#multipurpose desk

[besttoptenglobal]

(via Furinno Econ Multipurpose Home Office Computer Writing Desk, White/Black - Best Top Ten Global)

[lesbokyoko]

i cant stop thinking abt eules. guys help.

[resinlakestudio]

Super cute candy wrapped multipurpose planter boxes🍬💕 more colors available!

Link ➡️ https://resinlakestudio.etsy.com/listing/4306048567

[they-call-me-hippie]

I am considering The Sims-ing my desk

[interiorergonomics]

Essential Features for Construction Site Office Furniture in Dubai.

Dubai’s extreme climate conditions, including intense heat, humidity, and dust, necessitate durable and weather-resistant furniture. Using powder-coated steel or aluminum frames prevents corrosion, while laminated wooden surfaces resist warping in high temperatures. For outdoor use, UV-resistant plastic furniture is ideal, ensuring longevity despite exposure to harsh sunlight. Given that…

[levi-seijuro]

Family Room Enclosed Santa Barbara Example of a large, enclosed family room in the beach style with a brown floor and cork flooring, blue walls, no fireplace, and a wall-mounted television.

[imaginedreamwrite]

Love The Hell Out Of You

Part 2: Two Sides

It was a small and quaint village that was the source of your departure from the cabin in the forest. With a heavy list of things scrawled onto cheap yellow notepaper that was shoved into your pocket, and a series of things you needed to accomplish, you had no choice but to leave the home you'd inherited and face the new world around you.

It was a debilitating risk that made your heart feel tightly bound in wire within your chest, and you had placed your emotional cycle briefly on pause. 

But even the smallest attempt to keep it under control was stymied by the threat of your emotional state climbing the guardrails you nailed in place. It was inevitable, the hormones from your pregnancy could only be held back for so long, and you were bound to cry again for the loss of an alpha who never really cared, and the little life that was depending on you.

It wasn’t a choice anymore, you didn’t have the luxury of being able to decide whether this was something you wanted to do, or something you had to do. This was a necessity, if you couldn’t get the wood furnace working to heat the rest of the home, it wouldn’t amount to anything good once winter would hit.

You could count on the fireplace in the living room however that would only produce so much heat, and you would have to actively be aware of the fire throughout the night. 

At least with the wood burning furnace, once you had a large enough piece of wood to slowly burn, you could be able to maintain a steady heat throughout the cabin. However, there was something wrong with one of the sensors, or one of the panels, and you would have to find someone to fix it. You wouldn’t be able to fix it on your own even if you had the tools and the parts, the furnace was well built but everything was written in German, and your little and basic understanding wouldn’t get you anywhere. 

All in all, the venture into the village was as life dependent as it was a chance to show your face and get to know people. This was going to be your home for a considerable future, and you would have to make people aware that you were there. You were pregnant, you would be making trips into the village for supplies for yourself and your baby, socializing with people you might have to rely on was vital. 

The first stop you had made into the village was a multipurposed hardware store that had offered repairs services on the side. You had parked your vehicle on the side street by the public parking rows and made your way down the pavement toward the front door of the white stone and wooden building. The handcrafted wooden sign hanging above the door was the indication that you were in the right place, and you had climbed the three small steps to get to the door. 

You inhaled slowly, building up nerves to cross the threshold and attempt to put your limited German to use to try and seek help. The moment your hands had rested on the door handle, and you pushed, you were almost immediately tripped by an orange cat with one ear that went flying by you. The furry creature darted into the hardware store before you, jumping effortlessly onto a long wooden counter with a register nearest the door. Once you had entered the store and closed the door behind you, the cat had perched on the desk and meowled at you, tilting its head as if to demand a greeting. 

You balanced the English German translation book you had brought with you under your arm in order to give the cat a scratch behind its remaining ear, rubbing its head after it so loudly demanded you to. While you were looking around the store at the shelves that were organized in long rows with aisles that led to a series of two desks set up near the back of the store, likely a place where someone could hire contractors or order bulk supplies. 

“Guten morgan.” A woman had stepped out from one of the shelves, setting a plastic basket full of packages screws and nails down on the desk, her greying brown hair pulled back into a low ponytail that was draped over her shoulder. “Brauchen Sie etwas?” 

You looked at the woman with a slightly uneased expression, trying to detect and pick apart any words that you could have easily detected in German. From the tone of voice, you could surmise that she was asking you if you needed help, and you had grabbed your English German book and flipped open the pages, stumbling over the pronunciation. 

“Guten morgan.” You finally spoke, getting the greeting down without a struggle, however it was the rest that had caught you off guard. “Ich muss einen...” 

Your thumbed through the translation book in your hands, your stomach felt like it was twisting with anxiety when you felt the woman’s staring you down. “Ofen reparieren-” 

“Englisch?” The woman had cut you off before you could truly finish, moving closer toward you and the register you were standing nearby. “You are English, ja?” 

“My German is terrible, I’m really sorry.” You closed the book with a sigh, and that guard you had on your emotions was quickly starting to crumble as you spoke. “I just moved into a cabin out of the village and the wood furnace isn’t working. I don’t know if it’s the senor or if it’s something else but-” 

“Ah you need a fix.” The woman had sensed your nervousness, how could she not when you were stumbling over your words while actively looking as if you were about to cry. To your emotional state, she had tilted her head and looked you over before her attention flit toward the desks near the back. “Come with me.” 

You turned away from the door and followed the woman away from the register, taking the same path as she had through the long aisles of tools, big and small, toward the set of desks in the back. As you walked the orange cat with one ear followed you, its tail sticking straight up in the air, swishing occasionally as if it were the real tour guide and not this woman. 

“Sit here.” She was direct in her order for you to sit on the desk at the left, and you took a seat where she instructed, setting your book in front of you while the notepad of your other tasks remained in your pocket.  Your knee bounced beneath the desk, a nervous tick that you’d always seemed to have, while the reminder of what you were doing here was hinging on your success. There was little you could do and accomplish if you didn’t get this furnace fixed before the temperatures started dipping. 

Not to mention you would need a doctor, or at the very least find a walk-in clinic, someplace that could look after you during your pregnancy. Or at the very least, try and find a midwife to help you. 

You waited for the woman for fifteen minutes before she had walked back out from the back offices and had taken a seat in front of you. With a requisition form requesting information about your repairs, she was quick to inform you in English that there was a wait period for someone to come and look at what was wrong with your furnace. It was her husband and her son who did the repairs, not just for the people and businesses in the village, but for others who lived on the outskirts like yourself. 

You took the form and the pen she had given you to fill out the requisition form, and while it wasn’t ideal, it was your only option. You couldn’t do this yourself; you couldn’t have possibly understood the process of fixing a wood furnace even if everything was written in English and the parts were there for you. You would have to wait; you would have to bide your time and do what you could on your own merit and on your own time. 

With no immediate remedy available, you had given the woman your thanks and handed the form off before you stood. You took your translation book with you and started heading out toward the front door, once again almost getting taken down by that same cat. You sighed just as you had before, giving the orange furry ball a pet goodbye before you left. 

************************************** 

He had no idea what drew him to the little cafe on the main street, the one that was located between the flower shop and the general store on the other side. It wasn’t as if the imposing alpha, well known in the Austrian village, was a stranger to anyone within the small, populated town. And the cafe that he found himself steadily walking toward was one that he had frequented often when he had to leave his property for supplies, however there was something in his bones that felt different. 

It was as if he was being drawn toward the bakery and cafe, pulled there by some invisible force that had taken possession of the old colonel. Whether that be an order that he was given by some unforeseen force, or one of his alpha instincts, it was a directive he could not turn down. König walked with a rushed gait toward the front entrance, his large hand yanking opens the door to step foot inside the traditional Austrian bakery with no reasonable excuse to be here. And once inside, he had taken a long and studious look around the cafe, trying to pinpoint the causality that registered as so fucking urgent in his mind. 

It seemed as if nothing was out of the ordinary in this cafe, nothing that would have withhold his bodily autonomy from turning around and leaving. There were tasks that the beast of an alpha had to accomplish before he could enjoy being on a few weeks leave from the KorTac base. A distraction that had blindsided him was neither easily accepted or understood, and the patience he held for himself was deliberately thin. 

Of the catalysts that could have spurred this great invisible hand that forced him to enter the cafe like there was a fire lit under his ass, he knew it had nothing to do with the locals. It was neither the owner of the cafe and bakery nor the patrons that had all come to know him as a PMC soldier, that had been the tugging force that brought him here. And the further he had cast his attention around the counter where he would place his order, and the main sitting area, the closer he had come to the conclusion that he was wrong. 

That this was all some grave mistake, a symptom of being tired from the constant long hours and the missions that took him through hell while he was deployed. There was no cognitive to the urgency that he felt upon approaching the front door. 

He had almost turned and left, the alpha with an exhaustion weighing heavily on his shoulders had almost said to hell with this invisible force that had inhibited its own desires upon his autonomy. König was already shifting on his heels to turn and leave, giving up on the fool’s errand when he had caught the glimmer of someone in the corner of his eyes. 

Why he hadn’t seen this omega when he first walked into the building was almost as confounding as why he was brought here to begin with. He would have walked right past you, twice, without noticing you were there. But now that he had seen you, sitting huddled at a table near the back corner by a window, he felt that same familiar tug as before. 

Fate. An unforeseen force. Whatever fucked up alpha instinct had told him that he needed to see this particular omega, it didn’t matter in the end what the cause was. 

He was here now, and the further he was drawn toward you, the clearer it had become that something had intervened. And the further he got to this omega sitting by herself, the clearer your scent was able to be picked up amongst the mix of smells that filled the cafe. 

Your scent was soft and airy, clean and refreshing. Vanilla that was trailing lilac, and the smell of something sweet like strawberries that reminded König of the strawberry patch his mother grew back at his childhood home. Your scent was beckoning to him like a siren’s call, like you were a phantom voice that had spoken to him through the thick hedges of darkness, a light that he had never seen before but desperately wanted to touch. 

It was improbable, a fight that was building within himself over the rationality that he was just a man that had just seen a pretty girl, and the deeper part of himself that knew he was an alpha who caught hold of a scent that had spoken to him. Not that he was the kind of alpha or man who thought fate had a hand in his future, in deciding who or what was the best combination of attributes for a mate. 

But it was no accident; he had to at least admit that. 

There was something that made him come here, something that had brought him to this very spot where an omega, a young pretty omega, who he had never seen before, was sitting. And it didn’t take a genius to understand that the rumors he had heard, about a new omega moving to this small village, was one and the same now. 

König had heard the millings, the whispering conversations of a pregnant omega who was abandoned by an alpha who didn’t want her. That was you, he surmised, and given the velocity of the rumors and how they had spread, you had only been here for days. 

He had scrambled to dig into his mind for the rest of the gossip he had heard since he had been back to the village. One, of course, was that you were pregnant and single—the alpha who got you pregnant was long gone—and that you were living in the cabin that was only a few miles from his own. 

But there was more wasn’t there? What else had he heard? 

That your furnace was broken, the same kind of wood furnace that had in his own cabin, and that the list of people waiting for repair services was long. Of course, your name was on the list, but you were pregnant, and you couldn’t wait forever. 

That same urgency that led him to the cafe had also directed him toward your table, and the approach of this massive alpha in front of you had certainly taken you by surprise. Hellfire could come and consume him in the moment, swallowing him whole and burning flesh from bone and König still wouldn’t have passed—because the moment your eyes land on his, and he sees those big anxious eyes, he fucking breaks. 

He's a beast, he’s a damn monster on the battlefield who has gone after terrorists, had been shot at and hunted down. He's a colonel, a battering ram an insertion specialist, he’s handled hostage deals and has earned a reputation within korTac. 

But you, a teary-eyed omega who’s pregnant and abandoned, staring at him with those eyes, and he feels as if his heart and soul are being ripped out of his body. 

It’s almost too reminiscent of his own life, with a mother who raised a little boy on her own when his father abandoned them both. And his mother raised König with all she had, providing her big boy with everything she had to offer him, even if it meant she worked tirelessly and to the bone. 

“I’m sorry, did you want to sit here?” Your things were slightly scattered on the table, an English German translation book, pregnancy tests spilling out of your bag, a phone that was lying face up on the table, a copy of the requisition form for the repairs. A list of other things that needed to be done was written on an old yellow notepad, slipping out of your bag like the pregnancy tests, and with a sense of urgency you were trying to pick up your things. 

“You are new here.” König pulled out the chair opposite of you and sat down, his hands folded in front of him. It was comical in a series of ways, this hulking and great giant alpha sitting across from an omega that he could very well squish in body height and mass. This alpha who was a soldier from the time he was 17 or 18, looking at a younger omega with red rimmed eyes and slightly puffy cheeks from crying, pregnant and vulnerable. 

“Was it the bad German?” You were attempting to make light of the situation, either that or you were avoiding the obvious question he might have asked next, like why you were crying.  

“I haven’t heard you speak German.” Instead, his response was blunt, and he had still avoided telling you how he knew you weren’t a local. Not that it was hard to tell, you were only here a few days and people had already known your life story, or what you had told anyway. 

“You have the cabin in disrepair,” he continued speaking in a matter-of-fact tone, drawing your attention away from grabbing your things, giving him time to focus on your scent as it had started working its way under his flesh. “You need a furnace fixed.” 

“How did you..?” you were caught off guard, the surprise replacing the threat of tears that were almost ready to spill down your cheeks again.  

“I’m your neighbor, I live a few miles from you.” König had inhaled your scent, subtly trying to get more and more of it, as it seemed to want to be intertwined with his own. The older alpha had never been so drawn, so enraptured with an omega or her scent like this, and he was scrambling to come to terms with it. “I have the same wood furnace I can help fix it for you.” 

It was that same force that drove him into this place that made him speak so freely. He was no longer in control of his mind, of his tongue or his inhibitions to deny a pretty omega when she needed help. It was an urgency; it was instincts, and he was following them blindly. 

