tries to twist his wrist to get some wiggle room and can't even manage that; all the movement does is jostle their chairs. His partner whines. “You alright there, Hob?”

They are chained to a pair of chairs, back to back, with heavy steel links. The chains aren't spelled, but they don't need to be when they are this tight: there is no way Dream will pull off even the smallest somatic component restrained like this and Hob certainly can’t play an instrument or draw a gun. Even worse, the room is unnaturally dark.

Dream hadn’t realized how used he had gotten to the sunlight and the greenery of the surfacelands until they were taken from him. For a moment he takes comfort in thoughts of twirling tree branches forming the beams of great towers, arched windows carefully grown in between, columns of elevators going so high they meet the top of the building in the clouds. He thinks of winding streets made of sandstone and brass and overflowing with greenery, the whirring music of solar panels as they track the sunlight along with their flower-kin. 

The thought of the movement of the sun reminds Dream that time has been passing, that they have been in here long enough that he is starting to have trouble tracking time–the only clock he has to go by is his heartbeat and that is only reliable for so long. Hunger has long since passed into a dull ache, which tells him it must be more than a couple days. Both of them have vacated all the remaining volume of foodstuffs left in their digestive tracts, removing another marker of time. 

They have not seen another soul since they awoke here. There is a dim illumination that comes from… somewhere, but Dream cannot pinpoint it. It is only enough to see his own knees by, make out the faintest outline of the large stone blocks of the ceiling that is a mere few feet above their heads. It is not enough for Hob to see anything, dull as his half-human senses are. 

Cruelly enough, water drips from the seams in the stone structure in a few places, landing on the top of their heads, on Hob’s shoulder and chest, on Dream’s cheek. It is the bare minimum to keep them alive and Dream suspects that is very much on purpose.

Dream leans his head back with a sigh and it presses against Hob's. 

“You ever wonder what would have happened if we met under different circumstances?” Hob's speech is slurred enough that it makes Dream reconsider if those arrows they got hit with were a poison targeted for those of the surface. It adds a new layer to the puzzle of who has captured them. “Like, if I wasn't working that night in the tavern, wasn't being the biggest distraction possible?” He is silent for a beat. “I would've asked to join you at your table. Start back up properly, like old friends might. But we’re not friends, are we?” His chuckle is hollow. “No, most definitely not. Perhaps I would’ve tried to woo you with song… paint you a picture with music. Gods, you were so beautiful. Are. So beautiful.”

“Hob…” He doesn't sound like himself, can't possibly be meaning to say any of this. 

“Do you have any idea how badly I want you? Fuck, like all the time. From the very first moment I saw you, when you walked into the Guildhall while I was trying to convince them to hire me. I can even still hear the swissh-click of your airwalker boots on the wooden floor.” Dream can hear him swallow. “It never goes away, you know? This yearning for you. It lives inside me now.”

He closes his eyes and tries to ignore it. Hob cannot be meaning to say this right now and Dream certainly does not want to hear it without Hob’s consent; he is relieved when they lapse into silence once again. 

But it doesn't last.

“If you get a chance to escape, you have to promise me to take it, even if you can't get me out.” Hob’s voice is a threadbare whisper.

No. They can't talk like this. He won't have it. “Hob, you’re-”

“I am not delirious and I am not talking nonsense!” He is panting now and Dream swears he can hear Hob's racing heartbeat. It is another piece of evidence that he is not himself. “Promise me, Dream. Promise me you will save yourself if you have the chance, even at my expense.”

“No.” Absolutely not. Dream's answer is immediate and brooks no argument; he won't even consider it. The idea is anathema, like teaching the Druidic language outside of a Circle or attempting to unbalance Nature itself. “I will not leave without you.” 

Hob’s breath rate is increasing, pushing into hyperventilating, and his voice is unsteady as a newborn foal’s legs. He sounds almost on the verge of tears and it makes something in Dream’s heart crack. “Please, Dream! I need you to promise me.”

He grits his teeth hard enough to make them squeak. “I will make no such vow.” Dream growls. It is harsh, he knows, but he will also not lie to Hob. Not after everything they’ve been through. 

They never got a chance to talk about it, what lay implied between them from their adventure with that soul-swapping curse. Not properly. Not before this case, which pretty much immediately went tits up. Fuck, they should have spoken about it. 

Dream adds this to his long ledger of regrets.

When Hob speaks again the words are clearly forced through a rising tide of panic. “I need to know you’ll be safe, that y-” 

“Breathe Hob. We don’t need to plan-”

“Promise me!” he sobs. “I need to know you wi-”

That something in Dream breaks.

“I will not leave without my Mate!”

For a moment the only sound in the small room is Hob’s panting, then Dream lets his head fall back; this time it lands on Hob’s shoulder with a dull whump.

“You were right. What you felt during the curse.” Dream closes his eyes. “I am sorry I didn’t tell you. I just… we were… we’ve been…”

Hob turns his head, twists his shoulders, as much as possible, until his nose nudges the point of Dream’s ear. “Stupid. We’ve been truly. Amazingly. Stupid.”