“I... what?” You were puzzled, at the very least, as your eyebrows had become furrowed and knit together on your forehead. You were staring at him with a natural cautionary glance, likely so emotionally complexed by your previous alpha that you were unsure of what to say or do around him. 

“I will fix it for you. Tomorrow.” König was out of his element and yet he still approached the problem like a leader he was. The colonel, who was used to taking matters into his own hands and commanding orders to his soldiers, was now taking charge of the situation while being led by instincts he still didn’t quite understand. “You are pregnant, you cannot have a house with no heat. I’ll fix it tomorrow.” 

He pushed his chair back and stood up from the table, giving a curt nod without waiting for confirmation or any response from you beyond the squeak of an omega. König was clear, he was going to fix this for you, despite not even knowing you, because there was a portion of himself that would not rest otherwise. 

And he was following instincts. The same instincts or invisible force, that led him here so randomly, was pushing him to help his new neighbor. By some madness or twist of fate that he might not have even believed in, he agreed anyway. 

And he would be damned if he didn’t feel weak for a little omega who reminded him of his own mother, who struggled on her own to raise him when he was a child.

[rikiws]

꩜ SWEET NOTHINGS (LITERALLY).

▸ non-idol!riki x gn!reader ┆ mutual (and very oblivious) pining [fluff]

꩜ When you find a pack of your favourite gummies on your desk and a sticky-note with a little heart on it, relentless teasing from your friends is probably about to be the end of you. But a certain someone seems to be making it much, much worse. .ᐟ feat. eunchae of lsrfm and danielle of nwjns!!!

. . . under the cut ⊹ (0.5k - words)

"These reminded me of you, I hope you like them Ps: I think you're really cute :) Love, ᰔ" A heart. They put a heart too. And you have no idea who it even is.

Standing at the corner of your desk, your eyes transfixed and re-reading the small blue post-it-note stuck to your table, and right beside was a small packet of your favourite gummies. The person even went through the trouble to get your favourite flavour: strawberry. You had a pack of those nearly every day, for sustenance, quick energy, moral support, it was pretty multipurpose. But the fact that this time it wasn't you who bought them, but someone else- a someone else that you specifically didn't even know, that was crazy.

Safe to say, you were so caught up in your own thoughts, you failed to notice your two friends frantically waving their hands right in your face.

"Earth to Y/N? You've been standing there for like 5- OHMYGOSHWHATISTHATDOYOUHAVEANADMIRER?!"

"Eunchae, you're lucky I could understand that." Danielle spoke up, and the two almost immediately started bickering. Thank god you didn't have to explain yourself anymore- nope. Nevermind. They went right back to staring at you, and they looked pretty expectant.

"Listen, I have no idea who it is-" "Ooo~ it's a mystery guy huh?" "It's not like that-" "Yes the hell it is?" You didn't bother to respond. Your friends were beyond help: giggling and pointing at you like 7th graders. You were just about ready to start fighting them 2-on-1 until you heard a voice that most definitely did not belong to any of the three of you. "What happened?"

You turned yourself around and Oh good god. It was Nishimura Riki. The giggles only grew louder behind you once your friends noticed too, and you could feel your cheeks grow warm all of a sudden. God was he cute, and he's in front of you right now, like talking to you, he even asked you a question! Wait- he asked you a question. "Well, er-" "Y/N over here got some sweets from her secret admirer~" "God, they even picked out Y/N's favourite flavour! It's 'kinda thoughtful" Your friends spoke over your stammering, going on-and-on about how cute the gesture was. How the admirer must be such a cute guy. In all honesty, you agreed too. It was really cute. Something you failed to notice however, was the sudden nervousness in Riki's demeanour. His hand bashfully went up to the back of his neck, and he blurted out, "Oh It's nothing, really. I just walked by the store and-" The four of you went quiet. Riki stopped, you could see the gears turn in his head until he realised what he just said. And you could most definitely hear the sirens blaring in his head when his eyes suddenly widened. "Oh no... I left my homework in...the...bathroom. I'll see you guys later! Bye Y/N!" Riki disappeared nearly as quickly as he appeared, and you swore your cheeks were on fire or something now. You stood there in silence, eyes now glued to the door the boy had just sprinted out of. Quietly, a voice, nearly a whisper sounded from behind you: Danielle's. "Oh wow..." You couldn't have said it any better.

A/N : please ignore how I added extra stuff, I literally pulled out this blurb in like 30 minutes and am way too indecisive to just leave it be (҂◡_◡)

꩜ want to read more? check out my masterlist

[mourningdasies]

AFTER THE STORM

A Jamilton fanfic featuring two broken old men in the modern era

Word count - 3.9k

CHAPTER FOUR

It started with a Gmail notification at 6:43 a.m. on a Tuesday.

Alexander sat in the teacher lounge with his thermos of over-sweetened coffee and the remains of a dry protein bar in his lap, rubbing the heel of his palm against his temple as he reread the email header again:

“Winter Art Showcase Lead: Confirmation + Expectations”

He clicked it open with the tip of his thumb, hoping he’d read it wrong, that the glitchy district email had sent it to the wrong Alexander, that some poor other bastard was about to carry the full weight of Ruary Middle School’s end-of-semester chaos.

But no.

It was him.

Congratulations! Due to your availability and enthusiasm, the email read—God, enthusiasm—you’ve been selected to take the lead on the Winter Art Showcase…

His left eye twitched.

Aaron had warned him not to ignore chain emails. “Silence is consent when it comes to administrative bullshit,” he’d muttered one night over leftovers and reruns. Hamilton had waved him off then, half-drunk and exhausted, muttering that if they needed him, they’d ask.

Well.

They’d asked.

Without asking.

He skimmed the list of responsibilities. Coordinate between departments. Schedule showcase performances. Communicate with parent volunteers. Secure funding from the PTA. And that wasn’t even getting into setting up the multipurpose room the night before and making sure none of the kids got into fights backstage over who got more time on the mic.

By the time he hit the third paragraph, Alexander exhaled sharply through his nose, tossed the protein bar wrapper in the trash, and muttered, “Jesus fucking Christ.”

A few heads turned.

Mrs. King gave him that sharp smile from where she sat with her ever-steaming cup of chamomile, probably already mentally docking him ten professionalism points. She was always watching, always eavesdropping with the smugness of someone whose fifth-grade reading group ran itself.

Hamilton pushed back from the breakroom table and stood up abruptly. “Bathroom,” he muttered to no one in particular.

He didn’t go to the bathroom. Instead, he wandered the halls for a few minutes, biting his thumbnail and contemplating whether he could fake his own death before December 22nd.

His first two periods crawled. The students were wired with energy, the kind that made them slap each other’s backpacks for no reason and whisper Christmas countdowns like spells under their breath. Alexander tried to stay grounded—reviewing paragraph structure with the seventh graders, grading poetry prompts from the eighth—but his attention kept drifting.

By the time third period rolled around—his prep period, blessedly—he was in full-on fight-or-flight mode.

He sat at his desk in a classroom that still smelled faintly of Expo markers and middle school deodorant, staring at the blinking cursor on a new Google Doc titled “Winter Art Showcase: Task List.” It blinked at him like it was mocking him.

Alexander leaned back in his chair and exhaled, glancing out the window. The sky was overcast—dull gray like the inside of his head. The kind of winter day that never really woke up.

Thomas Jefferson’s classroom was across the hall and one door down. He thought about walking over.

He didn’t particularly want to ask Thomas for help. But after months of working here, it was clear the students adored him—and even more telling, so did the staff. His classroom was the hub for everything creative. Choir, jazz ensemble, musical theater kids, loners who drew on their arms. He ran it like a ship and the kids followed.

If anyone knew how to handle a damn art showcase, it was him.

Alexander stood up. Then sat back down, because he remembered Thomas hadn’t even come to work that day.

Then he stood up again, also remembering he needed to refill his coffee mug.

But just as he was grabbing his mug and starting toward the door, he saw someone slip into Jefferson’s classroom.

A tall man in a beige coat, lean and serious, flipping open the door like he had the right to be there. Which meant he probably did.

Hamilton watched for a moment, then stepped into the hallway, jogging a few steps down to intercept.

“Hey,” he called out as the door creaked open wider. “He’s not here.”

The man turned.

He had a narrow face and tired eyes, the kind that hadn’t slept properly in a week. His gaze swept over Alex like he was making quick calculations.

“Excuse me?”

“Jefferson,” Alex clarified, thumbing toward the door. “He’s not in today. Wasn’t here first period either.”

The man’s expression darkened, subtle but visible. His shoulders squared a little.

“Hm,” the man said.

There was an edge in his voice that suggested this wasn’t just a casual visit.

“You looking for him for school stuff or…?” Alex tilted his head, cautiously polite. “I can leave a note or something.”

The man hesitated, looking over his shoulder into the empty classroom, then back at Alexander.

“No,” he said finally. “I’ll go see him.”

That made Alex blink.

“Like—see him? Like at his house?”

The man’s mouth twitched. “That’s the plan.”

“Damn,” Alex said before he could stop himself. “Wish I had friends like that.”

The stranger gave a flat, unreadable look, like he didn’t have time for this.

But Alex pushed forward anyway.

“Actually—wait. Since you’re going to see him, could you tell him something?”

The man looked mildly skeptical but didn’t walk away, so Alex took it as permission.

“Tell him I need help,” he said. “With the Winter Art Showcase. Apparently I’m leading it. Don’t ask me why. I thought he might be… I don’t know. Good at it.”

He hated how sheepish he sounded. Hated how casual he tried to make it.

The man gave him a long look, his eyes narrowing just slightly. “And you are?”

“Alexander Hamilton,” he replied, reaching out to shake the man’s hand on impulse.

The man didn’t take it.

Instead, he nodded once, curtly.

“I’ll let him know.”

Then he turned and walked back down the hallway like he had somewhere much more important to be.

Alexander watched him go, confused.

He returned to his classroom, vaguely annoyed by the interaction. The guy was obviously tight-laced, possibly judging, and definitely overprotective. Thomas probably had a whole entourage of bougie friends with Yale degrees and cufflinks.

Still.

Alex opened a new sticky note on his desktop and wrote: Winter Art Fest. Ask Jefferson. Find damn parent volunteers.

Then he stared at it for a long time, chewing on the corner of his thumb.

Eventually, he added: beige coat guy = ???

Then he closed his laptop.

It was nearly the end of the day when Alexander saw a reply email from admin:

“So glad to have you lead the festival, Mr. Hamilton! We think this will be a great way for you to ‘connect with the student body.’ Let us know if you need support.”

He laughed once, bitter and loud enough to startle the student in the front row of his seventh-period class.

Connect with the student body. Right.

That would’ve required him to be someone they wanted to connect with.

The bell rang. Students surged out into the hall.

Hamilton sat at his desk as the last of the laughter and footsteps died down. Then he folded his arms on the desk and rested his forehead on top of them, letting the noise of the school fade into silence.

All he could think about was how this was going to fall apart in his hands.

All he could think about was how Thomas Jefferson, for all his pretentious piano-playing and smooth confidence, would’ve probably nailed this in his sleep.

And Thomas hadn’t even shown up today.

Lazy, flashy bastard.

He hoped that tight-laced guy—whoever the hell he was—delivered the message.

Because Hamilton had no damn idea how to run an art festival alone.

And even less of an idea why part of him was disappointed Jefferson wasn’t here today.

—

Alexander was still lying on the couch when his phone buzzed. It was late Sunday afternoon, sun bleeding through the blinds in pale strips, painting thin gold lines over his worn hoodie and the living room floor. Aaron had gone out—maybe to get groceries or just to escape the apartment for a bit. Alexander hadn’t moved in an hour.

The buzz came again.

He shifted his hand toward the coffee table, fumbling for the device with the kind of lazy resistance that came from an unmotivated weekend. He flipped it over.

A text from an unknown number.

Unknown Number:

“So you’re the poor bastard who didn’t reply to the staff email. Classic mistake.”

Alex blinked.

Then it buzzed again.

Unknown Number:

“I’m assuming you’re the one stuck managing the festival. Don’t worry. I pity you. I’ll help.”

He stared at it for a moment, his thumb hovering over the screen. The name wasn’t saved, but the smug tone was unmistakable. It was Thomas. He didn’t even question how he got his number. Maybe he bribed a secretary. Maybe he picked it off a contact sheet like a normal human. It didn’t matter.

Alexander exhaled through his nose, something close to a chuckle buried under it. He tapped out a reply:

Alex:

“Thanks. I think. I’ll take the pity.”

There was no immediate response, and he didn’t expect one.

Monday came and the school smelled like cheap cleaning fluid and peppermint—the remnants of some holiday-themed air freshener battle happening in the office. It was cold outside, but in the halls of Ruary Middle School, the radiators clicked and groaned, the air thick and dry.

Alexander had spent the morning trying to convince himself the day wouldn’t be a disaster. The winter art festival had its own chaotic gravitational pull. He’d spent his prep period attempting to sort through three years of past event files—none of them organized, half of them missing, all of them contradictory. One folder was labeled “Festival 2020,” but it contained nothing but a flyer for a science fair.

By lunch, he was so far underwater he wasn’t even kicking.

He sat in the staff lounge, chewing through a turkey sandwich like it had personally offended him, when Thomas sauntered in. Always a little too stylish for a middle school teacher, his jacket had a sheen to it, his curls controlled but still wild enough to look natural. He had a coffee in one hand and his phone in the other, a smirk twitching on his lips like he’d walked in on a private joke.

“Morning, Mr. Hamilton,” he said, sliding into the seat across from him like they’d been meeting up every day for years.

“Jefferson,” Alex said around a bite. “Didn’t expect to see you in here.”

Thomas raised an eyebrow. “Where else would I be? There’s a microwave in here. My classroom doesn’t even have a damn sink.”

Alexander shrugged. “You’re not exactly a regular in the lounge.”

“Neither are you.”

Fair point.

They sat in silence for a moment before Thomas leaned back and gestured loosely at the manila folder on the table between them. “So. The festival.”

Alex groaned. “Kill me.”

Thomas snorted. “Tempting.”

Alex gave him a dry look.

Thomas cleared his throat, setting his coffee down. “Look, I’ve done this thing twice. The trick is to make it look impressive without giving anyone something to complain about. And since this is Lexington, Virginia—”

“—that’s everything,” Alex muttered.

“Exactly.”

Thomas pulled the folder toward himself and flipped it open like he was dissecting a frog. “You’ll need a theme. Something seasonal but vague. Joy, hope, warmth—whatever. Just avoid peace because then someone’s kid will write a poem about Americas past, and that opens up a whole damn conversation we’re not allowed to have here.”

“Jesus,” Alex muttered.

“Include him too,” Thomas added, half-smiling. “Not overtly. Just… thread him in. Have one nativity-themed choir piece. Maybe a classroom does a stained-glass craft. It’ll do wonders for your bonus.”

Alex leaned back. “Are you seriously telling me that if I include Jesus I get a bigger check?”

Thomas shrugged. “No one says it outright. But the best festival gets the best bonus. And the best festival is the one that doesn’t make the PTA clutch their pearls.”

“That’s… gross.”

“That’s the job.”

They sat there a moment. Thomas toyed with the edge of the folder. Alexander studied his face in the silence—noticed how smooth his expression could be when he wasn’t smirking, how the line between sarcasm and sincerity always hovered just behind his eyes.

Alex cleared his throat. “Why are you helping me with this?”

Thomas blinked. “I told you. Pity.”

“Right.” Alex didn’t quite believe that.

Thomas smiled into his coffee. “Besides, it’s kind of fun watching you flail.”

Alex rolled his eyes, but his mouth twitched. “You’re a dick.”

“And you’re terrible at asking for help.”

Another pause. This one wasn’t uncomfortable exactly, but it was awkward. Tangled up in the kind of energy that came from two people who didn’t know what to make of each other yet.

Finally, Alex broke it. “So. You’ve done this twice. How’d that go?”

Thomas snorted. “One year I did a showcase of holiday music from around the world. Thought I was being all inclusive and progressive. Got complaints because I didn’t include enough carols. The second year I just threw together a ‘Winter Magic’ theme, let the kids make glitter crap and sing ‘O Holy Night.’ PTA ate it up.”

They fell back into silence.

Alex picked at the crust of his sandwich. “Do you actually like this job?”

Thomas looked at him, not smiling for once. “I like the kids. The rest of it… you learn to stomach.”

Alex nodded. That was honest. He appreciated that.

Thomas stood, brushing crumbs off his shirt. “Anyway. I’ll forward you a template I used. You’ll want to get the sign-up sheets out by next week. Ask for volunteers, then do everything yourself when they bail.”

Alexander’s stomach twisted. It wasn’t the food—it was the weight of responsibility, the crushing realization that this wasn’t going to be some passive supervisory role. He had no experience with events, no patience for corralling people, no instincts for navigating the PTA’s fine-print expectations. This wasn’t grading essays or editing grammar sheets—this was public. Performative. Prone to judgment.

He rubbed his face with both hands and groaned into his palms. “Shit. I am so screwed.”

Thomas paused halfway to the door, glancing back with a faint smirk. “You’re only just realizing that?”

Alex let his hands fall into his lap and looked up at him with a mix of desperation and irritation. “No, seriously. You can’t just dump all this on me and walk off like some smug holiday ghost.”

Thomas blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I can’t do this alone. I—I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.” He ran a hand through his hair. “You know how this works. You know what to avoid. What the admin wants. What the parents expect. You’ve done it.”

“And you’re supposed to do it now,” Thomas said slowly, crossing his arms. “It’s your job this year.”

“Because I didn’t respond to an email.”

Thomas didn’t argue. That fact was uncomfortably true.

Alexander leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Look, I’ll do the grunt work. I’ll manage the paperwork, the classroom submissions, the newsletter stuff. I’ll handle the writing and the visual arts. Hell, I’ll even paint a goddamn backdrop myself. Just… you do the music side. Please. Choir, instruments, scheduling rehearsals—whatever that all entails. Just help me. I’m begging you.”

Thomas hesitated. His posture stiffened, but not out of annoyance—more like caution. Like being asked to participate in something again dredged up a weight he hadn’t prepared to hold.

“I don’t really have time for this,” he muttered, though the edge in his voice wasn’t convincing. “Between lesson planning, assessments, Martha’s holiday fundraiser, and grading…”

“You literally just said you’ve done this twice.”

Thomas shot him a sharp look. “Yeah. And I barely survived it.”

Alexander lifted his hands, palms up. “So help me survive it.”

There was a long pause—one that felt like it might stretch past the bell and into next week. But Thomas wasn’t looking at him with that usual amused disinterest anymore. Something in his gaze had softened, not entirely out of sympathy but recognition. A flicker of understanding.

Alex wasn’t just overwhelmed. He was exhausted. The kind of tired that crept up from your bones and settled in your lungs. And he wasn’t used to asking for help—least of all from someone like Thomas Jefferson.

Thomas sighed, glancing toward the window like the view might hold an escape. But it was just a few dead trees and an empty parking lot.

“Fine,” he muttered.

Alex blinked. “Wait—really?”

Thomas rolled his eyes. “Don’t act so surprised. You’re pathetic.”

A crooked grin started to tug at Alex’s mouth.

“But,” Thomas added sharply, lifting a finger, “we split the duties. You deal with the visual and written stuff—essays, paintings, poems, bulletin boards, whatever the hell the art teachers send in. I’ll take care of the musical performances. I’m not babysitting you through the whole thing.”

“Deal.” Alex stuck his hand out.

Thomas stared at it like it was a foreign object.

“What, do you want a blood oath?” Alex quipped.

Thomas smirked and gave his hand a short, dry shake.

The school day finally ended and Alexander stepped out into the staff parking lot. His shoulder ached from the weight of his messenger bag, and his neck was stiff from spending the last period hunched over a pile of essays that all somehow managed to miss the point of the topic. He was drained. Mind blank. He didn’t even notice the chill until he reached his car and felt the metal door handle bite at his fingers.

He paused beside the door, unlocking it with a slow beep. His reflection in the window looked older than it had this morning—face drawn tight, eyes a little sunken.

Then his phone rang.

He startled. Not a text. A call. That alone felt unnatural. Nobody called him anymore. Not unless it was a bill collector or Aaron wondering if they were out of cereal.

He glanced at the screen, expecting some spam number from out of state.

But it wasn’t that.

Eliza Schuyler-Hamilton.

His stomach dropped.

He stood there frozen, the glow of the screen turning his fingertips pale.

He hadn’t spoken to her in—God, how long had it been? A year? Maybe more. And even then, it had only been a short, awkward email thread about Phillip’s school. She never called. Never. Unless—

His breath hitched. Phillip.

The thought knocked him into motion. He fumbled with the screen, his hand suddenly shaking like hell. It took him two tries to hit accept.

“Eliza?” he said, voice rough and barely audible.

There was a soft crackle on the other end. A delay. Then her voice, soft but clear.

“Hi, Alex.”

He didn’t realize until she said his name that he’d been holding his breath. It escaped from his chest in a slow exhale, heavy and tense.

“Is everything okay?” he asked, too fast. “Is Phillip—?”

“No, no—he’s fine,” she interrupted quickly, reassuringly. “He’s asleep. It’s… it’s almost three in the morning here.”

Alex’s throat closed up. “Then why—?”

“I needed to talk to you.”

He leaned against the car, head tipped toward the sky. He could hear cars moving faintly in the distance. The wind in the trees. His own pulse in his ears.

“About what?”

There was another pause. The kind that felt heavier than silence.

“I spoke to Gilbert,” she said finally. “He said you called.”

Alex winced. His free hand curled into a loose fist against the roof of his car. “I didn’t mean to—I just saw his name. I was stupid.”

“You scared him,” Eliza said gently, not accusing, not sharp. Just… worried.

Alex blinked. “I—what?”

“He thought something was wrong. He thought maybe…” Her voice trailed off, the unspoken words hanging in the air like ghosts. He thought maybe you were saying goodbye.

Alex closed his eyes. “Jesus.”

“I didn’t know you still had his number,” she went on.

“I shouldn’t,” Alex muttered. “I shouldn’t’ve looked. Shouldn’t’ve called. I just—It was a moment. I was—” He shook his head, unable to finish.

“You don’t have to explain,” she said. “But he was… upset. And confused. He was convinced you hated him.”

Alex let out a weak, mirthless laugh. “I don’t hate him.”

“Could’ve fooled him.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not exactly great at showing affection these days.”

“That hasn’t changed,” she said, with a sad sort of smile in her voice.

Alex winced, deservedly.

They were both quiet again. The kind of quiet that had once filled the long spaces in their old apartment back when love had turned into duty, and duty into distance.

“I didn’t call to make you feel bad,” Eliza said eventually. “I just… I was worried about you.”

That caught him off guard. He straightened. “Why?”

“Because you haven’t seen your son in three years, and you won’t let me or Gilbert help you fix that. Because the only person who tells me you’re still breathing is Aaron. Because… you sounded lonely, Alex.”

His throat tightened. He stared across the parking lot, at the pale orange haze hanging over the pavement. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t have the language for this anymore. For kindness. For care.

“I didn’t know you still cared,” he said quietly.

“You’re the father of my child,” she replied. “That doesn’t go away just because you stopped being my husband.”

His eyes stung, and he rubbed at one with the back of his hand. “You know, for a long time, I wasn’t sure I ever really deserved you.”

“You didn’t,” she said, a little too quickly, but then added softly, “but you tried. And I know part of you still does.”

Alex almost laughed again. “You’re remarried. To someone I used to bleed beside.”

“He’s not a competition,” she said, firm but not angry. “And he never tried to replace you. He always left space for you, Alex. It’s you who walked out of it.”

He swallowed hard. “I couldn’t stay. You know why.”

“I do.” Her voice cracked a little, but she caught herself. “And I forgave you. But that doesn’t mean Phillip doesn’t need you. Or that we stopped worrying.”

Alex pressed his fingers into his temple. “I’m not good at this.”

“You don’t have to be good. You just have to try. Call more. Even just to check in. You don’t have to talk to me. Call Phillip. Write him. Send him a picture of your classroom. Anything.”

“I don’t even know what I’d say.”

“You’ll figure it out.”

His shoulders sagged. The cold was seeping through his jacket now, but he didn’t move. “Thanks… for calling.”

“I didn’t want to go to bed without hearing your voice,” she said softly.

That did something to him. Not romantic—not anymore. But real. Gentle. Kind.

“Take care of yourself, Alex.”

“I’ll try.”

The line went quiet, and he slowly lowered the phone. He stood there for another full minute, trying to put himself back together before he got behind the wheel.

Eventually, he got in the car and sat for a moment, staring ahead through the windshield. The parking lot was mostly empty now. A single lamplight buzzed above.

He sighed, started the engine, and pulled into the street, headlights carving through the early dark.

[burner002]

HI AL! Having connor date a fem!shy!reader, you can choose the cabin, would be so so cute if you could write that! Like, him being absurdedly clingy and sending her kisses or making as if they were strangers to flirt with her bc she's adorable and the whole camp being kind of like, "We get it connor- you love her, can we eat in peace/practice now" and reader being a tomato half the time but smiling at his antics. it would be amazing if you could!!

grips table this is the first time i'll write in this format so tell me if it's okay or wtv 😁☝ also the reader is a child of hephaestus !! happy (late) valentine's babes also this is so fucking LONG i hope this makes up for the inactivity and tardiness

— clingy connor is the only correct connor sorry guys i just know he likes you just being around or vice versa. even if you're doing something else that he's not involved in, as long as he's in your presence he's happy.

"what do you think, y/n?" "it looks good! although i think you missed a part of the formula here. not that i memorized it exactly, it just looks...less than what i feel it usually is."

"you feel? haha, alright, let me—what's he doing here?" your half-sibling raised a brow at connor who stood behind you as you scanned some notes and formulas scribbled across blueprints that your half-sibling laid out for you.

connor waved. you shrugged and said, "he wanted to come with me, is it okay if he stays?"

your sibling gave him a skeptical look, but eventually agreed. for the next 15 minutes he just stood there while you worked, asking questions like "what does this part do" and "what's this symbol" to occasionally break the silence.

when you talked technical with your siblings, he nodded like he understood, when he actually didn't. he was satisfied with just hearing you speak confidently about something you were passionate about—your machines.

when you were done, you walked out of the cabin and he bid your half-sibling goodbye, leaving a few candies on her work desk to be nice. "that was fun! i love you, you're so cool." practically bouncing on his feet as you walked, he kissed your head and you felt your face burn up, feeling the eyes of your half-sibling on you.

— he follows you around like a puppy sometimes, it's really cute. he provides moral support too, if that helps. it's like having a cheerleader.

"go on," he murmured as he nudged the small of your back. the little present in your hands, a device that you yourself crafted for clarisse la rue, rested on a bed of straw inside a wooden case. it was multipurpose, serving as a pen, a swiss army knife, a lighter, a comb, a grappling hook, and a double-ended dagger of sorts. you didn't even know you had the abilities to make something like that, but in the end it was worth it. beautiful with designs around the handle with celestial bronze and leather, you hoped she'd at least appreciate it.

a few years ago clarisse had saved you in a monster attack while in the mortal world, and only now did you discover that it was her who took action. just in time, because she had gotten you on her team for capture the flag tonight and it gave you the perfect opportunity to approach her.

you squeezed the box with your fingers and went down to the training grounds, where clarisse was fighting with a practice dummy. she hacked away at its limbs and dislocated its jaw, showing off how much of a fighter she was. you swallowed and got closer.

you looked back to see connor, watching from a distance, and he made another gesture to get a little closer. you cleared your throat. "excuse me...clarisse? i wanted to, uh, give you something for that little accident at an amusement park a few years ago..."

it ended up going smoothly, with her even loving your gift so much she offered to give you extra dessert privileges that night in exchange for hers. every once in a while you'd see connor some distance behind her, giving you thumbs-ups and nodding.

when you were done, you walked back to connor slightly shaking, but with a smile on your face.

he pumped his fist in the air as soon as you were out of clarisse's line of sight. "good! that's my girl. told you she'd love it!" he clapped.

you chuckled softly. "i did it...!"

"YOU DID IT!" he repeated, louder this time, throwing his arms up and celebrating with you. "let's go swim, hm? you deserve a good cool-off." knowing how much you loved refreshing yourself in the lake, you smiled and nodded as he took your hand, already undoing the cargo vest you had over your camp shirt to prepare you for your dip in the lake.

— connor being the type to speak up for you for little things as well!! what a gentleman. he likes doing things for you, watching you get all warm and averting people's eyes. it's all lighthearted, he just likes to show off how much he loves you by doing things for you.

your eyes kept darting to the pillow next to some camper's legs. lou ellen was telling a story at the campfire—and she was damn good at it. she had everyone's attention, including the camper who had the old pillow you wanted so badly to hug.

"holy hades," connor whispered in awe as lou ellen continued to narrate. you weren't paying attention, so you hummed in inquiry. "she said she almost got jumped by the international police! man, i should ask for some tips—" he was shushed by the person sitting in front of him and he rolled his eyes, scrunching up his face. "what's the matter, baby?" he asked you.

"it's nothing," you murmured, tearing your eyes off the pillow, no matter how desperately you wanted to sit more comfortably. it wasn't worth bothering another person.

he nudged you. "hey."

"it's nothing!"

but he caught how your eyes flit to the camper's legs. he pointed at it and looked at you as if asking a question, and you mumbled something in affirmation. before you could stop him, he was reaching over and shaking the camper's shoulder. "mind if i take this? thanks." it was easy for him; all the camper did was nod and the pillow was placed in your lap.

"thanks," you mumbled as connor put his arm around you, now that you were both comfortable enough to listen to lou ellen. you held the pillow, rough with age and not even fluffy but a soft surface nonetheless, snuggling up to him.

"anything for you. 'excuse me, she asked for no pickles!'"

— he's sooooo corny sometimes ew !! blowing you kisses and holding your hand and playing with your hair etc, he loves seeing your reactions so much.

"y'did great today, sweetie. the forges are well-loved." he kissed the tip of your nose as he held your tired hands in his. you two were curled up on your bunk while your other siblings either napped or were busy with their own things.

you scrunched up your nose, feeling a sneeze coming on, and he laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest that pressed aainst your shoulder. he continued to massage your hands, but you pulled away to sneeze. "bless you, y/n." he handed you a tissue.

you sighed as he continued to knead the tired joints in your hands, reliving the tension. without realizing it, you started to get used to the feeling of his own calloused fingers on your skin. you stared, mesmerized as he continued to do you a favor.

"psst." you looked up to lock eyes with him. his face split into a big grin, the one that always made your stomach flutter, and you quickly looked away, biting back a giddy smile. "what?" he asked, almost sounding hurt. "i'm not doing anything?"

"you're making me...you're so flirty!" you whispered, looking around to make sure no one was watching how lovey-dovey he was being. no one was, but you feared if he started tickling you, it would cause an explosion of one of your little machines under your bunk or something.

"and? i'm always flirty," he said proudly. you prodded him to move over to the corner so he would be able to hide out of sight. despite that, he still managed to pull you close, caging you between his arms and resting his head on your shoulder as he continued to massage your hands. one of your siblings passed by and made a gagging motion.

you sat there for a while, savoring the feeling of him against you while you murmured some ideas for your next project. he would nod and reply, half-absentmindedly but you swore you could feel his gaze slowly bore into you and spread like a warm blanket. or maybe that was your blush creeping up your neck.

you only had about three more minutes of this before one of connor's half siblings came storming into your cabin. "you," he snapped his fingers at connor. "mr d. knows what you did." he seemed dead serious and connor's smile dropped. "and you," he pointed at you. "is he glued to you or something? damn."

"i...do a lot of things, what did he find out?"

"he knows, connor."

"oh shit, okay," he stood up, but not before making a big show of giving you a tight hug and a very, very enthusiastic kiss on the mouth. you barely had time to react and when he pulled away you were wide-eyed and hot. "see you around, babe!" shoving his sibling out the door, he blew kisses and waved goodbye.

babe? you felt like sinking into your mattress at the mere thought of it. at the same time, though, you were thrilled, loving his not-so-little gestures. your half siblings grinned from their places. "babe?" "that is so corny!" "have a good day, babe." "did you eat lunch yet, babe?"

you pulled your makeshift curtains closed and hid in your bunk.

— he's all over you. finds it so cute when you're working and you make that focusing face. he loves watching you put things together or disassemble them—doesn't matter, it's you he's looking at anyway.

he found it so cute. your pursed lips, how still your irises stayed still in precision as you worked. it was like you even conditioned your breathing to be a certain way as to not disturb your hands too much. you didn't mind the grime that built on your fingers, and he found you so beautiful whenever the fire cast an orange glow on your face. and he made sure to tell you everything on his mind.

after his 4th comment on how your craftsmanship blew his mind or how impressed he was with how you could even visualize these kinds of things, you could barely focus, feeling like hiding in the nearest crate, away from his teasing eyes. of course, you liked it, loved it, even, but his little remarks were too much!! he's too coy!!

as soon as you went to the table he was sitting by, looking for a certain tool and holding your reference sheet, you caught him smiling at you. when you turned to him he reached over and pushed a stray lock of hair out of your eyes and chuckled.

you slowly turned your head to the side, looking away and muttering a slow but thorough curse, making connor laugh, a voice among the clanging and crackles of the forge.

"you gotta loosen up, you know, baby? it's just me." he didn't take his eyes off you when he rubbed your hands and smiled up at you almost tauntingly.

"no, it's not, but go ahead and make out if you wish," nyssa peeked over from her table and called out to you two.

no words left you, but to match your burning face one of the hearths behind you roared with flames.

— everyone is so fed up and connor just finds it amusing because he's a menace like that. you secretly find it amusing, too, because you find some reactions funny like the kids who find it gross. but connor likes to go and make it worse, just so the kids have something to laugh at. the older campers though? not so much. they'll groan and roll their eyes as connor smothers you with kisses, telling you two to get a room. and you do exactly that.

[handweavers]

every time i stay at my familys home i always sleep in my grandfather's study/library. the house is set up in the old style where bedrooms are both private and public spaces like there's beds in every room and all rooms are multipurpose, so his study is a small room with some bookshelves and a desk and two small beds but there's something about it that i love so much. it's quiet and dark but very peaceful. he died before i was born but i've always felt so close to him and he's been gone nearly 30 years but the room is almost unchanged so it feels like a haunting. but in a good way

[serve-corps]

Riri x fem reader

3k words <3

FUCK. see, you've recently been struggling because some loser company figured out that you're even more of a loser than them because your love life is drier than the Sahara desert. they took great offence because they want to be the biggest losers so they sent someone to fix it.

more like some thing... this baked bean looking creature with a witch hat and a stick with a sparkly star on top which you presumed was a wand was just floating in front of your face with a little smile on its face.

"Riri.... what do you want?...." you groaned out, turning to flop on your bed, muffling your words with a pillow.

this little fuc- i mean shi- AHEM i mean wizard was assigned to you of all people to help you find a romantic partner, a lover, a mate, whatever you want to call it, this thing was trying to get you one.

despite trying their hardest, you managed to make all the "possible" love interests Riri set up for you to get your life in gear to actually either friendzone you and you not giving a shit or lose feelings fast because you purposefully changed your personality and looks to not suit their tastes.

it might be a sociopathic and manipulative move but you don't want to get into romance. you've got a handful of extremely close friends and you've bore witness to the heartbreak just one person can do to someone. just watching it break someone like how it broke them...

yeah. you said fuck that.

Your friends always tell you how wonderful love is; in retrospect, you have had crushes before. but you fizzed them away, concluding it to only be attraction or stupid teenage hormones.

we're going to completely ignore the fact you bully the shit out of Riri on the basis of whenever you saw them, watching them suffer as their efforts are in vain. but you hate to see them sad for some gut-hurling and wrenching reason, you usually make them a little something. YES YES, I KNOW why the fuck would you make something for a baked bean-shaped magic dildo-looking wizard? well, it just felt right.

when you saw Riri sitting on the edge of your desk with their head down, swinging their feet; you swore you saw a teeny tiny mushroom trying to peek out of its hat, you actually felt sorry for them.

here's the thing. you knew Ansu very closely, you played games with her as a kid, still dabble now and again but Ansu always asks you to make cat stuff for her. specifically clothes.

you searched some tutorials online and made these clothes with great skill and somehow good quality. your father inherited a very very high quality, multipurpose sewing machine that was great at its job.

making Riri something couldn't be too hard, right?

you were actually working on it days ago but you made something similar to a cat bed, it was pastel yellow and pink, it had a fluffy base and stuffed with memory foam, you made this shit good.

wanna know why you were so proud of yourself? you made a detachable dome that could be buttoned on! it even had a button-up door! if Riri wanted privacy while taking a cat nap!

thinking of it made you let out an accidental "awweee" which made Riri turn to face you, their legs still swinging and a crocodile tear in their eye, a single one fell making you let out a snort.

"HEY! You need to stop making this so difficult! You know you're the reason I'm in trouble at work! right?! *ugly sob* I'm gonna get so fired!" they flopped down backward onto the wooden desk with a slam, you winced at the sound, showing concern. a red bump was forming on the back of their head from that one.

as they were wallowing in pity, you decided to get your project out of the box you hid it in. Riri was rolling around on the desk at this point, whinging and whining about how, in a politer term, dealing with your love life was bullshit. you kinda agreed but you softly placed the small bed that was about the size of both your hands cupped together in the corner of the desk, where the lights were the softest.

walking to where Riri was laying down, hopelessly looking at the ceiling with a miserable expression, you crouched down to be face to face with them.

"i have a 'I'm sorry for being such a fuck up' gift? will that make you feel better?"

the way they sat up so fast and stared at you with sparkles in their eyes was gobsmacking. they went from crying to jumping up and down on your desk like an excited little puppy. cute.

"PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE-" was all you heard which made you want to pave your head in but you just sighed, pinching the top of their hat and lifting it off their head.

"promise to trust me though? And no flying or Peter panning away?" you said with a stern look, still trying to let them know they didn't have to if they didn't want to.

the sweat dropped at this, thinking it was a bit weird to ask but robotically nodded, "I guess?- AH!-" You scooped your hands under Riri who was surprisingly a warm little thing that felt soft and squishy.

they just accepted their fate at this point as they relaxed in your warm hand, they felt almost as soft as you thought Riri felt, you couldn't see because they're yellow but they were blushing in their wizard way.

you started to walk to the gift and asked them to close their eyes, they complied with little hesitance, usually they're used to getting a good beating from ansu in these types of situations but they for some reason felt so much trust in you.

your warm hands left their body and they fell for less than a second, snapping their eyes open but before they could react, they fell on something really soft and comfortable. almost as comfortable as your hands. it was a little bed!

"woaaahhhhhhhh did you get this for me?!" they said with happiness as they jumped on the bed a little, "no I didn't, I made it! it's got more! wanna see?" you said with pride, this was the hardest thing you've ever made after all.

they looked at the gift in awe as you attached the dome to the base of the bed, unbuttoning the entrance and gesturing them to go in, and you bet your ass they did, they dived in snuggling the thing. you buttoned it back up letting it be darker, but slight light managed to go through the fabric which was very little light anyway.

you said to the Riri who was embracing the new gift, "again, I'm sorry I'm so difficult to work with, I've just, never been one for love, this is the best I can do....for you at least." you mumbled at the end, looking at the time, 12am. ansu would 100% be asleep by now so it's best you do too.

walking to the light switch you turn it off, then laying in bed, feeling content that not only they liked it- no loved it, they were sleeping in the same room as you tonight.

little did you know, Riri was sitting in their dome, furiously blushing at the implication that you could even possibly love them. their- 'heart'? so to speak was thumping loudly in their chest.

they peeked out of their dome, seeing you asleep. they carried their bed to your pillow, quietly and got back in. They were unsure if they should button it up so they couldn't see you, or keep it undone to gaze at you throughout the night...

before they could decide, your hand reached in and held the side of the bed, that was a decision maker.

you awoke to soft, cute? snores? hold up, what?

your eyes opened to the light of the sun filling your room, fuck off sun.

Riri was next to your hand with the dome off completely, resting their head on your hand and their body on their bed, huh.

WAIT WHAT?

for some reason, you turned red at the sight. no way...your heart beating fast, your face is flushed, palms sweaty, thoughts racing, scenarios happening in your mind, feeling bubbly? the shit?! you better not be in love with a baked bean?!

you carefully got out of bed, not waking them. you started pacing, fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck okok just, just take a walk! yeah! that'll stop this madness! hahahaha please god help me.

You got changed, noticing that when you flicked your eyes back to Riri, they seemed a bit orange, not as yellow as normal. huh. wait...COLOUR THEORY. PINK + YELLOW = ORANGE! THEYRE BLUSHING! That mother fucker peeped. huffing, there was nothing you could do about it now.

"Riri, wanna come on a walk with me?" if you actually had intelligence, you would make a clone of yourself and beat the shit out of yourself. turn it into a version of the Hunger Games but a clone edition. how fucking dumb are you? this was your escape from them. down the drain that goes!

they sat up slowly, still slightly orange, looking away from you they nodded. That is out of character. you furrowed your brows and tried to move past it.

they waved their wand and suddenly there was a rip-off Kagamine Rin in your room! she had slightly pink cheeks and you could damn near say this is a very pretty girl. why do blondes do this to you?

"R-Riri?...that you dude?"

"who else would it be dummy?" they said with sarcasm. but somehow pulled a cute face with a peace sigh with their hand.

you picked up a random gummy bear from a packet you were eating and threw it at her head in annoyance, she caught it in her mouth and started chewing on it, giving you a grin.

little shit. you glared with such sharpness, you could cut her hair.

this led you to be walking around a quiet park with Riri, you watched her analyse the couples around us, giggling, holding hands, kissing even. just don't look. it'll never be you anyways.

you were kind of depressed knowing you were hopeless at getting someone to like you let alone date someone. Riri was straight up staring at them, you low key thought it was creepy.

sighing through your nose, you reached and grabbed Riri's hand, intertwining your fingers. "see? it's not all that great..." you ate your own words after you said them because holding her hand for some reason made your heart flutter.

she wasn't any better, she was a flustered mess, she never felt this before, was it okay for a wizard to be in love with a human? wait, what? did she accidentally admit that to herself?

she glanced at you, who was looking at a very fluffy-looking dog that you tried to hide a smile as you looked at it's cuteness. lips pressed together and nose scrunched as you resisted to urge to run to it and bury your face in its fur.

Riri unconsciously had a smile sneak its way onto her face.

maybe she didn't need to analyse couples after all, she could just analyse the two of you!

the dog strutted away from you, as though it knew it was cute. you pouted and turned back to Riri, still expecting her to be analysing the couples around you, you did a double take when she was just gazing at you with a soft smile, unlike her usual idol rip-off smile.

that...that caught you off guard. "Riri? are you okay?" you muttered softly as she widened her smile back to its normal idol self and a sharp nod sent your way.

you're hands were disconnected for a while as you were admiring the dog not long ago, you missed the warmth as it was a cold morning. yeah. that's why. But that was short-lived as after the girl returned to her spirits, your hand got snatched into her own like it owed her money. The grip was firm but it seemed you were the only one who had a reaction to it, it just made her smile wider while it made you try to tug out of it in shock, you were weirded out and showing proudly on your face.

all hope of escape was abandoned when she let go, only to wrap an arm around yours. walking in large steps towards the lake most people come to the park to see. you felt like it was a kidnapping when she sat you down on the bench furthest from everyone.

you sighed, "Riri...what are you doing?" you asked tiredly as the girl for now was swinging her legs back and forth, holding on to your hand for dear life.

"helping you figure out how love scenes should play out! without you friend zoning them." she said with a glare and tight smile at the end. so she saw all of the times you've ruined her attempts then...oops.

"Riri, I know how they play out, I've just never wanted it to play out." you said as you rolled your head back in boredom. to you, a heart feels heavy, its a burden after all. on the contrary, thats never stopped anyone.

Riri looked puzzled and looked intently at the lake, slowly forgetting she was holding your hand. "why wouldn't you want that? don't all girls?"

you snapped your neck to look at her in a dumbfound state, is this what that loser company had been teaching the wizards?

"no! NONONO! absolutely not! not every girl wants to be stuck in some shitty romcom where the girl has a harem of boys thirsting for her love! some just want... a gradual emotional development. a genuine one." you started to rant, your tone becoming more stressed.

"Riri...this 'love'...that you think is true isn't! its just not right. love isn't about looks. about personality. they're key factors, yes. but are they what makes love? fuck no!"

you grabbed both of her hands and made her face you. She was the one in shock, there was no romantic book that she's researched that ever had a scene like this...and what you're saying....is it not true?...

"if these wizards just taught you love was something about looks or personality, then they don't know their shit. those are called crushes, but they're no long-term." you calm yourself down as Riri stays silent throughout all of this, just holding your hands in return and a slight pink dusting her cheeks.

"Love is about the companionship, the trust, the emotional connection, a gradual thing. nobody can fall for someone in less than a week. its about hardships and blessings. unfortunate situations being dominated by closeness. That's how it forms..." the way you were looking into Riri's eyes almost made you recoil as you realised, you were describing how you fell in love. COUGH what? hm? I didn't hear anything.

you looked back at the lake after letting go of her hands, your fingers twitching every now and again as you came to realise how passionate and hopeful you sounded, it sounded like you knew what you were talking about; like you knew what love was.

flicking your eyes back at Riri for less than a second, you saw she was just...staring....mouth slightly parted but there was...pink on her cheeks? was she flattered by this? or...flustered? nooo. she can't...wait...maybe?

you snorted into your hand at her face and she realised how pathetic this was.

"What are you laughing for! this isn't fair! i haven't done anything funny!" she whined as she writhed back and forth in a worm-like way while she was still sitting on the bench.

"that reaction's pretty damn funny if you ask me" you said with a giggle, patting her shoulder softly as you stood up and brushed yourself off.

"now can we finish-" you cut yourself off by waving your arms around, gesturing to all of the things around you "all of 'this'?" you finish.

The poor blonde sighed with her head down, slowly dragging her feet on the trek back to your home. Little giggles left your throat the entire time, yet you did feel embarrassed about that little tangent about love and its deep meaning. but eh, what's done is done.

getting back to the house and flopping on your bed and sighing, you heard Riri looking around again when a though crossed your mind, "how on earth did you turn into a girl??" you propped yourself up on your elbows to look at her in confusion, only for her to pull out her wand and tap it against her head with a cheeky grin,

"Trade secret my precious little (y/n)!" suddenly her body slowly morphed into a taller form and looked more masculine.

"NOW A DUDE?!- SHIT ARE YOU GENDER FLUID?! AH FRICK I HAVENT ASKED YOU WHAT YOUR PREFFERED PRONOUNS ARE-"

your voice came out panicked before Riri sweat dropped and covered your mouth with his hand. "its not that serious-"

as he spoke, he forgot where his hand was, your face slowly warmed up as he was extremely close to your face and his hand was the only thing between your lips in all fairness.

Your eyes flickered from his eyes to his lips, and your face continued to get painted in a vibrant red.

Only after your long silence did he realize that your proximity may not have been the most appropriate and he also pulled away with a blush and frantic hands all over the place.

The silence in the room was deafening as you both sat and stood in awkward quietness. Well, that was shattered when Riri spoke up.

"Y'know at the park? Does that mean you HAVE fallen in love?" his hands were fiddling together as he asked the question, and an unusual emotion for him to feel was brewing, nervousness.

All that question squeezed out of you was a sharp nod and a quick moment of eye contact.

"for me?" his voice came out small, sounding almost fragile as his face reddened, sparkles flying around him and you coughed harshly into your hand looking away. The avoidance was getting harder as he got closer and closer to your face. The over grown human version of puppy eyes we slightly working.

Screwing your eyes tightly shut, but if you kept them open, you would have noticed his puppy eyes face was leaning closer and closer, coaxing you to tell him. You gathered every ounce of courage your body had to offer and turned your face to his, making the close distance between the two of you non-existent as the boy squeaked and your face bloomed a scarlet.

Wouldn't have happened if he didn't get so close.

both of you slowly calmed down yet the kiss never broke, you opened your eyes to see his face only to see a soft gaze looking at you for approval to continue, this was the final push you needed to hold his cheek and put pressure into the kiss, so it was a real kiss.

you slowly leaned back and saw a vibrant red kageme len sitting in front of you, a hand rushing up to cover his lips and a tiny feminine squeal left his mouth.

"take that as a yes you baked bean." you gruffed out, crossing your arms and leaning away.

Your attempt was futile as he jumped and glomped on you laughing like a maniac and burying his face in the crook of your neck, nuzzling almost as he made you nearly fall on the floor. Your hands rested and steadied themselves on his waist.

He leaned back from his overpowering hug and, softly, with the utmost care, grabbed your chin and smiled before gently pressing his lips to yours. You felt dizzy as you let him. Every time you pulled away, he'd let you take a breath, and then he'd dig back in for more.

From every moment you two were together, you had to be touching. Riri's orders were so you complied. As time went on with Riri's company pestering them about your love life, they replied with "work in progress." However, when it came to getting a bonus, they normally held hands with you, sending them a photo of their progress.

Normally you giggle at this and jump onto their back, making them carry you to get you a snack from your kitchen.

[unhinged-summer-fun]

common grounds (oshamir) - chapter 16

Pairing: Osha Aniseya x Qimir "The Stranger"

A/N: So many thanks to @desertbcrnnobody for betaing this chapter!! Dividers by me once again. If you haven't checked out the playlists for Act I, Unknown Planet Dance Night, & Qimir's iPod, give them a look <3 Welcome to Act II, everybody!

series masterlist

chapter 16: the second kind of lie

Osha’s stranger rubbed at his forehead like it would help with anything. The one saving grace of this meeting was that it was a phone conference, so nobody had to see the faces he pulled from his seat in his office. He’d said his piece more than an hour ago, but now had to suffer through the invaluable reports from Marketing and Administration. Reports, or… whatever this shit was.

“…as we know, that’s when football and basketball typically start up—”

“Mike, please try to remember we don’t have a football team.”

“We have a football field.”

“It’s a multipurpose outdoor exercise area.”

“I don’t see how that’s…”

He was going crazy.

His schedule had an entire thirty minutes blocked off after this meeting, just in case it goes over, the email had said. In his entire time working for the college, he’d suffered through a half-dozen of these meetings, and every single time, they went past the allotted time. Five years ago, the meeting was two hours. This time, it was looking more like three.

Maybe I should have just stayed in Khofar and never come back to—

His cell phone buzzed from a call. The stranger’s heart leaped into his throat with the thought that it might be Osha, but—

Incoming call: Idise Skrye - ICE

“Fuck,” he muttered, glad his office phone was muted. He declined the call and set the phone on his desk.

“…eventually have to accept that it’s a football field, Jim. We can’t—”

The phone started to ring again. The vibrations buzzed it closer to the edge of the desk.

Incoming call: Idise Skrye - ICE

Declined, again. He set it even further back, glaring at it now.

The stranger wasn’t the kind of man to let his anxiety take hold in any situation, let alone a situation he had complete control over. And he did have complete control. Idise wanting to involve herself with the recent changes and additions to his personal life was a non-starter.

He hadn’t needed her input or help for a very long time. And he certainly didn’t need her help in anything regarding Osha. Surely, that’s what she—

A text came in, a staccato buzz. He was about to ignore it, but something told him to check—and he was glad he did.

:) OSHA :) : I am now completely free on sundays now lol

He sighed. Vernestra’s crusade against Osha couldn’t be legal, not even remotely. None of her vendettas were, he thought bitterly. The others there had to know it; he knew it at sixteen when she had him living at the gym and working there every day.

But the problem then was the same now: they had nothing to prove it. The stranger’s time at the Temple left him with nothing: no achievements in his name, no prize money, no safety net or support, and worst of all, no paper trail to prove he was even there for a single day of those four years.

He spent nearly two years hitting every dead-end trail he was pointed down. Calling off the hunt was his choice, despite the disappointment from the others who helped; he had to let it go, or he’d kill himself trying to bring justice to the untouchable. They had all given up so much (too much) just to gain so little, and he called it off out of consideration for the others’ sacrifices as well. After that, he wore the name of Qimir Loharne as a funeral shroud instead of a banner to rally behind.

But admitting defeat was better than being defeated. 

His eyes cast up to the two small articles Osha had given him. She wasn’t sure of him when she gave him the first, and wasn’t sure of herself when she gave him the second.

The first time—the photo of himself, half-hidden behind his gloves—he’d had to earn it from her. All she’d said was that she’d seen the picture, not that she had it on her. She was testing his response to it, if unintentionally. She did that often, giving him pieces of herself by inches at a time, and only when he’d been forthcoming first. Both of them had such damaged senses of trust. She’d been betrayed by her sister, and he’d been betrayed by—well, everyone she still called family.

What a fucking mess he’d landed her in. She didn’t even see it yet. But she would, an annoyingly wise voice said in his mind—one that sounded a little too like Idise for comfort.

When Osha gave him the second article, the one printed more than twenty years ago, she’d been trepidatious and cute. They’d finished their first training session at Unplan together, and what a nightmare that could have been. Still, no hesitation, no tests, just—I found another picture of you. Her nerves were practically palpable in the seconds that followed, watching his reaction like an overeager child.

What had she expected him to do? Frisk her? Shout? Deny her? And when he’d asked her why she kept giving them to him (when he should have asked how do you keep finding these and can I hire you?) her answer had broken his heart.

There was a time that you had no evidence you existed besides your pain. You do exist beyond what happened to you. And you deserve to have proof of that.

Her gentle, unrelenting kindness killed him every day. She didn’t know who she was being kind to. She didn’t know the monster she was feeding crumbs to. It was difficult not to hate himself for it.

He didn’t hold out on hope that she would find another article like that. The first, he remembered, came from inside the Temple itself, which was a huge fluke, considering how thorough Vernestra had been everywhere else. Osha hadn’t told him where the other had come from, and he had to keep himself from wondering, let alone asking, because if she’d found it where he thought she had, there would probably be more—

No. He couldn’t think that way again. Folly or not, that line of thinking could have gotten him in deep shit, were it not for Osha stopping him all three—

No. Just stop thinking about it at all. It’s the past, and nothing came of it. Quit digging up the grave, asshole.

His knowledge lay in muscle groups, recovery timelines, and pain management. His life, his future, wasn’t meant to be spent agonizing over the past. He had to let it go.

“…the budget won’t magically widen because you want to watch football games at the f—multiporpoise—”

“Multipurpose.”

“That’s what I said.”

“You said porpoise.”

“So?”

He made a deal with himself—he’d stop thinking about these things again after this brain-blending meeting.

One idea remained at the center of everything—what if he did have evidence?

If he had evidence, he could convince others to give a testimony. If he had evidence and testimonials, he could take Vernestra to court. There was no way of knowing which lawyers already sat under Vernestra’s thumb. The most they’d ever found out about her lawyer was that he commanded a firm with a reputation for ruining lives.

And he knew just how well they could do it.

But then what? Even if he could pay for a lawyer with balls of fucking titanium, what would they do with their evidence and testimony? Would it be a civil suit, just settling things between Vernestra and himself the way they’d thought it’d be ten years ago? Would he attempt a criminal suit, exposing the harmful practices, gross negligence, and abuse of authority at the Temple?

Why stop there? Why not prosecute everyone else involved? Why not expose the viper den of corruption in the city and take down the Hutts, with all he knew? Why not burn the whole fucking city to the firmament, with the Temple at ground fucking zero?

See, this is why I can’t let myself think about it for too long, he thought bitterly.

“It’s not worth it to pursue this argument, Mike—”

“Argument? What argument?”

He texted Osha back.

Q: What would you like to do with all that free time?

O: Hmmmmmm…

O: Might have to get back to you on that ;)

He smirked down at his phone. Osha was fun. It’d been a long time since he’d let someone fun willingly into his life. For all he worked in a field run on games, he never attended to enjoy them. He monitored college athletes for injuries and worked hard to prevent more each gameday. Maybe he was just a grouch.

“…think the budget will allow for one alumnus box in the football f—”

“Mike, we’re not going to get through the agenda items if you keep—”

“Maybe we should call it a day…” The stranger recognized the voice of the assistant chair of the athletics department. He quickly punched off the mute on his phone.

“I concur, Brenda,” he said, as a cacophony of other voices joined in.

“Excellent suggestion, Brenda.”

“We can circle back offline about this, M—”

“Jeanine, can you—thank you, everybody, I’ll send a follow-up email in an hour… Two hours. I’ll see you Monday. Nevermind the email. Have a good weekend.”

Dear fucking god. Blessed silence. He closed his eyes, pulling his hat down over his eyes until the ringing in his ears stopped. Bzz-bzzt. He peeked at his phone.

:) OSHA :) : Wanna get lunch? Or is that meeting still happening????

A series of blank boxes came in beneath Osha’s message, which he now knew symbolized a barrage of emojis his phone couldn’t receive.

Q: The meeting just ended, thankfully. I can pic

A new text came in.

Idise Skrye - ICE: Avoiding me like this won’t end how you want it to, Qimir.

“Fat chance,” he muttered, clicking back to his conversation with Osha to finish his message. Another text came in, dragging him back to Idise. He groaned.

I: Is this about her?

He gave in, responding to her for the first time in nearly a year.

Q: Back off.

I: No.

I: You are WORRYING me.

Q: What I do with her doesn’t concern you.

Q: None of what I do concerns you.

I: You’re a spectacular liar if you’ve convinced yourself of that.

He already knew he was a good liar; he’d learned how to be a great one just recently. God, he hated himself.

Q: I’m fine.

Incoming call: Idise Skrye - ICE

He hit decline. Idise messaged him again.

I: I’m going to find out what’s going on eventually.

I: We’ve known each other too long for you to cut me out like this and not expect me to want answers.

Q: Get used to disappointment.

I: No :)

When one minute passed, then two, he accepted she was done with him. He breathed out in relief, but inhaled regret.

She is going to find out, he thought. It twisted his stomach.

They both are.

“Ankle?”

“Two.”

“Knee?”

“F—three.”

“Fthree?” he sounded dubious. It still stunned her that he could exert authority even on his knees before her.

“Three.”

“Are you sure it’s not a four?” he asked intently. “The temperature’s been dropping hard in the afternoons, and I know it gives me trouble.”

“Yes, I’m sure it’s not a four.”

He sat back on his knees, assessing her in that way that said, you have one more chance to answer honestly.

Osha scowled at him, just wanting him to tape her up. She’d been spoiled by his touch; she hadn’t realized how little physical affection she’d gotten growing up with Sol and the Temple until recently. But Qimir had always been touchy with her—form corrections, massages, assisted stretching—and now he’d cranked the dial to eleven. He loved touching her whenever she was in reach: straightening her clothes, adjusting her hair, and, of course, kissing her.

He squeezed her thigh, prompting an answer—an honest one.

“It’s a four.” If her voice came out a little squeakier at the feeling of his hand on her leg, then that was her problem.

He applied lidocaine spray and her usual tape before helping her adjust the compression sleeve he bought for her a few days ago. It helped her knee soreness, but she’d been worried about it making her stand out. When he pointed out that almost everyone in Unknown Planet wore some kind of gear like that, her self-consciousness dissipated almost entirely.

“Pain doesn’t make appointments, Osha,” he said sagely. “It’s always an unexpected walk-in and doesn’t care for business hours.”

“Aw, like you,” she said, nudging his side with her other leg. He just smirked. 

Down in the gym, he ran her through her usual mobility and strength tests, a necessary litmus for any day her pain was over a one—so, nearly every day. After that, they moved to her favorite part of every session: new skills. Tonight’s was jiu-jitsu basics.

“Alright, and when you shrimp, you have to—c’mon, it’s not that funny,” he said exasperatedly.

“I didn’t realize you were serious. We’re shrimping? I have to refine my shrimp?” Osha giggled.

“To some jiu-jitiero, laughing at this is heretical. You’ll be burned at the stake, Osha.”

“Are you some jiu-jitiero? Are you the Shrimpish Inquisition?”

He kissed her forehead, fondly rolling his eyes. “I’m not. C’mon, shrimpie. Back to work.”

She didn’t feel like she did any good, despite the hot, melty feeling she still had from all his praise tonight. Sitting on the floor later, she exchanged her gym shoes for her winter boots.

“We’ll be back here again tomorrow. Is that alright?” Qimir asked. 

“Why?” Tomorrow was usually a swim day.

“I want to make sure you get as much time as you wanted learning the new skills before the full moon.” They’d agreed to hold off most sparring sessions until the fight list came out, as to assuage worries of others in Unknown Planet. “You were so eager about making requests, so tomorrow you get to choose from either kickboxing or dim-mak.”

“What’s dim-mak?”

“Death point striking.”

Concerning range of options, there. Seemingly deliberately, he didn’t mention—

“When am I going to start weapons training?” Osha pouted.

“I know you were fascinated by the knife work last week, but it’s important to me that you win a fight unarmed first. No gloves. No headgear. And no knives.”

“Yeah, but what if I need a weapon to gain the upper hand against someone in the cage? Wouldn’t knowing how to use a knife come in handy?”

“When you can win a fight in the cage without a weapon, then I’ll train you on knives. It’s a symbolic thing.”

“Oh, it’s a symbolic thing. My bad. Completely understand now,” she scoffed, slumping her shoulders and letting herself wallow in melodrama. She kicked her legs out in front of her, ragdoll-sprawled against the wall. 

“Listen, Osha. If you rely too much on your tools, you become trapped by their very limited list of uses. Knives are tools. Gloves are tools. Safety pads and headgear are tools. Making do with what they can’t take from you is an edge that never dulls. A knife can’t say the same.”

“A knife can’t say anything. It’s a knife.”

“Exactly.”

“I was being sarcastic.”

“And yet, your point agrees with mine.”

It seemed like a strange benchmark to pass—and why had he said it was important to him that she fight (well, win) unarmed?

“What’s the symbolism?” she asked.

Qimir was quiet then, walking across the room to fiddling with his bag. He faced away as he spoke. “Have you ever heard the phrase, treat your weapon as an extension of yourself?”

In nearly every training sequence in every action movie ever, yeah. But also—it’s something they said at the Temple the first time a kid ever put on their gloves. Treat these with respect. They are an extension of yourself. In a fight, they are your life. Osha couldn’t help thinking about the teal blue gloves gathering dust in a storage box buried deep in her closet. The day she’d lost the ability to wear her gloves with pride (to wear them for a purpose), it had felt like a severance of the spirit.

“I have.”

“It’s not good advice. It’s not even advice. It’s a dream. And it’s shared by people who have not touched the darkness inside them. The Temple insists that a tool—a weapon—should be an extension of yourself. And to someone just starting, someone who doesn’t know better, it can help to keep fighting form. Broken clocks being right twice a day, and all.

“But consider the way you wrapped your ankle before you started using KT tape. It’s a stabilizing wrap that prevents further injury, right? But it actively weakened your joints and sapped your strength and stability. Why?”

“Because I got used to it. Became reliant on it.”

Another nod. She wished she could see his face.

“The tape isn’t the problem—the tools aren’t the problem. It’s the reliance on them. They go from being useful to nothing more than a buffer, a barrier, a shield to hide behind in a situation meant for combat and confrontation. They’re… training wheels. Reliance dulls the edge of your fear-sense with false confidence. And denying your fear—”

“Doesn’t erase the danger you’re in,” Osha recited, truisms clicking into place.

Qimir nodded, but still didn’t turn around. “In that same vein, the idea that it’s the weapon that’s deadly is another buffer; it breeds another dangerous delusion to hide behind. You’re the one with lethality. You’re the deadly one in the cage. The Temple tricks you into believing that your hands can be kept clean of the bloodshed, unstained by darkness, just because the shiny red gloves hide the evidence.”

He turned to face her fully, arms at his sides.

“I’ve accepted my darkness. It’s up to you, Osha, to decide what you do with yours. There’s no not touching it, in the cage. It will touch you regardless if you reach for it or not.” He came closer, kneeling between her legs to unwrap the black fabric from between her fingers and around her wrists. “I want you to know that I believe in you. Knife or no knife, you’re going to be the deadliest thing in that cage when I send you in.”

She swallowed back a lump in her throat. “What if I fuck up, though? I don’t want to embarrass you if I get tossed in with a knife and bleed to death my first time in the ring.” Humor. That’s a good trick.

He gave her a thoughtful but defiant look. She gave him one right back, pouting and refusing to acknowledge his you’re-being-ridiculous face.

“Well, if that’s what you’re worried about—”

Qimir struck like a viper, taking advantage of her sulking to pin her to the floor like he’d done on the mats half an hour ago. When he drove his hips between her thighs, she felt part of her brain melt into some kind of grayish goo, but her fighting reflexes were nearly as fast as his.

Osha reacted instinctually, bringing her hands to her chest and wrapping her legs around his waist. She rolled onto her left shoulder and drove her hips back into the opening she made herself. She used the momentum and the strength in her thighs to pull him to the ground. Qimir folded like a fucking birthday card and collapsed onto his elbows in the place where she just was.

They stared at each other, breathing a little hard from the scuffle. “You’re already ready for the cage,” he panted. “Good enough to survive.”

“Then why are you waiting?” she asked.

“Because I’m not training you just to survive, Osha. And I’m not training you to win. I’m training you so that when you want to win, you will.” Qimir leaned in and stole a kiss. “Good shrimping, Osha.”

Bastard.

At the final stoplight before the apartment building, she rolled her head to the side to look at him, bathed in red. He pulled off his glasses to wipe them off on his jacket, and for a moment, he looked—

“Do you remember how I got kind of weird on the drive home, that night we went dancing?”

Qimir looked surprised by the sudden shift in topics, pushing his glasses back on and frowning a little. “I… you seemed upset about something.”

They pulled into the parking spot he usually took near her building. “It’s silly,” she laughed, fiddling with her jacket pockets. “I kind of fell asleep and… had a dream.”

“And the dream upset you?”

“No,” she shook her head, finally looking over at him. “Waking up from it did.”

She caught his eyes softening, a fond quirk to his lips. “What was the dream about?”

“You,” she hedged.

“Me?” he said, smirk widening. “Then why were you so upset to see me when I woke you up?” She could have gotten drunk off the laughter in his voice.

“Well, you weren’t kissing me when I woke up, so the dream was definitely the b—”

She thought she’d be more upset by the cliché interrupted-by-a-kiss thing, but when it was him, she couldn’t help but sigh and accept it. The angle was awkward with how they were sitting, but he did most of the work leaning into her space. His lips tasted like the electrolyte mix in his shaker cup, but his tongue tasted like fire when it passed against hers.

She moaned into his mouth, reaching for him and kissing him back with fervor. His exhale was shaky, a soundless moan in return. She didn’t mean for the kiss to get this deep and passionate, but she didn’t mind that this was how it turned out.

Uncountable kisses later, he pulled back, kissing her forehead before panting, “There. I’ve made your dreams come true.”

Bastard.

She really, really liked him.

Mae: Sol wants us to have dinner together this Saturday

M: Did he text you?

Osha frowned at Mae’s messages. Qimir had told her he had a surprise planned for her birthday—also this Saturday. 

In the week since defending his title in the masquerade—since he kissed her against no less than a dozen different walls and doors—Osha and Qimir had hardly spent a night apart, either at the gym or the pool or on a date. She liked those plans. She really liked those plans.

But Sol wanted to reinstate family dinner seemingly out of nowhere. It had been over a month since their last one, and Osha felt better because of it—even if part of her missed the familiarity of the tradition. Even if a small, treacherous part of her was just a girl who missed her dad. It made her chest ache to think about the distance for too long, but she’d replaced those moments of pain with moments of joy—with Qimir. The timing wasn’t suspicious, but the concept of returning to normal without clearing the air repulsed her somewhat

O: Birthday dinner?

O: I thought we were 27 not 17

M: You haven’t been by in a while…

“And whose fault is that?” Osha scoffed to herself.

O: Three days is kind of short notice, I could have plans

(She hoped she had plans.)

M: Did something happen between you and Sol?

She froze at Mae’s message. She hadn’t gotten around to meeting Indara after their talk a week ago, which left the gaps in her information to fester with unanswered questions. Indara had said Qimir held a grudge against Sol, but Osha hadn’t asked him anything about that either. 

Maybe if they were less concerned about kissing each other’s faces off when they were alone, they could have an actual conversation.

Still, Sol was involved in the whole conspiracy—Osha just didn’t know how. She grew uneasy at any attempt to reconcile that the reasons for the dark shadows cast on Qimir’s past came from Sol’s sunny, compassionate self.

O: We might need to ta

Osha deleted the message.

O: Everything is f

She deleted that message, too.

O: Has Sol ever told you about

Before her thumb could hit the Q on her keyboard, another message from Mae came in.

M: Do you think about our mothers at all

Osha remembered a lesson from her high school physics class about three-stage collisions. She’d dissociated through most of it, vividly imagining the car wreck that killed her parents, and ensuing fire that killed everybody else.

The car hits the object (the truck hits the tree).

The body hits the car (her mama hits the truck).

The organs hit the body (the life leaves her eyes).

And the followup:

(The grass catches fire.)

(The fire traps the women.)

(The women burn alive.)

Getting Mae’s message felt a lot like those terrible memories. She hit ‘call’ before she was fully aware of it. Once she heard Mae pick up, she asked, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m okay…” Mae said, her voice sounding a little thick. The sniffle confirmed it.

“What’s going on, Mae?”

Mae sighed, her voice shaky. “Well, you know, it’s just—I know it’s like so far from the anniversary, but… I mean, it’s another birthday they’re not here, you know, and… yeah.”

They’d lost everyone but each other that day. Mae had been unconscious for most of the accident, but Osha was not. Osha remembered everything. She remembered the fireworks still bursting in the distance, mixing with the dazed lights dancing in her eyes. She remembered the heat of summer feeling cool compared to the fire licking inside the car and the scent of—

Her voice came out a little sharper than intended.

“I’m aware.”

“I just, I’m at their graves, and—”

“For fucks sake, Mae,” Osha hissed, glancing at the clock. Qimir was most likely downstairs, waiting to take her on their date. “Why didn’t you tell me you wanted to go?”

“I know you don’t like going.”

“I want you to tell me these things, Mae. If—you know, I don’t like going, you’re right. But you know I’d go with you if you wanted me to, right?”

Mae sniffled on the other end of the call, and the shift against the receiver sounded like she was nodding—forgetting Osha couldn’t see her. “I’m sorry, Oshie.”

“Do—” She closed her eyes and took a breath. “Do you need me to be with you? I have my car.”

“You probably have plans already—”

“That’s not what I asked, Mae. Do you need me?” Osha was surprised to find she meant it, too.

A few seconds passed. “No, I think I’ll be okay. I promise I’ll tell you next time I want to go. This was just—I was just thinking about them a lot today. And I wondered if you thought about them, too.”

Osha couldn’t help the disorienting, unhappy memories that flooded her mind. (Dirt hits the coffin.)

“I do,” she lied. “All the time.”

When she finally got downstairs, she ignored Qimir’s greeting and walked right into his arms, pulling him into a hug. He reacted similarly to the first time she hugged him, but now it took much less time to return it.

“Whoa—hey, are you—hi,” he said, arms coming to gingerly rest around her shoulders before squeezing her against him. The tightness in her chest lessened some.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled into his chest. “Just need a hug right now.”

“Is everything alright?” he asked after a few quiet moments holding her. His hand came up to hold the back of her neck. It was a quiet, but powerful gesture that smudged away the sharper edges of her anxiety. It comforted her—and turned her on more than words could say.

She shook her head, both to clear her mind and tell him things weren’t alright. “I was literally one foot out the door when Mae called me.”

“What’d she say? Did something happen?” He rubbed her shoulders, never once letting up the pressure he kept around her body. Qimir’s hugs were less an embrace and more, what if I squeeze you like a condiment packet—affectionately!

“Nothing happened. She just told me she was at our mothers’ graves.”

“Oh, no,” he said softly. “Do you need to talk about it? Or do you need me to distract you?”

She didn’t answer, and held her silence for so long that he eventually tilted her head back so he could look at her. In the low light, she could make out his eyes flicking rapidly over her face. He stroked a thumb over her cheekbone—checking if she was crying. She couldn’t help but smile, her storm of sadness breaking like the sun behind the clouds. 

“I think distraction is the best bet.”

“I know how to do that.”

Osha didn’t know for certain, but she was pretty sure that hanging out where you worked didn’t qualify as a date. But they didn’t have many options. If Indara could spot Mae and Qimir by random happenstance, it was possible for them to be spotted together. Indara had told her to be discreet with him, in case Vernestra ever caught wind of them.

Qimir had declared all the drop-in hang-outs they’d shared at his apartment to be prequel dates, so that was another option.

What exactly about them makes them dates?

The fact I was and am completely infatuated with you.

Hearing him talk like that while a bed was so conveniently nearby was a dangerous game to play.

She wanted to return the favor and invite him over to her apartment, but it was still too risky—not while Mae hadn’t fully earned back her trust and not while Sol still had the emergency key. Perhaps when they’re all out of town next week…

Fortunately, Unknown Planet was still a decent place to go. 

They still had a lot of ‘getting to know’ questions to ask each other and usually spent their quieter lulls in conversation asking one another off-the-wall curiosities.

Do you listen to music a lot? she’d ask.

My iPod goes with me everywhere, he’d answer.

Why’d you get your piercing? he’d ask.

Seemed like a good idea at the time, she’d answer.

“Have you thought about leaving the city?” he asked her tonight.

“Oh, too many times. Never seriously, though. They’re the kind of thoughts that hardly qualify even as daydreams.” Osha played with the edge of a cardboard drink coaster. “What about you?”

“I’ve left a few times. Typically for work, but not very recently. Even when I think I’ll stay away, I always end up coming back.” Yeah, like when you disappeared for two months, she thought to herself. The question stuck on the tip of her tongue but her mouth wouldn’t let her ask what she wanted.

“How do you feel about that?”

He sighed, leaning back and looking around Unplan with an undiscerning gaze before it settled on her. He waited a moment before saying, “Just too many things I miss here.”

She tried not to fluster, but he seemed to know just which buttons to press to get her back in this position. She didn’t begrudge him for it. It thrilled her.

“Where would you go?” he asked.

“If I left the city?”

He hummed, nodding. His hand moved languidly toward his beer, taking his time and enjoying every second he spent with her. Like this, relaxed, it was hard to believe he could use that same body to pummel people into the ground.

“I don’t know,” Osha said. “Somewhere I could see the stars, maybe? Where I grew up, the stars were so bright we didn’t even need flashlights to get around half the time.”

The compound was about fifty miles from the city—now a burned-out husk in the snow. She once considered it to be a fortress, the high walls and open courtyards making her feel like a princess. The lack of any metropolitan light pollution and their off-the-grid lifestyle made it possible to number the stars until sunrise, some nights.

Qimir smiled, like he knew she was reminiscing about those halcyon days. He took her hand and pulled it to his lips. Her knuckles were always red-raw these days, between the biting cold weather and their training, but she forgot to be self-conscious whenever he would kiss her so sweetly.

“I’m taking you somewhere nice next Saturday,” he said.

Oh. Right.

Osha winced, saying, “Mae also told me that Sol wants to do family dinner next week.”

“Same day?” he said. He kept his face carefully neutral, neither pouting nor smiling.

Osha nodded. “It might be suspicious if I don’t accept, since. Yeah.” She sighed, hating that the plans she’d been looking forward to had been—

He was asking her something.

“What?”

“How do you feel about that?” he asked, repeating her question to him from earlier.

She sighed, shaking her head. “It’s hard. I want to make up with Mae, but she betrayed my trust, and it’s hard to get over that.”

He took a drink of his beer, his hand moving a little faster than before. Like a flinch, her fighter’s eye said.

“Not that I’m on her side,” Qimir said after a moment. “But why is it a betrayal if she simply didn’t tell you what she was doing?”

“I mean, betrayal implies a faithlessness in the other person, or disloyalty.”

“Faithlessness?” he asked, in a voice so soft she wasn’t sure he meant to speak out loud.

“Faith that the other person wouldn’t understand where they were coming from. Obviously that’s not all betrayal is, but yeah. If she told me, I would have been surprised, but I like to think I would have been at least a little understanding.”

Osha wasn’t certain. Two years ago, her depression was still fairly bad. She wasn’t a pleasant person to be around, so defensive over everything anyone else did. She wanted Mae to come to her about things like this, yes, but she would have been nasty about it back then.

I want this to be mine for a while, she’d told Fillik. She was talking about Qimir back then, and in a way, Mae’s actions showed that same motivation. Osha would have snapped and snarled about how great it was that Mae was training. Let’s be real, I would have called her greedy and selfish.

“I don’t think she ever planned on telling me. If it weren’t for me meeting you, I’m sure she would have taken her time with you to the grave. We talked about her classes sometimes, and she never came clean. It may not have started as a lie, but it became one the longer her deception continued. Which is ironic, since she always claimed that honesty was the most important trait in a person.”

Osha shook her head, taking a drink of her beer.

“And what do you think?” Qimir asked, his voice still a little soft like before.

“I just told you—”

“Do you think honesty is the most important trait in a person?”

The answer was complicated. Sol had been very black-and-white when it came to her and her sister telling the truth, but when it came to serious topics, he would rather hear nothing at all than be forced to listen to their honesty. They had to ask Indara about their periods because Sol couldn’t stomach it. And later on, Sol didn’t want to hear Osha talking about her pain, her honest experiences. So she had to spin him little lies about I’m fine and it feels like it never happened while she agonized.

The truth mattered little to those determined not to listen.

“I think… there are two kinds of lies. The ones we tell to benefit others are momentary comforts—because the world is scary, and we’ll go crazy if we think about it for too long. Fairytales and ghost stories and no, I promise, we’re going to be okay when they know we’re not. Whenever we say I’m fine and we’re not. Those are illusions, but they’re comforts nonetheless.

“The other kind is much more sinister: the lies we tell to benefit ourselves. We know they’re nasty, and harmful, so we make them seem like the first when we hide them in silence and omission. What they don’t know can’t hurt them, until it does. At the end of the day, someone else is going to be hurt by that silence and that omission, and that hurt will only deepen the longer those silences go on.”

Qimir looked deeply troubled, staring into the dark surface of his beer. He nodded at long last, just taking a while to digest her point of view.

“Do you think you’ll ever forgive her?” he asked.

“I want to. I love her; she’s my sister. But I can’t let her think it’s over and done with just because she said she’s sorry. She hurt me, and hurt you, and seriously corrupted her morals for stupid reasons. The issue isn’t that I don’t know if I’ll forgive her—I don’t know if she’ll do that kind of thing again. Until I know that for sure…” she shrugs, not knowing how to end that sentence.

Qimir nodded again, draining the rest of his beer. When he set down the empty glass, he brought her hand up to his lips, kissing her palm. “What time do you think you’ll be finished with dinner?” he asked. “On Saturday.”

His mouth on her skin proved distracting as ever, but she managed to give him the time they were generally finished. “…it may run late if Sol is… well, if he’s Sol about it. But Mae said it’d just be the three of us, so I’m not counting on it.”

He looked unbothered. “My time is yours. If you’re up for it, we can still do what I have planned.”

“What did you have planned?”

He winked. “I suppose you’ll have to wait and see.”

“Ugh, nooo…”

“What’s up?”

Osha glared at the text on her screen. Damn Yord for convincing her to check her email more often.

“Employee evaluations are tomorrow. I’m last on the list, which means I have to stick around the gym for like two hours after my shift ends. I might be late to the pool.”

“We can push it back; I have errands to run anyway.” He never took his eyes off the road, pulling carefully into the icy streets.

She appreciated it. He’d always been a safe driver whenever she was a passenger in his car, but especially after Mae’s breakdown, he’d been doubly sure to make Osha feel safe with him behind the wheel.

The multitasking he did allow himself while driving was spent coming up with something to say in return. Despite precedent telling her otherwise, she half-expected him to tell her to simply cut her losses and quit any association with the Temple. He had more than enough reason to rail on them to her any chance he got. Hell, she’d almost asked why he wasn’t more openly hostile toward them after speaking with Indara.

That was another thing she hadn’t gotten around to talking about. They’d become so caught up in the newness of whatever they were that the idea that talking about the awkward, difficult things seemed repugnant. She’d brought a newfound warmth to his eyes, and she didn’t want it icing over with mention of his time at the Temple. It would be a step backwards that spanned in the miles.

“How do you think it will go?” he asked diplomatically.

“I have no idea,” she sighed, leaning on the headrest and looking out at the street. “Is it bad I kind of hope she fires me?”

“I don’t think it’s bad, per se,” he said. He carefully stopped at a red light. “It would definitely play into what she wants if you ask about it.”

“What she wants?”

“She wants to erase you from the pristine image of the Temple.”

“Ah.” How could she forget?

“I’m more worried about what Vernestra will say to you. For all she disliked displays of emotion, she always sought to elicit them—perhaps provoke is a better word. I don’t want her taking shots at you, even if I know you can hold your own against her.”

He pulled carefully into the icy intersection. She noticed his recent caution had been doubled just tonight.

“You’re driving like a grandma, even for you,” she pointed out.

“Just want to be safe on the places the salt trucks haven’t hit yet. On the way to work today, someone slid right through the crosswalk at a red light.”

“What? That sounds so scary!”

“Nobody was hurt,” he said quickly. “I know that kind of thing happens a lot around this time of year. So—better safe than sorry.”

She kissed his cheek. So thoughtful. “Thank you.”

The next day, dark clouds and wind whipped at her face each time she dared brave the outdoors. The city had the horrible quirk of a microclimate that turned mild weather severe, so even though the suburbs were snowy and cheerful, within the heart of the concrete jungle a tundra blazed.

Strange, that the cold can burn just as well as flames.

The nasty weather set the scene for her shift rather poignantly. Hardly anybody came in, for coffee or classes. The Temple would shut down for three weeks starting after the coming weekend, meaning Osha wouldn’t see hide or hair of Mae, Sol, or anybody else she usually spent time with—before Qimir sidled into her life, that is.

Osha was waiting her turn to be called into Vernestra’s office. The shop had been dead all day from the prohibitive weather. She distracted herself by doing smooth, static stretches behind the bar—loosening the sudden tension in her knee as the hours edged toward the afternoon—damn it, Qimir was right about the temperature playing tricks on her joints.

Speaking of Qimir, he hadn’t texted her back all day. He’d sent her a text around sunrise, wishing her a good morning, but there’d been nothing since. It worried her, which wasn’t the greatest distraction from her mounting anxiety about this meeting.

She heard Vernestra’s office door open at the top of the stairs, followed by her voice from further in. “It’s unfortunate that we can’t work together again, Ms. Skrye.” She sounded annoyed.

Great. Now I’m getting an evaluation while Vernestra is already displeased. Osha drifted closer to the end of the bar. She was trying not to snoop—but she was desperate for something to break the malaise-addled mold of the last few hours.

“Don’t look so upset, I didn’t say no. I told you I’d have to think about it, ma’am—I have some concerns about your contract.”

Something about the speaker’s voice was gut-wrenchingly familiar. She couldn’t place it just yet. Osha froze in place, eyes fixed on the stairs leading to the upper landing. 

“It’s essentially the same one as last time.” Vernestra huffed. “I appreciate you hearing me out, though.”

“You’re welcome. I should get back to you within a week. You’re not the only one who wants my work.”

“Do you recommend any old colleagues who would be interested in the job?”

“None as good as me—or as discreet.”

The speaker stood in the doorway with their back turned. Their silhouette rang bells, but she couldn’t place exactly what kind of bells—alarm?

“I should hope so, Ms. Skrye,” Vernestra said. “Have a pleasant day.”

The speaker turned, and it took Osha’s complete control not to flinch when they locked eyes across the space.

Those weren’t alarm bells ringing—they were match bells.

Idise—the cage fighter who previously held the title of Daybreak—stood more than thirty feet away, but Osha could still make out a mostly-faded shiner around her left eye, a souvenir from the new moon. She wouldn’t have recognized her if she hadn’t seen Idise around the gym periodically. Osha had almost convinced herself—resigned herself—to carry some respect for Idise as a fighter and someone with whom Qimir had a history.

Speaking of history.

Work together? Again??

Indara’s story—the private investigator.

She lost track of him when he joined up with the Hutts.

Qimir’s remarks.

She’s known me since before I joined the gym.

Medora.

She nominated him for the cage.

Kana.

Q and Idise are close.

Osha remembered to breathe through her shock. Idise’s look of surprise matched hers, but she mastered her facial expression much faster than Osha did.

Where Idise’s face shifted into concern and curiosity, Osha’s morphed into an angry sneer. Idise worked with Vernestra. She stalked Qimir for her. Was she lying to him all this time? Now Osha had no idea what to think. She could only make room for indignant, righteous fury bubbling through her veins.

“Osha? You can come on up,” Vernestra said. She hadn’t poked her head out of her office, the usual power move.

How much did Vernestra know? How much did Idise tell her?

“Coming!” Osha said, steeling herself. She’d tell Qimir about this later, she vowed. She’d drive to his apartment as soon as things were wrapped up here.

She had to pass Idise on the stairs as she made her way up, and couldn’t help shoulder-checking her just a little bit.

Idise took it in stride, grunting and reaching out for support on the rickety balustrade.

“Whoops,” Osha said flatly.

“No, it’s my fault. Sorry.” Idise’s eyes were intense, brow furrowed, and didn’t match the lightness of her tone. She looked like she was trying to tell Osha something without speaking, but Osha refused to hear (or, she supposed, see) her out.

When that became clear to her, Idise did something Osha didn’t expect. She leaned a few inches closer, then—

“Don’t sign anything,” Idise breathed, lips barely moving. It was so soft Osha almost asked her to repeat herself, but Idise had already torn herself away, strutting down the rest of the steps toward the door. She didn’t look back as she disappeared into the storm beyond the glass. The only evidence she was here was the scent of her perfume—sandalwood and frankincense.

Fitting, for someone in league with the Temple.

“Osha?” Vernestra said, reminding her of why she was here. Osha refocused and stepped into the office. Vernestra was reading a paper on her desk, not even looking up as she asked, “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, just a little clumsy lately. Because of the weather.” She recalled her gameplan: she had to sell this lie somehow, and in order to do so, she had to keep it firmly rooted in some kind of truth. The more she called attention to her injury, the better—Vernestra was like Sol, wanting the truth but not honesty from the people around her.

Sure enough, Vernestra’s face flushed in distaste as she glanced quickly at Osha’s ankle. Ultimately, she said nothing about her remark. “You can take a seat.”

Osha hoped she could get through this meeting without looking like a fool—or screwing anybody over. Still, she tried to get some information for herself.

“Who was that walking out? I’ve never seen her here before.” Not, I’ve never seen her before.

“She’s an old colleague of mine. Networking is an important aspect of running a business. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

Damn. No dice.

“I suppose,” Osha said, taking the defeat in the manner she usually would: head bowed, face cowed. She braced herself for further lashes, or for an interrogation about Qimir or Unknown Planet—what had Idise told her?—but Vernestra surprised her.

“You know you’re still welcome to take classes at the Temple, Osha.”

She faltered in her present train of thought. “Isn’t—is this part of the evaluation?”

“Oh, of course,” Vernestra said lightly, though her eyebrow twitched in annoyance at the reminder. It unsettled Osha. She watched her shuffle the few papers on her desk before picking one up and reading off of it. “You’ve shown yourself to be a steadfast and reliable employee who shows up on time—and goes above and beyond her job duties. Areas to improve include lessening the appearance of laziness in the work environment. It casts a bad light on the alertness of our employees, so try to use the stool less—or, preferably, only on your breaks. Consideration for leadership roles is dependent on showing future progress.” She set the paper down and flashed Osha a quick smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “There. Evaluated.”

“I… um, thank you.” She’d been caught on the back foot several times in her life, most often in the ring—very rarely in conversation. This was one of those times. “Um, leadership roles?” she asked, keeping her hands in her lap. 

“Well, that depends on if you even want to still stay at the Temple,” Vernestra said in a concerned voice that Osha didn’t believe for one second.

“I do!” Osha exclaimed. “Of course I do. My dad and sister are here, and I don’t even have any friends outside the Temple. It’s—it’s all I have.”

I deserve an Oscar.

The sadistic delight in Vernestra’s eyes glimmered behind a faint veil of concern—no, pity. “Like I said before, you’re more than welcome to rejoin classes, so long as they’re at the appropriate level for your… ability.”

“That’s…” Nice to know, right when the fucking gym is about to be closed for like a week. “Wonderful to hear, ma’am.”

“There are just a few concerns I have.”

She recalled what Qimir told her.

For all she disliked displays of emotion, she always sought to elicit them—perhaps provoke is a better word.

She’d give her a provocation.

“I know, and I’m so so sorry about the last time we spoke—it’s just—” It was very easy to draw on her emotions and bring tears to her eyes. What looked like tears of desperation were really tears of anger. “It’s just so hard, you know? I messed up. I should have apologized for my behavior sooner, I really do love it here.” She hoped her choked-up voice sold the sorrow—it just felt like bile to even say.

Vernestra shifted in her seat, discomforted by the emotional display. Perfect. “Behavior?”

“The—oh god, I yelled at you… about Huyang?”

She grimaced. “Right. The… espresso machine.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get all—like this.”

For as much as Verosha liked to humiliate Osha, and this would have definitely been a humiliating thing for others to witness, Vernestra looked uncomfortable when nobody else was there to face Osha’s emotions. Not as fun without an audience, hm?

“That’s. Fine. I was surprised by your outburst but I should have come to expect it from you by now.”

The insult was sharp, but only cut through empty air. Three months ago, Osha would have actually begged for the second chance being offered—and she would have flinched to hear such a swipe at her character. So she flinched.

Vernestra’s chest puffed out somewhat, and Osha subtly watched her gaze briefly flicker to a filing cabinet in the corner. It was different than all the rest—one of those heavy-duty fireproof ones that locked down like Fort Knox. Osha didn’t know why the sight of it seemed to calm Vernestra down, but it did.

“I feel,” Vernestra began, “as if we should… clear the air between us, lest any further misunderstandings bloom between us and fruit consequences.”

“Like getting fired?”

It was a risky thing to say. On one hand, getting fired was a surefire way to lose access to whatever evidence she needed in the Temple—possibly in that filing cabinet, in fact. But on the other hand, it had the capacity to cut her loose from the poisoned, toxic environment she was still tied down to.

Vernestra sent her a condescending look. “No. If I was going to fire you, I wouldn’t have minced words when you came in here. I… just wanted to have a chat, Osha.”

“While, yes, you would have to work on your attitude and show significant improvement in your physical capabilities, I would need to see you acting like a true leader in the Temple. You’re used to being outspoken and expressive, but the Temple relies on an element of restraint. Discretion, if you will.”

She nodded, remembering how Idise had called herself discreet earlier. Fear, disgust, and anger ran apace with one another through the atria of her heart, and Osha tried to subtly get her pulse back under control.

“I’d say it’s probably a result of your parenting, but Sol also raised your sister, and she seems capable of meeting those simple standards. I’m sure she’s told you about her recent promotions in the last year.”

Her bribes, more like.

But Osha couldn’t argue that side of things. Vernestra was looking for a reaction, a blow to her composure. A result of your parenting, really? “Sol?” Osha asked, mock-confused.

Vernestra sat back in her chair, fingers laced in her lap. “He told me a long time ago that he may not have been ready to adopt you and your sister when he did.”

Osha’s mind was going a hundred miles an hour. What could she possibly gain by saying this? She couldn’t posit the answer.

“I’ve heard most parents aren’t.”

She had mixed feelings about defending Sol, but after seventeen years, it felt like reflex. Sol had told the two of them a thousand times over the years that he always wanted to be a father, and despite every parenting blunder he made, he always tried his best when they needed him.

Unlike some foster parents.

“Yes, well. Real parents at least have time in advance to prepare. But some adults just don’t have the best parental instincts.”

Osha had to bite her tongue to keep from blurting out something rude and nasty and correct. Blood bloomed across her tastebuds, and she forced herself to shrug, though it was difficult to play at casual right now. Hopefully, she would believe her anger was toward the dig at Sol and not at the despicable knowledge that she only fostered a child just to use him for accolades.

“I think I was raised just fine. I think Mae feels similarly. I was cared for and provided for, and that’s all a child—an orphan, sorry—ever wants from a guardian, right?”

Holy shit, Osha. Keep the cat in the bag. Staple the bag shut, you fucking idiot.

Vernestra’s eyes narrowed, but she kept her cards close from then on.

“I have wanted to speak with you about creating a manual for the machine you mentioned earlier…”

For the next half hour, Osha stayed in the hot seat, acting as if she hadn’t completely changed in the last few months. It was unnerving. Vernestra expertly swerved away from any topic that could have led to her speaking about Qimir—including the accusation from the beginning of all this mess.

This wasn’t what she expected from the meeting. She hadn’t been fired, further reprimanded, or even questioned. Qimir had shown up at the cafe despite his admitted lifetime ban. He’d shown up three times. One of Mae’s first questions had been did the cameras catch him coming in?

But she never brought him up. She didn’t ask what Osha was doing in the time she wasn’t taking classes or going to work. In fact, the most Vernestra did was goad about the hours cuts, but Osha just took a shaky breath and said, I’ll make it to spring on savings.

Vernestra had grown visibly excited at the prospect of Osha struggling, but her clunky mock-sympathy did its worst to cover it up.

“…well, I’m very proud of your work in the cafe. Maybe soon, if I see improvement in your work and attitude, we can talk about other career opportunities for you in the Temple.”

Finally. Some information she could use. “Like competing?” Osha said, goading her right back.

Predictably, Vernestra’s face soured. “Perhaps that.”

Barista. Trainer. Fighter. Spy. Those were the four employment options at the Temple. If fighter was eliminated, then trainer definitely was. Osha was already barista. That left—

“That would be amazing,” Osha gushed, pushing the let-me-back-in narrative some more. “My main priority is to get back into classes again, really. Restart, you know?”

“We’ll have to see about that. So here’s your evaluation; just go ahead and sign at the bottom, and we can be finished.”

Don’t sign anything.

Osha took the paper but not a pen, fixing Vernestra with a big, open facial expression. “I’m so grateful for this, ma’am.” She turned on the waterworks full blast, blubbering through her next words. “This place is j-just. It’s like home to me. I always feel like everyone here is family, like everyone here adopted me and Mae. Not just Sol.” She took a deep, hiccuping breath and checked her progress.

Vernestra looked ill.

She dug deeper. “And I’ve been so w-worried about the last few weeks. I thought I was g—” Sniffle, gasp. “I thought I was gonna lose it all.”

“That’s…” Vernestra couldn’t hold back her sneer. “Understandable.”

Osha went on until Vernestra stood from the desk, her movements jerky and almost pained. She swept around the desk to come ‘comfort’ her with an awkward pat on her shoulder. It almost made Osha break character and laugh. But she had one more trick up her sleeve.

She surged forward and hugged Vernestra, taking that shoulder pat as permission to touch. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” she sobbed.

The hand on her shoulder gingerly pushed her away. Vernestra wasn’t looking anywhere near her. In a slightly too loud voice, she said, “Well, I hope you drive home safely. Weather is. Well. The weather is bad, I guess.”

“You’re right. Ugh, I’m such a mess, and I’m so sorry. I probably wasted so much time just blubbering,” Osha said, holding the evaluation behind her back and gesturing with her free hand. She backed out of the office when Vernestra started herding her in that direction.

“Yes. Well. No. I mean. Goodbye.”

The door shut in Osha’s face, and she refocused. The scent of sandalwood returned, reminding her of her priorities. 

She had to tell Qimir what she found out—more importantly, who she saw.

CHAPTER 17

[tired-fandom-ndn]

I DO NOT understand what determines a room type in House Flipper. Hypothetically, if there's a bed, then that room should be a bedroom, right?? But add in a tv or a desk and suddenly it's a multipurpose room. Add in some bookshelves and it's an office!! Make it make sense.

[khvlani]

in your opinion, what's a prentiss essential that she always keeps in her desk?

in her drawer, there is a travel size toothbrush that also doubles as a vibe. multipurpose, easy to use, easy to bring.

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